My 72-Year-Old Mom’s Younger Boyfriend Always Left Family Dinner Before Dessert – One Night, My Daughter Followed Him and Came Back with the Truth

***

“So, what time is he coming?” I asked.

“Five. And he’ll need to leave by 7:30 p.m. again, so let’s eat by six.”

I paused halfway to the stairs.

“Seven-thirty again?”

“Avery.”

“You said it with your face.”

***

Downstairs, Chloe was setting the table with the good plates, the ones Mom only pulled out for company. My daughter had her grandmother’s cheekbones and her father’s stubborn chin, and lately, she’d been watching Richard like a cat watches a screen door.

“Cinderella’s coming to dinner,” Chloe announced, folding a napkin into something vaguely swan-shaped.

“Be nice.”

“I’m being nice. I’m just saying. The man runs on a Cinderella schedule.”

“Chloe.”

“What?! He does! Every Sunday, boom, 7:30 p.m., out the door like the pumpkin’s about to blow.” She held up the crooked napkin swan and squinted at it. “I’m only half joking, by the way.”

I opened my mouth to defend him, then closed it because she wasn’t wrong.

Six months of Sunday dinners, and the man had never once stayed past 7:30 p.m. He was always polite about it. Always had a reason. But the reasons kept shuffling, like someone dealing a new hand every week.

“Set out the water glasses,” I said instead.

“Deflection…”

I gave my daughter a look.

Mom came down the stairs then, and Chloe whistled low. Mom swatted at her, blushed like a schoolgirl, and asked if her lipstick was too much. It wasn’t. It was perfect.

She looked 10 years younger than she had at Christmas!

***

Richard arrived exactly at 5 p.m., holding a bouquet of daisies and a bottle of the sparkling grape juice Chloe liked because she was too young for wine. That charming man shook my hand, kissed my mother’s cheek, and asked my daughter about her history project.

He was, on paper, wonderful.

But at 7:29 p.m., he’d be gone.