JACK DARCY

“What the hell were you thinking setting me up on that date?”

“Jack, language. Do not swear at your mother.”

“Sorry.” I apologize, take a few breaths, and pull the dainty mug of coffee closer to me. “It was a disaster.”

“A disaster?” My mother freezes, her hand on a matching mug. “What did you say to Delilah?”

Though it’s Sunday morning before ten o’clock, my mother is up and dressed in an impeccable white dress and high heels, the paper folded before her. Allie would never wear heels before noon on a Sunday. Sundays are for lounging, she’d say.

“Delilah?” I ask, my voice rising. “Do you think this is about Delilah?”

“Jack—”

“Seriously, mother. Don’t lie to me. You can’t possibly believe that she’d be a good fit for me.”

My mother’s nails click in an annoying tap-tap-tap against the glass as she visibly debates telling me the truth. It’s all over her face, and so is the moment when she decides it’s not worth lying about. “Her family runs the club.”

“So?”

“So? Jack, they’ve been around for ages. Her family has class, they run in our same circles, they have careers that matter, and they—”

“Careers that matter?” I give a half-snort. “Delilah’s never worked a day in her life.”

“Not all women choose to work,” my mother argues. “Some prefer to...” she struggles, knowing this argument goes against everything she believes in. It’s the exact same reason she’s never considered Allie a great match for me. She doesn’t consider Allie’s profession a career, no matter how many times I’ve tried to change her mind. She’s focused on the pedigree.

“Some prefer to spend daddy’s money.” I finish her sentence and level my gaze. “Just say it, mother. You’ve never been a good liar. They’re rich, they’ve got status, and you want in on it. You’ve got the degree, the last name, and you want me to cozy up with their family for you.”

“Jack Darcy!”

“Guess what?” I wait long enough for her to respond, but she never does. “Someday, when you’re very old, when you and dad are gone, I will be left here alone with Delilah as my only family. Is that what you want?”

“How dare you speak to me like that!”

“I notice you’re not disagreeing,” I say, my words cutting. “Feel free to tell me I’m wrong.”

My mother uncrosses her legs, peers into her coffee mug, and then gives a shake of her head. “You’ve always been a stubborn boy.”

“Sorry, mom, but I’m all grown up. Then again, you might not have noticed. I’m not sure you notice much at all if you thought I’d be interested in Delilah.”

“I don’t think what I did was wrong.” My mother’s voice increases in decibel which, in and of itself, is rare. To make my mother yell means she has to care about something. And she rarely cares about anyone other than herself enough to yell. “Look at the divorce rate these days. It’s astronomical anyway. Love only gets you so much, after all. Now Delilah comes from a good family, good careers, good standing in the community. She needs a husband, and you need a wife. Am I so far off base?”

“It’s an arranged marriage.”

“I’m not sure that’s so horrible.” My mother’s voice turns gravelly. “Parents can see things their children can’t. Long term problems. Young people they...” She waves her hand around, searching for the words. “They fall in love and become infatuated and unreasonable.”

“Do you think I’m an unreasonable man?”

“Of course not, Jack—”

“I’m one of the best surgeons in the state. Do you think I can’t make my own decisions?”

“This isn’t about you.”

“Then who is this about? It’s my life.” It’s a struggle not to yell. I don’t want to raise my voice to my own mother, but I can’t help but feel a tingle in my fingers as I clench and unclench them, thinking of Mr. Motorcycle-Hair-Cooper asking out my best friend while I sit here alone, wishing it were me. “Who is this for? It’s not Delilah, she has already shown her disinterest in me.”

“Why don’t you tell me what this is about?” My mother stands, pushing her chair back with such a vengeance it scratches against the floor. Her hands clutch at the counter. “If you didn’t like Delilah, I wish you would’ve told me so we could’ve moved on. There will be others; you’ve been on failed dates before, goodness knows. You go through more shirts than you do scrubs.”

“Why did you set Allie up on the same date as me? It wasn’t her father asking you to do that, was it?” I take a step closer to the counter. “It was you trying to pair us both off, get us both married so your worst fears don’t come true.”

“And what, son, do you think my worst fear is?”

“That I fall in love with my best friend.”

To my surprise, my mother’s expression is flat as she watches me through lidded eyes. She doesn’t deny it, doesn’t even look surprised.

Finally, she purses her lips, rights the chair, and eases back into it. “I’m looking out for you. It’s for the best if you and Allie remain as you are—just friends.”

For some reason, this admission hits me like a stake through the heart. I struggle to catch my breath. “How can you possibly think that? You’ve seen us together; you must know how much I care for her.”

“Exactly, and therein lies the problem. The girl loves you, Jack. Idolizes you. She’s like...like this little puppy, drooling over your feet.” My mother makes some dismissive gesture with her hands. “We can’t have that in this family.”

“Allie...” I swallow, painfully choking down my immediate outbursts for a more civilized one. “Allie loves me?”

“Heaven knows it, Jack. Everyone knows it. I wouldn’t be surprised if her parents are harboring a bottle of champagne just waiting for the day their daughter catches a Darcy.”

“The Jenkins family isn’t like that.”

“Maybe not Franklin, he’s always been a bit...” My mother pauses, tilts her head to the side. “Off.”

“Frank’s the nicest man I know. And I’m including my father in that.”

“Your father is the most respected man in the club. He’s intelligent and charming and handsome. And—”

“And his life’s resume is exquisite,” I say, the words dripping with sarcasm. “Is that why you married him?”

My mother stops, completely frozen, at my question. I’m shocked how hard this question seems to have hit her. I’d thought it had been rhetorical, but apparently, I’d struck a chord.

“I’m telling you a story,” my mother says, her voice a deathly quiet. “And you’d do well to heed it.”

“Fine.” I lean against the counter. “I’m listening.”

“My freshmen year of college, I met a man. A boy, I suppose. Lab partner. We were in love. A whirlwind romance.”

“You had a whirlwind romance?” I pause in disbelief. Everything my mother does is calculated. Thought out. Planned. Nothing is as crazy, as desperate, as madly illogical as love. “With whom?”

“Believe it or not, I grew into this personality.” My mother offers the most fleeting of smiles. “Three years we were together. We were going to get engaged after he returned from studying abroad.”

“I’m guessing that this story isn’t about dad?”

“Your father—we met senior year while my boyfriend was away. Nothing happened, we were merely acquaintances at the club.”

“But?”

“But when my boyfriend returned, he proposed. As was planned.”

“And?”

“And I said no, obviously.”

I squint in her direction. “I thought you were in love.”

“I was! Madly. Deeply, but it didn’t make sense!” She threw her arms up in the air. “He wanted to be an artist. He’d been studying art in Florence for a semester and came back with dreams of painting for a living. Gallery showings and custom work, and...I don’t know what else.”

“I don’t understand the point to this story.”

“I ran into him at a class reunion a few years back.”

“Is he an artist?”

She shrugs. “Of sorts. A self-employed graphic designer.”

“Sounds respectable enough to me.”

“Maybe,” she says, sounding unconvinced, speaking softer. “He has a house in the suburbs and four kids. A wife. She’s quite beautiful.”

“Again, I’m not understanding your point.”

“There’s nothing extraordinary about them. He works, his wife raises their children. They go to soccer games and take their golden retriever to the vet. It’s all so very average.”

“How do you know that?”

“How do I know what?” She gives me a genuinely confused look. “He never became the artist he wanted to be. He settled for a middle-class life, and he—”

“That’s not what I asked. Is he happy?”

Once again, I’m struck by the surprise at my mother’s response. She blinks, a hitch sounding in her breath as she visibly recoils back into her seat.

I give her time, space, sipping the mug of coffee as I wait for her answer. When it doesn’t come, I prompt her with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes,” she says, her lip quivering ever-so-slightly. “Incredibly happy.”

“Well, maybe that’s all of the extraordinary he needs,” I say, setting my mug on the counter. “I want extraordinary, mother, and if it doesn’t look like your version, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Do you regret saying no?”

My mother’s hands tremble as she takes a shaky sip of coffee. “Of course not. I love your father, and because we met, we have you. I wouldn’t... couldn’t regret that.”

Without realizing it, my mother manages to partially dodge my question, a fact that doesn’t escape me. If anything, her story has backfired and given me the incentive I need to ensure Allie Jenkins doesn’t get away.

With renewed resolve, I move to the sink and set my coffee mug there. I will not be the one sitting at my kitchen counter, paying an alarming monthly sum to belong to a club, with tears in my eyes as I realize I might’ve passed up love.

“Thanks for the talk, mom.” I give her a quick kiss on the cheek as I turn to leave. “I know what I need to do.”

“Jack—”

“Allie Jenkins is anything but average, and I’m in love with her.” I step around my mother and stride toward the door. “I have to go.”

I’m halfway outside when my mother’s voice calls once more, stilling me in my tracks. Her heels click as she moves to stand in the entryway, her eyes livid, her hands shaking as she grips the doorknob. “If you propose to Allie Jenkins, we will have no choice but to cut you out of our will.”

“Sounds like you and dad have had a plan for this scenario my whole life.”

“It’s easy enough to see she’s stealing your heart.” My mother hisses. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Jack. Allie is average. You don’t deserve average, you deserve extraordinary. Your father and I agree it’s for the best. It will be us, or it will be Allie—your choice.”

My lips curl as my heart pounds. I’ve never wanted to disrespect my mother, but this is a choice that’s not hers to make. “I might not have to choose,” I tell her in a measured tone. “So long as it’s not too late.”

“Too late?”

“If I propose to Allie, and if she says yes, she will become my family.” My feet pull me away, stepping backward slow, slower, until finally, I’m next to my motorcycle. “If you want to be a part of my family, then I suggest you reconsider. I’m not the one who needs to change.”

Climbing onto the bike, I snap on my helmet and crank it into gear. My mother hates that I ride a motorcycle. I used to feel bad about making her uncomfortable, but today there’s an odd satisfaction knowing she hates I’m on this vehicle.

“Don’t drive away from me, Jack.”

I look up, pop the visor open on my helmet. “What don’t you understand, mother? Allie is my extraordinary.”