The Man Who Brought His Mother to Our First Date

We matched on a Tuesday and he seemed normal. That was my first mistake -- assuming normal.

His name was Grant and his profile said he liked hiking, craft beer, and long drives with no destination. Generic, sure, but harmless. We texted for a week. He was funny in a low-key way. He suggested a little Italian place downtown, the kind with candles in old wine bottles, and I thought, okay, this man has taste.

I got there five minutes early. He was already seated. And so was the woman next to him.

"This is my mom," he said, like he was introducing a coworker. "Deborah."

Deborah waved. She had a glass of red already going.

I stood there holding my coat, doing the math, trying to figure out if I had walked into the wrong reservation. But no. Grant pulled out the chair across from both of them and patted it. I sat because I did not know what else to do with my legs.

"I hope this is okay," he said. "Mom gives really good reads on people. She can tell in twenty minutes if someone is right for me."

Twenty minutes. He had a time limit. His mother was a human polygraph and I was the suspect.

Deborah started immediately. Where was I from, what did my parents do, did I want children, how many, did I rent or own, what was my credit situation in general terms. I answered like I was at a job interview because that is exactly what it was. Grant beamed the whole time. He barely spoke. Every so often he would squeeze his mother's hand and say, "See? See what I mean?" and I had no idea what he meant because I had said maybe forty words.