I should’ve known my mother would find a way to ruin my first dinner with Theo. I just didn’t expect her to do it by hiding in my closet.
She emerged like a detective in a bad spy movie—headlamp on, thermos in hand—and launched into an interrogation that would make the FBI proud. (“Do you have a job?” “Are you an alcoholic?”)
Theo handled it with grace, even when she made him wipe down my table as a “test.” But when she handed him her infamous RULES list (complete with a glaring typo), even he had to leave.
I thought it was over.
Then he returned—with a plan to win her over.
We took her to his lecture. (“Boring,” she whispered.) Then a boat ride. (“Predictable.”) Then, miraculously, a climbing wall. (“Fine, but if I fall, I’m haunting you!”)
By the end of the day, she was laughing. Smiling. Admitting he might be okay.
And when he proposed, she didn’t just approve—she cheered.
