“Meeting Shan’s mother feels more like a job interview with a boss who already hates you”

MY hair is not hair-ing. I am ready to give up. I am ready to grab a hat, stuff it on, and call it a day.

Take deep breaths. In and then out. Okay.

I look in the mirror again. Maybe a French braid? Bold choice but sometimes it’s the only solution.

I twist the hair deftly, pull out a few baby hairs in the front, and peer into the mirror.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

Not, of course, that Shan’s mother actually cares what my hair looks like. But still. Gotta make a good first impression and all that. Libby’s driving me to meet them at the bagel place.

I’m actually nervous.

“First date?” Libby jokes, watching me slide into the car, pull down the visor mirror, and examine my reflection anxiously.

“You would know,” I retort. “And no, meeting Shan’s mother feels more like a job interview with a boss who already hates you.”

Libby looks at me sideways. “She does not hate you.”

I lean back and close my eyes. “Oh? I’m pretty sure half the reason her daughter moved a million miles away from her was to be near me. Even if it’s not true, she probably thinks I encouraged Shan to defy her.”

Libby swings into the parking lot and looks at me in the suddenly silent car. “Then show her she’s wrong.”