Page 54 of Calling the Shots

“So Mack, tell me about your future plans.” Mom twirls spaghetti on her fork as I turn the same shade as the tomato sauce.

“Mom—” I hiss, kicking her foot under the table.

Mack ignores the kerfuffle and the rattling plates, taking the interrogation in stride.

“What do you want to know?”

“Oh, anything. You’re planning on staying in Thunder Creek, right?”

He nods. “Yes, ma’am. I have no intention of moving anytime soon. Business is good and I’m happy at the high school.”

“That’s great.” Mom beams at him, her head bobbing up and down like a plastic bobblehead figurine on the dashboard. “And what about family?” She cocks a brow at him and it’s official. I’m literally dying. Call 911. Actually, please don’t. I’d rather not be resuscitated after this. I’m way too mortified.

“My family all lives in Augusta.” Mack dodges the question my mother intended—the one abouthisplans for a family—instead focusing on his parents.

Well played, Mack. Well played.

“Lovely area down there. Who all’s down there? You mom and dad? Any brothers or sisters?”

“One younger sister, a few years behind me.”

“Older than Gracie, though.”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

“Yes, older than Gracelyn. But only by a few years.”

“And do you want children? In the future?”

“Mother!” My fork clatters to my plate at her audacity. “Leave him alone.”

“It’s fine. I never seriously considered having a family before. But I’m not ruling it out.”

My mom’s mouth tips up into a slow smile. “Good to hear. Gracie’s my only child and I’ve been patiently waiting for a grandbaby.”

“No pressure…” I grumble, staring at my spaghetti. My stomach churns as I wilt with humiliation, way too stressed to eat. I thought the baby talk would be postponed at least one dinner, but I guess I overestimated my mother.

“I wanted more children…” Mom gazes wistfully into space. “But then Gracie’s father got sick and passed.”

“I’m sorry.” Mack shifts in his seat. Probably regretting his acceptance of the dinner invitation. We went from babies to death in one quick zigzag.

This is way more than he bargained for.

Mom waves her hand, the fork zipping through the air. “What’s done is done. It wasn’t meant to be. But I am looking forward to some baby Gracies running around.”

“Oh-kay…” I interrupt before she flat-out asks about a wedding date. “Mom, I saw Mrs. Gillingham at the drugstore. She told me the two of you were going to be playing pickleball together.”

“Yes, we are! She’s starting up a Ladies League. You should come—it’s great exercise and we have a nice group.”

A vision of chasing around after a yellow ball, sweating my ass off with my mom’s friends pops into my head.

“Thanks for the invite, I’ll keep it in mind.” I set my fork down, shoving my plate away. “Dinner was great, Mom. Can I help with the dishes?”

“No, no. You and Mack relax. I’ll put on some coffee and we can have dessert.”

“Oh, I’m stuffed, Mrs. Reynolds. The pasta was fantastic, but I can’t eat another bite.” Mack folds his napkin into a tidy square.

“Same. I hate to eat and run, Mom. But I’ve got to get going.” I shove away from the table and start stacking plates.

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