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.

The food came. Deborah ordered for the table without asking. I got a seafood risotto. I am allergic to shellfish. I ate bread and smiled.

At one point Deborah excused herself to the restroom and I finally had Grant alone. I said, gently, "This is a little unusual for a first date." And Grant leaned in, deadly serious, and whispered, "She followed me here in her own car. She does not fully trust me yet. It is a whole thing."

It is a whole thing. Those were the words he chose.

When Deborah came back she announced her verdict like a game show host. "I think she is lovely, Grant, but she hesitated on the children question." I had not hesitated. I had chewed. Grant nodded gravely and wrote something in his phone. He was taking notes. There was a scoring system. I was being ranked against, presumably, other women who had also eaten bread while their throats did not close.

I made it to minute thirty-eight. I said I had an early morning, which was true in the sense that all mornings are early. Grant walked me out. Deborah watched from the window. And then he said the line I will repeat at parties until I die.

"So Mom will text you her full evaluation by Friday, and if you pass, I would love to do this again. Just the three of us."

Just the three of us. Again.

I said that sounded great. I got in my car. I blocked him from the driver's seat before I even started the engine. Deborah, if you are out there and you did send that evaluation, I never got it, and honestly, I think we both know how it would have gone.