Mr. Match: The Boxed Set

by Delancey Stewart

  We left the stadium at the end of the game, Chloe dragging her feet as we walked.

  "No one told me how long a football game would be," she complained.

  I looked over my shoulder at her as we made our way to the car. "Too long?"

  She widened her eyes and opened her mouth as if in shock, and Adam put an arm around her. "You either love it or you hate it, babe," he laughed. "I think it's an incredible sport."

  "All the running," I commented, thinking about the kind of endurance those players had to have.

  "The focus, too," Adam said. "It's so intense."

  We got into the car, Adam sliding behind the wheel and me climbing into the back to lean forward between them.

  "That," Chloe said, buckling in and leaning her head back, "was the opposite of intense. If only there'd been some pillows and a blanket, it would have been the perfect opportunity for a nap."

  "You know, in other countries people kill each other over soccer matches," Adam noted. "That's how intense they are."

  Chloe sighed and shook her head. "I don't know how you can manage to keep watching when nothing at all happens for half hour at a time. It's so boring."

  "I didn't think so," I said honestly. I’d been enraptured every second of the game.

  "That's because you were staring at the goal the whole time. You had a different game going on in your head," she said.

  She had a point.

  Adam turned to look at me for a minute. "Things getting more serious there?"

  "They slept together," Chloe told him.

  My cheeks burst into flame. Adam was a friend, but he was also my employer. "Chloe!"

  "You must know that secrets you share with me are secrets you share with Adam." She didn't apologize for this, just stated it as a fact. And while I wanted to feel violated or angry, I had to admit I knew that already. They were one of those couples that just melded. They were like two parts of a whole, and it was true—talking to Adam felt a bit like talking to Chloe and vice versa. I thought maybe the best couples were like this—they maintained individual personalities, but they completed one another.

  "Perhaps I should just post updates on the bulletin board at the winery then," I joked.

  "Not a bad idea. What's next?" Adam asked.

  I wish I knew.

  My phone buzzed in my purse and I pulled it out to see a text from Trace. "I'll find out," I said, my heart beating a little faster as I leaned back into the seat, a happy anticipation filling me.

  Trace: Thanks for coming. How did you like it?

  Me: That was incredible. YOU were incredible.

  Trace: Thanks

  I wasn't sure what to say next, I just knew I wanted to see him.

  Trace: When does your mother arrive?

  Me: Tomorrow morning. Come wine tasting Tuesday afternoon?

  Three dots danced across the screen, disappeared and then reappeared. I waited. I worried. Would he say no? How would my mother’s arrival change things?

  I wanted to see him again, to see more of him. I wanted to show him my world too, to let him see my passion. But things were going to change with Maman’s arrival. There was no way around it.

  He didn't respond, and after a few minutes, I put my phone back in my bag, feeling deflated and a little worried. I began to work myself into a knot, and just when despair began to root into my stomach, my phone buzzed again.

  Trace: Sorry, had to handle something. Yes. I will taste the wine. With your mother.

  Happy relief washed through me.

  Me: Oh good, it will be fun. Except that my mother will be there. And Henri. So maybe not fun exactly.

  Trace: We will make it fun. And I think I’m good at wine tasting. It’s very close to eating and you already know I’m good at that. I bet you'll be amazed at my ability to differentiate wine from other things.

  I laughed at that, Trace’s humor and enthusiasm pushing some of the worry from my mind.

  Me: Want to meet us at the winery?

  Trace: Yes. Prepare to be impressed.

  Me: I'm already impressed. I saw you play today, remember?

  Trace responded with a blushing emoji. Then he followed it with a string of emojis I didn't know existed, not all of which were exactly appropriate, but they were funny. I didn’t even know penis emojis existed. A few minutes later, he texted again.

  Trace: Sorry. Hammer grabbed my phone.

  Me: He sent the ...

  Trace: The penis emoji, yes. I think I mentioned, it's his thing.

  Me: Charming.

  I laughed at that. I had enjoyed spending time with Trace and his friends—I loved the idea of taking the world a bit less seriously. It was the opposite of my mother's approach to life.

  Chapter 65

  Airport Arguing

  Magalie

  Monday morning came long before I was ready for it to arrive. Adam and Chloe knew not to expect me at work—they'd suggested I take Monday to get Mom settled and that we all go wine tasting around Temecula on Tuesday, starting out at Chateau Le Sec.

  As I drove down to the airport, I tried to push down the swirl of confusing feelings clouding my ability to see anything clearly. I wore Trace's ring on my finger, and it caught the sunlight as I navigated the freeway, sending cascading rainbows around the interior of the car. Though I still wasn't completely comfortable with the ring, now that I knew Trace a little better, I felt better about wearing it. It almost felt like a connection between us, a talisman to remind me of the way he made me feel—pretty, cared for, sexy.

  I parked at the airport and went inside with a mixture of anticipation and dread mingling in my stomach. I waited at the bottom of the long escalator in the lobby to greet my mother and Henri as they came off their plane. Since they'd flown direct to Los Angeles, they wouldn't have to clear customs here, and their plane was on time. Soon after the landing announcement had been made, my mother appeared at the top of the escalator, her long dark hair pulled into a low ponytail and her clothes looking more like she'd just stepped out of her apartment than off of a 14-hour flight. Henri, in contrast, looked rumpled and exhausted, his dark hair sticking up in every direction and his khaki pants wrinkled around his ankles. Henri was a nice man, a tall thin friend of the family who I’d known much of my life. I wondered what he thought would happen here now.

  They spotted me as they rode the escalator down, and they each broke into a smile. My mother came to me, arms outstretched and held me by the shoulders for a moment before kissing each of my cheeks and then pulling me into a hug. Despite everything, it was nice to see my mother again.

  "Maman, Henri," I said, and then welcomed them in French.

  "We are in the States," Maman declared. "We will speak English."

  "Magalie," Henri said, meeting my eyes. "Good to see you again." He took my hand and kissed my cheeks lightly.

  "Are you tired? How was the flight?" I asked them.

  "It was fine," Maman said. Henri gave me a weak smile, revealing the depth of his own exhaustion.

  "We'll get your luggage and I'll take you to the little house I rented for you," I told them. "It's perfect. Overlooking the valley on a little hill and close to my apartment. You will love it."

  Henri smiled gratefully, but my mother stopped walking and gripped my arm. "What? No, of course not. We will stay with you. I told you this on the phone."

  I prepared for the first fight of what would surely be many to come. "And I told you on the phone that my apartment is not big enough for all three of us."

  "We are family," she said, and the turn of her head included Henri in the statement. "We should be close."

  “The house I rented is close to my apartment.” My mother was used to getting her way, and fighting with her was exhausting. But it had to be done. "I just don’t have enough room. Arguing won't change that. The house is beautiful and you'll be more comfortable there."

  I spread my hands before me to make my point, and realized too late that my mother's eyes had fixed o
n my hand. Specifically, on my ring. She glanced at Henri, as if wondering if somehow he'd managed to send me a ring to cement our engagement, but then seemed to realize this was impossible. She stepped back, as if understanding there was something important I hadn't shared with her, and her eyes found my face.

  "What is on your hand?" She asked, her tone accusing.

  People were dodging around us as we stood in the midst of the walkway to baggage claim. I wanted to get out of the airport suddenly, to get everything out in the open, underway. And part of me wished Trace were standing next to me, sharing responsibility for the lie I had to tell. "I have things to tell you, but let's get your bags and get to the car first."

  "Non," she said stubbornly, crossing her arms.

  "Lianne, perhaps it would be best if—" Henri took my mother's arm, steering her to one side of the long hallway.

  "I want to know what is the meaning of this ring you wear," my mother said, pointing at my hand.

  I sighed. "And I will tell you everything. But not here. Please come, you must be exhausted." I knew the ring would elicit questions. I’d just hoped it might not be five minutes after their arrival.

  Henri gave me a questioning glance, but took my mother's arm again and guided her to collect the bags. Though I hadn't been excited about his presence at first, now he felt almost more like an ally in the coming battle with my mother. I wondered again exactly why he was here. He knew there was no chance with me, and I suspected he had allowed himself to be brought for some other reason. I smiled at him when he glanced at me, and felt a bit sorry for him. He’d been trapped on a plane with my mother for the better part of twenty-four hours. I was sure he was eager to get a break.

  When we were settled in the car, Henri in the back and my mother at my side, she swiveled to face me again. "Tell me now. What is this?" She pointed at my hand again.

  I guided us onto the freeway and looked over at her, sighing. “I’d hoped it would wait a bit, but I will tell you now. I met someone here. We are engaged." There. Done. That was simple.

  A sound escaped my mother, something like a strangled bark, and a hand flew to her mouth as she shut her eyes.

  "I would think you would be pleased," I said. "You wanted me to get married, you remind me constantly of my barren womb."

  Now it was Henri's turn to make a little noise of discomfort, presumably at the mention of my womb.

  "Sorry, Henri," I said, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

  He gave me a little nod, but said nothing.

  "To think that you would accept an engagement proposal without speaking to your mother," Maman said. I sensed that her offense was every bit as much a show as the engagement I was telling her about, but this was how things were with her. Dramatic. Always.

  "And this man, he is American?" She spit the words out as if they were sour.

  "Yes. His name is Trace. Trace Johnson." I felt a little smile cross my face at the mention of him.

  Henri made a surprised “ahh” from the back seat. "The footballer?" he asked.

  My smile grew broad. Part of it was surprise at his recognition, but the other part was a warm pride that Trace was well known enough for Henri to recognize his name. "Yes," I said. "He plays for the Sharks."

  "Incroyable," Henri commented. He sounded impressed, and not at all like a man whose intended had just announced an engagement. I smiled at him in the mirror.

  My mother made a little cry and rested her head in her hand, leaning against the window. "How long will this drive be? I have a headache," she said.

  It was an hour before I was settling Maman and Henri into the little house I'd rented for them in the hills overlooking the Temecula Valley. Henri had commented on various things as we passed them—he was especially impressed by the jets flying over the base at Miramar. Maman stayed quiet, and I began to wonder if maybe my plan had already worked. Maybe she would stop pressing, and we could have a nice visit.

  I carried Maman’s bags into the little house as Henri held the door for us.

  "I've done a bit of shopping," I told them, pulling open the refrigerator and showing them what I'd bought. "We can go again when you like."

  Maman stood in the center of the living room, looking around disapprovingly.

  "Merci," Henri said. "I’m very pleased to be here, and so happy for you. I think I might lie down a bit."

  "Of course," I said, surprised at his graciousness. It was clear he hadn’t come here to convince me to marry him. Relief swept through me. Now I just needed to handle my mother. "I thought maybe you could both rest this afternoon, and I'll come back and cook dinner? We can stay in tonight and just catch up, let you get adjusted to the time."

  "When do we meet your fiancé?" my mother asked suddenly, stepping into the kitchen and managing to fill the space with her tiny frame and dominating presence.

  "Tomorrow," I said. "I have invited him to join us to go wine tasting at a few of the wineries around the valley. I thought Henri would enjoy meeting Adam, the winemaker where I work. And tasting some of the local wine."

  "Yes," Henri agreed, smiling. “It is part of why I came.”

  The answer didn't seem to satisfy my mother, who pressed her lips together tightly. "Very well." I couldn’t tell if she was still hoping to change things, or if she was accepting the situation as I’d presented it to her.

  "I'm going to check in at work," I told them. "Get some rest, and I'll be back at four o'clock."

  I kissed my mother goodbye and stepped outside into the sunlight with relief. For now, it had gone as well as I could have hoped. I didn't really need to go to work, but I found I wanted to be in a place where people understood me, where I wasn't explaining myself at every turn.

  Dinner that night was more of the same—interest in everything from Trace to the local wine from Henri, and cold disapproval from my mother. She was quiet, which was unnatural, and I sensed she was simply rearranging her strategy to get what she wanted. I'd never been able to convince my mother there were worldviews other than her own, paths to success and happiness that didn’t match her map. I wished this visit could serve to move our relationship forward, but worried that it would just be something to endure.

  I said goodnight to them, wishing things could be different between us.

  Chapter 66

  The Secret Agent

  Trace

  Magalie texted me late on Monday night as I was getting ready for bed. Her mother, she said, knew about our engagement.

  That was good, I figured. I hadn’t been excited about being sprung on her suddenly. This way at least, the fierce-sounding Maman would have had some time to prepare.

  As predicted, Magalie said she was also not pleased about it.

  I wasn't especially surprised.

  Magalie went on to warn me about her mother's cold personality and to suggest that she might try to weasel information out of me and catch me in our lie.

  Trace: Is your mom some kind of secret agent?

  Magalie: If she is, she's very good. I don't know about it.

  Trace: I have watched a lot of spy movies. It'll be fine.

  Magalie: Just be careful.

  I swallowed hard, wanting to tell her that the only thing her mother would see would be the way I felt about Magalie. But I had only just begun to be honest with myself about the feelings I was beginning to have.

  Trace: If I'm honest with her about what I think of you, we should be fine.

  Magalie didn't answer for a long minute.

  Magalie: Okay. Thank you for doing this, for everything. I’m sorry again.

  It wasn't quite what I'd hoped for, but I guess maybe I hadn't actually admitted as much as it felt like I had. Magalie didn't know what I thought of her, not really. I had hardly even admitted to myself how much I liked her, how much I enjoyed her company. She had admitted more to me than I’d allowed myself to tell her. We needed more time. We needed to get through this farce, I needed playoffs to end, and then we could figure everything out.r />
  Me: I'll see you tomorrow at the winery at one.

  Magalie: Perfect. Looking forward to seeing you. Apologies in advance for my mother.

  Me: It will be fine. You'll see.

  I hoped my text seemed confident because I didn't feel confident myself. I wanted Magalie’s ruse to succeed because it felt like maybe if it did, her mother would go home and things would stay on the same path. Maybe we wouldn’t be engaged, but we could be something. If the plan blew up, I was certain things would be over.

  I plugged my phone in and went to sleep, wondering just how terrifying Magalie's mother might actually be.

  Chapter 67

  Mouse Nest and Elderberries

  Magalie

  Tuesday morning I went to pick up my mother and Henri, and found Henri waiting and ready, an apologetic smile on his face. My mother did not seem to be ready to go.

  "Where is she?" I asked him.

  Henri sighed and pointed to the back patio, where my mother sat in a lounge chair, her arms and ankles crossed in the morning sun.

  "She is appreciating the fine weather?" I asked hopefully.

  "I don't think so," Henri said, gazing out to where she was.