“Tell me, Camryn, what it is that you do?” Gillian asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
Since there’s no way I’m telling her that I’m supposed to be playing matchmaker for her son, I keep it simple. “I’m in public relations for a firm downtown. I’ve been there since college.”
“And you enjoy it?” she asks, taking a careful bite of her banana split.
“I love it, actually. I feel very fortunate. And I’ve gotten the chance to work with Sterling on a special project, so that’s been nice.”
His mom takes a special interest in me, and my life, and at first I’m not sure what to think. Then I realize it’s her way of trying to get to know the woman who her son has just told her holds at least some significance in his life.
“Is that where you two met?” she asks Sterling.
He shakes his head. “I met Camryn years ago through Noah and Olivia.”
Gillian smirks. “That Noah is pure trouble.” She winks at me. “Too handsome for his own good, and naughty. I had a hell of a time with Sterling and him growing up.”
I chuckle. “I bet you did.”
“Noah’s married now, Mum. With a baby on the way,” Sterling says, as though they’ve talked about that before.
Gillian takes another bite of ice cream, unaware of the look being shared between Sterling and me.
“Oh, there’s a movie I’d love to go and see if you’re still coming next weekend, dear,” Gillian says to Sterling. “It’s called Indiana Jones. Looks like something we’d both enjoy.”
“Great movie,” I say.
“You’ve seen it? It just came out.” Gillian’s tone is one of disbelief.
I look to Sterling, confused, and then decide to just go with it. “Yes, I got to see it already. It’s excellent. Maybe we can all watch it together sometime.”
“I’d love that,” Sterling says, squeezing my hand under the table in a silent thank-you.
Soon, we’ve chatted about movies and our favorite desserts, and even discovered that Gillian shares a love of House Hunters International with me. And then suddenly, it’s time to go. Sterling’s so light and carefree on the ride back to her home, he’s whistling.
We drop Gillian off, and she kisses us both on the cheek. “Indiana Jones. Next weekend. Bring popcorn.”
Sterling chuckles, and we all say our good-byes.
“She’s great,” I say as we pull away.
“She liked you.”
“I think it’s admirable how you take care of her.”
Watching the road, Sterling stares straight ahead. “I wish I could do better . . .”
“That’s what the inheritance is for.” That realization is like a pit in my stomach.
He nods.
“Why have her live there if you hate it? Why not move her in with you?”
With a soft sigh that tells me he’s given this a lot of thought, he drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “I wish I could. But I often work long hours, and there’s too many things to worry about. She could leave the apartment to go to the grocery store and forget how to get home. Forget she left the stove on and cause a fire. There are so many things that could go very wrong.”
Glancing at me, he adds, “I don’t want to give you the impression it’s a bad place. They care for her, provide her with three hot meals a day, oversee her medications, monitor her when she has an episode and doesn’t remember where she is. I couldn’t do that for her at home. That’s why she’s there.”
“I understand.”
“But I want better for her, I want more,” he continues. “Somewhere she can garden and go on organized outings, and have her own apartment versus just a narrow room with a bed. A real community, not someplace that feels like a hospital. There’s a community an hour away I’ve set my sights on for her. They have a team of doctors who are on the cutting edge of memory care.”
“That’s amazing, Sterling.”
The elephant in the room that we don’t discuss is that in order to make that happen, he and I need to end our charade, and he needs to marry.
Reaching over, I squeeze his knee. “You’re doing the best you can. You’re a good son.”
He nods, now smiling. As the miles tick past, the music plays softly in the background.
It seems a visit with his mom, and seeing the two of us get along, has done his soul some good.
But there’s still something I need to talk to him about. In the excitement of him surprising me at my office and whisking me away on an outing, and then holy crap, introducing me to his mother, I pushed it to the back of my head. Now it’s time to get some answers.
“I need to ask you something.”
“’Course you can.” He strums his fingers against the steering wheel.
“The credit-card statements on my dining table . . . they went missing after you were at my place last weekend.”
“You noticed that, did you?”
“You took them?”
I’m shocked and my voice betrays it. I thought, worst-case scenario, he saw them when I went to the restroom, and perhaps shuffled them aside somewhere so I wouldn’t be embarrassed I’d left my personal business scattered about.
“Are you upset?” He’s still looking out on the highway, dangerously attractive, but even more so infuriating.
“I’m . . .” Embarrassed. Horrified. “Why would you do that?”