I cleaned the house.
Changed the tablecloth.
Made Alice’s favorite roast potatoes.
I even bought the expensive wine Patrick always complained was unnecessary.
What I wasn’t prepared for was the man standing beside my daughter when I opened the front door.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a dark beard, heavy boots, tattoos disappearing beneath his sleeves, and a black biker jacket.
For several seconds, I simply stared.
Then Alice smiled.
“Mom.”
She lifted her left hand.
A diamond caught the porch light.
“Dad. This is my fiancé.”
Behind me, Patrick nearly dropped his glass.
“Your what?”
Alice gave us an awkward little smile.
“Surprise?”
I stared at the ring.
Then at her.
Then at the stranger standing beside her.
“You’re engaged?”
“Yes.”
“You went to London for one summer.”
“Almost three months.”
“Exactly.”
She laughed.
“That’s not helping your argument.”
“Three months is barely enough time to learn where somebody keeps his toothpaste.”
The man beside her smiled.
Not arrogantly.
If anything, he looked as though he understood exactly why I was reacting this way.
Alice touched his arm.
“Mom, this is Aaron.”
He held out his hand.
“It’s really nice to meet you.”
His voice was surprisingly soft.
That threw me more than the tattoos.
I shook his hand.
“I’m Jess. The speechless woman behind me is apparently your future mother-in-law.”
Alice groaned.
“Mom.”
“And this is Patrick.”
Aaron shook my husband’s hand.
Patrick managed a polite smile.
I hugged Alice because I’d missed her too much to stay angry.
Then I looked at Aaron again.
“Come inside before the neighbors decide I’ve joined a motorcycle gang.”
“Mom!”
Aaron laughed.
And somehow that helped.
For the next half hour, he quietly dismantled almost every assumption I’d made about him on the porch.
He carried dishes without being asked.
He complimented the food without overdoing it.
When Patrick started explaining the dining-room shelves he’d built himself, Aaron actually listened.
Not the polite nodding people do while waiting for their turn to speak.
He asked questions.
When I brought out the salad, he pointed toward the basil.
“Alice told me you grow your own herbs.”
I looked at my daughter.
“You talk about my basil?”
“Apparently I talk about everything.”
Aaron smiled at her.
“You do.”
Alice kicked him beneath the table.
