The Kitchen Test
Patricia poured me a glass of wine without asking what I wanted. I appreciated that.
“So,” she said, “Grayson’s quite special.”
“He is.”
“Sloane’s been through a lot. We both have. I won’t pretend I don’t have concerns about any man she brings home.”
I nodded. Didn’t fill the silence.
“You raised him alone?” she asked.
“After his mother passed, yes. Twelve years old. It was just us for a long time.”
She was quiet for a moment. “That’s hard.”
“It was. But he made it easier than he had any right to.”
She studied me. “You don’t seem like the type to push a kid toward Yale if you can’t afford it. Most parents I know would’ve steered him toward a state school. Nothing wrong with that – but it would’ve been the practical choice.”
I was quiet. This was the moment where I could lie more convincingly, or I could tell her something true.
“I wanted him to have choices,” I said finally. “I worked extra hours. Did some freelance work on the side. We made it happen.”
It wasn’t a lie. Just not the whole truth.
She turned to the sink and started washing vegetables. “He’s a good kid. I’ve never seen Sloane this happy. But I also know that happiness and compatibility are different things. I’ve learned that the hard way.”
“What are you trying to figure out?” I asked.
She didn’t turn around. “Whether he’ll stick around when life gets hard. Whether he’s the kind of man who runs when things aren’t perfect anymore. Whether he actually loves my daughter or loves the idea of her.”
“And you think you can figure that out in one afternoon?”
“No,” she said. “But I can figure out what his father is made of. And that tells me a lot.”
