Page 41 of A Love Most Fatal

“My girls used to help, but now they’re too busy to be bothered.”

“Oh, Ma.” I let her kiss my cheek as she slides by me towards the oven. She’s making a frittata,nearly done, just ten more minutes, the smell of which is making my mouth water.

“I would love to help you with it today if you have any work to do on it. And maybe a tour of the greenhouse?” Nate says, and that answers the question of whether he decided to go to work or not.

Mom, ever delighted, tells him how she would love that, calls him such a nice boy, and then repeats the sentiment to me five times. Seriously he should put Mom Charming on his résumé because what the hell?

The dog starts wiggling, and upon being placed on the floor, runs in quick circles and huffs out of his nose until Nate takes the myriad of hints and excuses himself to let him outside.

Mary shuffles into the kitchen looking somehow more tired than I feel and I hand her my mug which she is quick to drain. Mary is ever the definition of the corny “don’t talk to me ‘til I’ve had my coffee” shirts, though she’ll bite your head off if you say as much.

She sets my now-empty mug down on the counter and I pour us both another.

“Mom, you can’t fall in love with the math teacher,” Mary says, obviously having heard some of Mom’s awestruck fussing. “He’s had his tongue in your daughter’s mouth.”

“Mary!” I say at the same time as Mom says, “He has?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you kissed? He is very handsome.” She raises her eyebrows a bunch of times.

I groan.

“He also called Vanessa mean things,” Mary points out.

“Yes, but he had quite the shock. Who can blame him?” Mom says.

“Enough,please,” I refrain from dragging my hands down my face, but it’s a Herculean effort. “Can we talk about anything else?”

“Patrice called,” Mom says, and I can’t help my sigh this time. It’s too early to be sighing like that. It’s an omen for the rest of my day, I think.

Patrice, or Patty as we call her, is one of the mob wives from my mom’s generation. She, much like Willa, can’t keep from butting into other people’s business.

“Okay, maybe notanythingelse.”

Mom ignores me and keeps on. “Her cousin’s boy is thinking about moving to town. Wants to be closer to family.”

“Closer to someone’s family,” Mary mutters.

“He wants a job?” I ask, too hopeful that this is all he’s looking for.

“He wants a wife.”

Because of course he does.

“I thought Patty was on my side about this. She told me last month she’s a feminist.”

“She was,” Mom agrees. “She is. But then her cousin heard you were still single and going on dates.”

“One date. One.” I’m whining now, I can’t help it.

Even if the men are seen as the ones “in charge” of their households, we all know that their wives hold more power than they’d ever admit. If they think I need to get married too, their husbands will be trying to throw anyone they know my way.

“Who else?” I ask. Patty works in a very tight-knit clique of other mothers, my ma included, and if she’s got it in her head that I should be married, the rest of them do too.

Mom stands straighter, but she can’t hide the truth written all over her face.

“Please, not all of them,” I groan. When she doesn’t deny it, I do plant my face in my palms, makeup be damned. “I cannot deal with this right now. Not when I’ve got,” I motion in the general direction of the backyard, “all of this going on.”

“Then you might need to show them you’re serious about finding a husband,” Mom says. Her lips are downturned.