Another dinner means another set up. My mother is relentless. Of course, I appreciate her efforts. Okay, that’s not true. I don’t appreciate them, I tolerate them. My mother decided four years ago I was wasting time when I should be courting the woman who would call her “mom” and give her grandchildren. I have explained that courting is now referred to as dating, which I do, and there’s no timetable for having children. Hugh Hefner anyone? My mom was less than thrilled with that comparison.
She also does not appreciate when I point out she already has four grandchildren, thanks to my sister and brother. Well, she’ll have six when my brother remarries next year. Wyatt married young, had two kids, and was divorced by the time he was twenty-five. He knew, as we all did, he shouldn’t have married Michelle. It’s not that Michelle is a bad person, in fact, she’s a really good person and a wonderful mother. They realized after a few years of marriage, the highs of a twenty-something love didn’t have the longevity needed to sustain their relationship and parted amicably as friends. Michelle remarried a few years ago, and Wyatt met Raquel later that same year.
So, while my mother is determined to marry me, the baby of the family, off, she’s not without the large family and loving grandchildren she’s always hoped for.
“Landon, you could have worn a tie for dinner.” Ah, the tie talk. This means, my mother believes the girl she’s attempting to fix me up with is “the one.” At least every three months or so I receive this lecture. I’m perfectly happy in my shorts and collared shirt and, if by some odd occurrence, my mother was to find my soul mate, she’ll like me just the way I am.
“I could have but I’ll be in suits and ties next weekend. I wanted a break. My neck needed a break,” I tease my mom. She swats me with a towel while smiling.
“Ah, yes. The wedding. How is that going? Your gift?”
“The gift is about done. As for the wedding, all is well as far as I know. I think we’re all just taking our orders in stride and know our primary goal is to show up, be dressed appropriately, and on time. Oh, and to not forget the groom. We can handle that.”
I watch as my mom moves around the kitchen. Her movements are seamless. Grabbing a dishtowel, I watch as she wipes up a small spill before tossing the towel over her shoulder, all while chattering on about Mary or Jane, or whoever the poor girl is she’s promised I’m thrilled to see tonight at dinner. My mom pauses long enough to remove one of her famous apple pies from the oven. The moment she sets the dish on a rack to cool, my dad walks into the room. He rolls his eyes at my mom and then smiles at me. Motioning toward the back door with his chin I nod and kiss my mom on the cheek before walking to the door.
“Oh, yeah. Run away. I swear you men are a pain in my ass. Go do whatever it is you do and I’ll call you when Daria arrives.”
“Daria?”
“Yes, the nice girl from church I invited. She’s a little quiet but sweet. I’ve just spent the last five minutes talking about her. Seriously, Landon, it’s no wonder you’re still single. Selective hearing. Oh,” she says, clapping her hands, “maybe she can be your plus one for the wedding.”
I don’t bother responding to my mom and lead my dad out of the house. We walk in silence toward my old workshop on their property. I bought a house last month and moved my shop into my garage. It’s not the same as the space I’ve called my own since I was a kid, but it’s more mine than this ever was. Regardless, nostalgia hits me in the gut the moment we pull open the door. Memories of all the pieces I’ve completed here roll like a movie in my head.
“Don’t worry,” my dad begins, “we aren’t planning anything with your shop. I’ll admit, I’m a bit sad to see it go.”
“It’s not gone, it’s relocated. I had to move it eventually.”
Dad sighs and pulls a beer from the mini fridge I kept in the corner next to a couch I’ve spent more nights on than I’d care to admit. That couch is uncomfortable and in the dead of winter as freezing as cold as it is hot in the summer. Damn fake leather.
“I know, son. I just miss having you around here all the time. Plus, it was kind of nice being in on the projects you were working on when nobody else was.”
“You’re welcome to come to my house anytime, Pop.” I toast my dad before taking a swig from beer. We stand in silence for a few minutes before he clears his throat.
“So, this matchmaking your mother is hell-bent on. What are you thinking about that?”
“I’m thinking she’s wasting her time. I’m not interested in a relationship right now. I just bought my house. I have commitments on art pieces and that big furniture project Mrs. Teller hired me for. My free time is limited.”
“You should consider getting some help. Maybe find a kid you can mentor or something,” Dad suggests.
“That’s a good idea.”
“Don’t sound so surprised. I have them from time to time,” Dad teases.
Over the next twenty minutes we talk about the projects I’m working on, including Ben and Piper’s wedding gift. When I started working with wood, it was because I was determined to master what I couldn’t finish in woodshop class. I’ll never forget the look on my mom’s face when she opened the wooden jewelry box I’d crafted for her. After she took it with her everywhere to brag about how talented I was, the requests from aunts and the ladies at church started. It wasn’t until I found an old piece of barn wood and started messing with it that my love of creating original artwork surfaced. Most people saw the wood as trash but I saw it as, well . . . treasure. In each grain is a story. History. I love taking that and reclaiming it into something beautiful. At least what I feel is beautiful.
I am also very secretive about my projects. My mom says I have an artist’s heart because I rarely share my work in progress with anyone and some have taken me up to a year to complete. I work at my pace and with what I feel. I never have a plan, but I try to give the client, or recipient, a piece that reflects them in some way.
The piece I started for Ben and Piper has taken me most of this year to complete. It’s been sort of like their relationship. Like them keeping their feelings a secret for months, I kept the project a secret. The only reason Owen knew about it was because I needed help moving it one day, and I threatened to never let him have one of my mom’s pies again if he told. When they chose their wedding date, I let the cat out of the bag so to speak. I knew Piper was determined to have the wedding at their house, come hell or high water, and the first thing that had to happen was finishing their fixer upper. I wanted to make sure she left space for my gift. So, I only gave her dimensions. She’s had a blank wall in their house ever since.
“Well, son, it’s about time we face the music. I hear the gravel and that means your one true love has arrived.”
I snort in response. Love is the furthest thing on my mind. Hell, a relationship of any kind is. My first priority is getting through this wedding and then it’s getting a handle on maintaining a house and my side business. Looks like I will be hiring a helper sooner than later if I have any hope of doing all of this and not losing my sanity.