The Mothers, Part II

"I have to go see my mom sometime this weekend," I told Abraham. "She needs me to hook up her Internet. I can go Saturday or Sunday, which day do you prefer I go?"

"Do you need a hero?" he asked.

I completely did not pick up on what he was offering.

"What? No. I know how to set up the Internet. I did it at my apartment," I said simply.

"Yeah, and I've seen your cable box. I better go and do it."

The cable box he referenced is sitting unplugged in my bedroom, just like it has been for the last 3 years. I've never had cable in my bedroom. The box just won't work.

Then it occurred to me what he was saying. Not only would he do a task that I find annoying, he would be meeting my mother. We had talked about being ready to meet my parents, but the conversation never went further than that. He initiated that step on his own.

As I understood what he was saying, my smile took up my entire face.

"I've never seen you smile that big," he said. Abraham played it off, sighing and acting like being a hero is everyday minutia to him. I just faced him and beamed until he kissed me.

***

"So, Abraham is going to come this weekend and set up your Internet for you," I said nonchalantly to my mother.

"Okay, good," she replied. She paused on the phone. "Wait, does this mean I get to meet him?"

"Yup."

My mother was giddy. She had been hearing about him since last November. She knew I was talking about him openly in a way I hadn't with the previous boys.

"I'll make shrimp and capers," she immediately planned.

"Mom! He's Jewish! He can't eat shrimp."

"No shrimp?"

"No."

"What about crab, mussels or scallops?"

"No, no and no."

"What can he eat?"

"Just stick with chicken. We eat lots of chicken."

***

Abraham was quiet on the drive over. At first I thought he was just grumbling about my musical taste, but then he leaned back the passenger seat and closed his eyes.

"Are you tired?" I asked.

"No."

"Is this the first time you've ever met the parents?"

"Yes."

He was nervous. He was so nervous that he was shaken up. I put my hand on his knee.

"Seriously, I've set the bar so low with previous boyfriends that you'll do great."

He gasped when I drove up the driveway. It's an intimidating property when you aren't used to it. The Femme Fatale nosed the front door open and ran inside as she is custom to doing. I heard my mom get up from the living room. When she saw Abraham, she immediately hugged him.

I was taken aback. My mother is a very proper person and I'm not used to her hugging anyone when she meets them. This was a first. She took us into the kitchen and immediately produced a cheese plate and drinks.

"What would you like to drink, Abraham? I have water, tea, Coke and Yuengling."

"Tea, please," he said.

"What?!" I balked. "I've never seen you drink tea in your life. Have a beer."

"I'm not having a beer as soon as I meet your mom," he said in front of us.

"I think if there's a time to have a beer, it's when you meet my mom," I retorted.

He remained decisive and kept his tea. We weren't two sips in before she produced an already made batch of frozen margaritas. If there's ever a time for my mom to drink tequila, it's when she meets my boyfriend.

We headed to her patio with the cheese and margaritas. Our teas were already forgotten in the kitchen. As soon as we sit down, my mother brings up Abraham's serious medical condition he had years ago. I guess my mother is nervous too.

Of course I'm not helpful during any of this. I'm the only one not nervous. In the car I had pointed out that Abraham had never met parents before, and in the kitchen I noted that Abraham doesn't drink tea. I nudge Abraham when my mother immediately brought up the medical thing he doesn't like to advertise.

We went upstairs and set up her Internet. Abraham also had to create all her passwords and explain what a Gmail account is. He connected her laptop to the network, knowing she would never figure it out herself. I sipped my margarita and watched.

Then my mother prepared dinner. She made chicken fajitas. As is her habit, she made entirely too much food for three people. She made three courses. She lit candlesticks.

"This is our first candlelit dinner," Abraham remarked. "With your mother."

My mother was not a very good parent. She didn't grill Abraham. No "What are your intentions with my daughter?" No "What are your feelings about recreational drugs?" Of course, she already grilled me when I initially told her about him. We were driving to the beach for Thanksgiving Day—just the two of us—and hour three into a five-hour drive, we ran out of things to talk about.

"I'm seeing a boy," I said simply.

"What?" she paused and the words sank in. "Who, what when, where?" she rapid fired.

So she already knows the whos, whats, whens and wheres. Conversation around the dinner table was of our party we were headed to after we left her house and other present-day activities.

We left her house three hours after we arrived. Short and sweet.

I called my mom the next day.

"So, did he like me?" my mom asked.

I groaned. My mother is more concerned about Abraham's feelings about her than her feelings about Abraham.

"He's quiet," she finally said. "So there isn't too much to judge. It was nice to meet a man who was himself and didn't feel the need to impress you with his accomplishments."

And that's all she had to say about that.