“Mom? You home?”
Using his key, Craig opened the door to the bungalow, calling down the narrow hall inside. He hadn’t really thought ahead to this part. Facing his mother.
“Craig?” Her voice floated out of the kitchen. She appeared in a rush of footsteps, flying down the little hall and hugging him tight. He enclosed her much smaller frame in his arms, closing his eyes for a moment with the relief of being home. She tucked her cheek against his chest. “When I got your call, I called in sick for work tonight. How was it? Tell me everything. How many episodes did you last?”
Craig cleared his throat. “Yeah. About that.” He extricated himself from the hug, turning his body to the side so his mom could see past him in the narrow hallway. “Mom, meet Marcy.”
His mother’s eyes grew round as saucers. “Oh.”
Marcy stepped forward, her company manners firmly in place as she extended her hand and a flawless smile. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Ms. Corrow. Craig talks about you all the time.”
“Hi.” His mom said weakly, grasping Marcy’s fingers and giving them a tentative shake.
“Surprise,” Craig said, without enthusiasm.
Marcy grimaced. “Sorry for bursting in on you like this. I’m afraid the producers like to surprise the families—trying to get natural reactions and all that.”
“Right,” his mom murmured, continuing to stare at Marcy like she was a ghost or a Jehovah’s Witness.
Behind Marcy, Linus—the segment producer for his Meet the In-Laws date—stepped into the narrow foyer. “Speaking of natural reactions, can we get everyone to hold onto what they’re feeling right now so we can start again from one? Our camera guys can’t get an angle for sh---ah, shucks—in this hallway. This time, Craig, why don’t you ring the doorbell and we’ll do the whole reunion on the front step so we can see everyone’s faces? All right?”
Craig glanced to his mom—half expecting her to balk at the fakeness of it. She was the one who’d taught him honesty was always the best policy. But her shock seemed to have evaporated as soon as Linus began to speak and now she grinned, flashing the dimples that always made her look five years younger.
“By all means,” she said, “but if we’re starting from one, I’m going to freshen up my make-up. It’s not every day a lady has to get ready for her close-up.” Her gaze flicked back to Marcy, assessing. “Though I suppose for you it is.”
Linus stepped in before Marcy could react, ushering them onto the front step, shooing his mom down the hall to primp—with a pair of the show’s stylists—and shutting the door again.
Craig shifted from foot to foot, his nerves inexplicably returning now that his mom was out of sight. It felt weird, putting his mother on national television. His job was to protect her, not expose her to America. He’d almost told the show that his mother was unavailable. He didn’t have other family, so it would have been just him and Marcy exploring San Diego. There were worse ways to spend a day. But in the end he’d realized he actually wanted his mom to meet Marcy and vice versa. A desire he didn’t want to examine too closely.
Marcy, seeming to sense his disquiet, slipped her hand into his as they waited on the front porch. “So, this is where you grew up, huh?”
“Yeah.” His shoulders stiffened, the muscles going rigid.
He’d seen her season of Marrying Mister Perfect. He knew her roots were much more solidly middle class than his. His mom had always kept a roof over their heads, but it was a two-bedroom shack with peeling paint. He braced for Marcy’s judgment.
“It’s lovely.”
His head snapped around to see if she was mocking him, but her smile was genuine as she looked around. “It’s not much,” he muttered.
“But it’s home,” she completed, as if he’d been going there all along. And from the look in her eyes, he had a feeling she meant it. She saw the care put into the gardens and the curtains his mother had made by hand because it was cheaper. She saw the way his mom had made a home, no matter how meager.
Some of the knots eased in between his shoulder blades and Craig squeezed Marcy’s hand.
The door flew open, framing his mother—now in a skirt rather than baggy yoga pants—as she beamed up at him. “Craig! What a lovely surprise!” She rushed forward to hug him, though it was brief. When she drew back, she immediately turned to Marcy with a broad grin, “And who might this be?”
He rolled his eyes. “Mom. You know who this is. You’re obsessed with the show.”
His mother flapped a hand at him. “It’s a figure of speech.”
“I’m Marcy, Ms. Corrow. Sorry for dropping in on you like this.”
“No, no, I’m delighted to have you. Come in!”
She stepped back and there was a jostling of camera crews. There was a moment, just a momentary gap, when no cameras were on Craig and Marcy. She went up on her toes, murmuring in his ear, “Your mother is a terrible actress.”
He snorted. “I know. You should have seen her community theatre production of Othello.”
“Oh no.” Marcy giggled and he caught the hand he had dropped when his mother hugged him, linking their fingers together.
Then the cameras were back on them and it was show time.
#
“So Craig tells me you didn’t want me to be Miss Right.”
Elaine Corrow turned beet red as they sat together in the eat-in kitchen, waiting for the coffee to brew. Craig had been banished outside to repair the fence while they had some girl talk and got to know one another.
“How ridiculous,” Elaine fluttered her hands. She was a small, pale woman with dark hair. Black Irish, if Marcy had to guess. Craig must have gotten his height and his darker coloring from the father he never spoke of. “Why would he say a thing like that?”
Marcy grinned. “Because it’s true? You raised one very honest son.”
Elaine sobered, something genuine—and protective—lighting in her gaze. “He’s a good boy. He has a good heart. Even if he doesn’t always show it.”
“So you knew he was coming on the show to be the villain?”
“I knew he wanted notoriety. I hoped…” She sighed. “Fine. I’ll admit, I didn’t want it to be you. Like any mother, I want my boy to find love with a good woman and I thought you were too emotionally constipated to get my hard-headed, hard-hearted son to open up.”
Marcy laughed. “He is stubborn.”
She was glad Craig had warned her that the world thought she was cold and unfeeling. If not, she might have taken offense at being called emotionally constipated by a potential in-law. Not that Craig would ever propose—even if he made it to the finale—but that was the ostensible purpose of these visits. To meet the future in-laws.
One of whom thought she was a robot, apparently.
“I know I’m not who you would have picked—”
“No, no, I’m saying this wrong,” Craig’s mother interrupted. “I thought you were too closed off and he was too blocked up, but now, when I see you together, when I see the way my Craig looks at you. I think maybe you were the right girl all along.”
Marcy’s heart stuttered for a whole new reason. If this sweet lady got her hopes dashed… “Ms. Corrow, we’re not—”
“Please, call me Elaine.” She reached out, clasping Marcy’s hand on the table.
And a wash of guilt nearly drowned her.
Craig knew it was all a game—he wouldn’t get hurt. Marcy knew what she was getting herself into—she wouldn’t get hurt. But this woman. This dear woman with so many hopes for Craig and Marcy to live happily ever after—she could get hurt.
Marcy wanted to tell her everything—that she liked Craig but knew he was a bad bet, that whatever his mom thought she saw in him was all for show, it wasn’t real—but the cameras were whirring, capturing everything, and keeping her silent.
And then there was the tempting thought—what if his mom was right? She knew him better than anyone, didn’t she? She might know even before he did that he was falling in love. Could he be? Could this be more than a ploy to gain notoriety?
Marcy’s mouth went dry. Could it be love?
And if it was… what was she supposed to do about it?
#
“I like her.”
“Yeah?” Craig sprawled on the couch watching his mother adjusting her knick-knacks in the living room. The crew had left things spotless—they were good at that—but the urge to tidy up after them was apparently too much for his mother to resist.
The visit had gone… well. Far better than he’d expected. His mom hadn’t seemed bothered by having camera crews invade her home. Unexpectedly, it had been the most natural part of the entire show—having Marcy and her media entourage in his home. He hadn’t bothered to take her to his apartment—it was a typical bachelor pad, largely undecorated and uninspiring. This was home. And it didn’t matter how many years ago he’d moved out, it always would be.
Finally satisfied that everything was back in its proper place, his mother took her place in the recliner he’d bought for her three Mother’s Days ago. “Didn’t you want me to like her?”
Craig hesitated, framing his response, before realizing he didn’t have to. The cameras were gone. For the first time in weeks he wasn’t in a Romancing Miss Right controlled environment where everything could be recorded for the entertainment of the viewing public. He was home and he could finally talk without guarding every syllable.
And he still didn’t know what to say. He settled on, “Of course I wanted you to like her. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because if I hated her you would have an excuse to turn tail and run.”
“When have I ever needed an excuse?”
His mother gave him that look. The I-raised-you-don’t-even-try-to-play-me look. “You like her. It’s obvious you do.”
“She’s very likeable.”
“Everything doesn’t have to be either or, you know. It doesn’t have to be a choice between love and success. You can have it all. And love will make the success so much sweeter.”
“I have love. I have you.”
Normally she melted when he said that, letting him get away with the deflection, but tonight her expression shuttered and sadness filled her eyes. “I hate the idea that my romantic failures have made you wary about love.”
“Mom—”
“No, let me say this. I loved your father—”
“We all make mistakes.”
“And it ended badly,” she conceded. “But love is never a mistake, Craig. I hate that I may have somehow taught you that by being afraid to love again myself.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re the best mom on the planet.” He raised the beer he’d been nursing in a toast.
“That’s sweet, but I think I let being your mom be the only focus of my life for too long.” She took a deep breath, looking him straight in the eye—like she was about to tell him there was no Santa Claus. “I think you should know I’m on eHarmony.”
Craig choked on his beer. “What?”
“I joined after you left. I’m putting myself out there again. Though, admittedly, I haven’t gone on any actual dates yet, but I’m starting slow and trying to really think about what I want and what I need.”
He tried to get a hold of his shock. His mom was still relatively young—barely fifty—but the idea of her dating just seemed so foreign. “I…”
“I can’t expect you to risk your heart if I’m not brave enough to do the same. So I’m being brave. And I hope you will too.”
“You don’t need to prove anything to me,” Craig protested. “If you’re just doing this—”
“I’m doing this because we both deserve to be happy and this is going to make me happy.” She looked at him and he saw a challenge there he’d never seen before. “What will make you happy, Craig?”
“You know what will make me happy? Buying you a big fancy house on Coronado. That will make me happy.”
But his mother didn’t smile. “You know I’ll support you whatever you choose,” she said, “but you don’t have to be a millionaire for me. I’d rather have a happy son than a big fancy house.”
“Luckily, you can have both.”
“And a half-dozen adorable grandchildren?”
He laughed. “Don’t push your luck.”
Her eyes gleamed. “Can’t blame me for trying.”