Page 4 of Flying High

A vein throbs in my forehead. I wonder what’d happen if it burst? Nothing good, I’m guessing, but it’d be the end of this grilling by my parents and probably worth it.

“Please, Dean. I’m begging you.”

She’s relentless. Usually, the cajoling and pleading doesn’t happen in my father’s presence. Mom generally saves this for when he’s playing golf or somewhere else in the house because she doesn’t want him to hear how ridiculous she sounds. And even though it kills me a little inside to disappoint my mom this way, begging isn’t going to suddenly manifest my mom’s greatest wish—for me to meet my perfect woman and settle down.

My mom has a heart of gold, and she’d never intentionally embarrass me, her only child. Sure, she’s been disappointed in me before, but this seems different, somehow. Today, Dad sits quietly on the couch beside his wife of almost forty years. They both study me silently. As though a close inspection might reveal my flaws and provide them with the answer to my mom’s favorite question.

“When are you going to bring home a woman? It’s time, Dean.” She’s sitting straight across from me on a pale gray sofa in my apartment. I sink back into the matching gray leather couch opposite her, wishing it would swallow me up. The best I can hope for is to deflect.

“What if I’m gay?” I throw this out there once in a blue moon to see what reaction I’ll get.

“Son, you aren’t gay.” She rolls her eyes. Yeah, she knows me better than for me to be able to spring that one on her. “But if you were, I’d be asking the same question about a man.”

She’s a rabid bulldog but sweet in her own way.

I swing my gaze over to my dad. I thought he’d laugh or give me some encouragement, but no, I might as well be staring at a brick wall.

“Dean, you simply must have a date for James’ wedding. You’re thirty-five years old. It’s time you found a girlfriend, or better yet, your future wife. All you ever do is work!” My mom’s tone is high-pitched by the end of her little tirade. She sniffs dramatically and swipes at her eyes.

Shit. There’s no way I want to be responsible for making my mom cry.

“Mom, it’s only a matter of weeks away, and I’m not seeing anyone right now. I don’t think it’s realistic to–”

“Your father and I agree that drastic measures will need to be taken given time is of the essence. Nothing you’ve done in the past has worked. The only thing that motivates you is work and money. It’s time you focused on something else.”

Ha! That’s rich, coming from her. The same woman who organized math tutoring beginning in the first grade, so I’d have a competitive edge. Who all but forced me to join the debate team, even though it wasn’t supposed to be available to freshmen. The push to succeed started before I could even grow hair on my chin. Now, Mom has shifted her sights to me settling down.

Ever since James announced his engagement, and he was kind enough to invite my parents, who he has known for as long as we’ve worked together, Mom’s been obsessed with coupling up, weddings, and—hold the phone—grandchildren. Dad, although he seems to keep out of it for the most part, does seem to nod quite a bit, almost to punctuate Mom’s points and lend his silent agreement.

I shrug and start to grumble a non-committal reply. I don’t get far.

“You need to get serious about this, Dean. Your only serious relationships are years behind you. You’re spending the best years of your life alone.” Mom will slowly work herself up to a crescendo in the next few minutes.

As usual, I sit quietly and settle back against the pillows and listen, letting her get it out of her system and not think about my two exes. If only Mom knew how things ended—namely with a world of pain and heartache for me—she’d understand why I’ve stuck to the shallow end of the dating pool in the last few years.

I’m really close to my mom and dad, and truth be told, they’re fantastic parents. They’ve been supportive and made things happen for me, providing advantages and opportunities most kids can only hope and pray for. They were never stingy on love and affection and only ever wanted the best for me.

Even if that currently means browbeating me about my love life. Or lack thereof. It’s not like there’s a family business to hand down. It is all just managed investments these days, since the business was sold a generation ago, and the beneficiaries, such as my parents and their siblings, live off the interest. But my share of the pie doesn’t kick in until they pass away, and I’ve lived my life without behaving as though it was a safety net.

If only I could get them to lay off this baby thing. One day, I’ll find the right woman. I just don’t know exactly when that day will be, and I very much doubt it’ll be in time for the wedding in two weeks.

“All I ever hear is about one or other of your cousins getting married, popping out grandchildren. Jennifer has four grandchildren now. Four!” She huffs and puffs, and she’s really getting warmed up now. My knee starts to bounce. God, if only there were some way to avoid this conversation. I’m well aware that my relatives are breeding like bunnies.

“Mom, two of those babies are twins, so really that was a sneaky way of increasing the baby count. And also, I’m fairly certain the reason Brian and Celine eloped was because he got her pregnant.” Honestly, I give that marriage another year. The drama some of my cousins get themselves tangled up in makes my eyes water.

“Oh, pish,” she replies.Pish? This is a new one.

She swipes at her eyes again, and I hold in the snort of laughter. Dad sits beside her, quiet as a mouse, maintaining a disappointed look aimed right at me, in complete solidarity with Mom. He at least has the good grace to reach for a drink and hide behind the glass when I give him a death stare.

“Dean, I’m worried about you. We both are.” I glance over at Dad, his face softens, and he nods. Oh shit, they’re serious. “We can see how lonely you are, and we’re worried you’re heading down a bad path.” My mom is dead serious, and even though this is a conversation I’d do pretty much anything to avoid, every lawyerly instinct in me says to raise a counter-argument.

“You two know how busy I am with work. The last year has been such a big expansion. I know I need to spend more time socializing, but I’ll get there eventually.” And I will. I’m not opposed to a relationship.

“Work isn’t all there is to life, Dean! What you’re doing now isn’t healthy. I’m sick of hearing about your casualrelationships…” she air-quotes relationships, “… and having to defend you to my sisters.” What on earth would she have to defend? Sure, I might not follow up with the woman whose bed I warmed, but I make it clear I’m not interested in anything beyond the night. If I got the sense that they wanted more, I wouldn’t take it to that level—a night of sex and two individuals working some tension out—one night only.

I’d rather pull out my fingernails with my teeth than explain that to my parents, though. Sure, my socializing is monthly with men—James and some of the partners at work—mostly networking or for professional purposes. Other than that, I spend time with family and a few of my old college friends. We do normal things like watch a bit of sports, and once a year we go tailgating and then on to the occasional live game. I’m not sure where this conversation is going. Usually, she grumbles for a little while before remembering how much she loves me and stops with the pressure. This seems to be leading somewhere, and I’m not sure I want to go there.

“Mom, I don’t know what you’re hearing from your sisters—”

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