I pull a face. Shit! I was certain she was too drunk to be able to remember. Embodying the maturity that I’ve on occasion been known to convey, I take a deep breath and say, “Let’s not dwell on that aspect, I’d much rather you know him for who he is.”

“And who might that be?” she asks, entertained.

Where do I even begin? How can I convey the enormity of who he is and what he means to me? He is ineffable. Trying my best to be clear, I tell her, “He’s special to me, mom. He’s genuine and generous and attentive. He’s independent and a self-made man. I’ve never met anyone who is so vibrant and intensely passionate, but also so calm.”

“Calmness usually comes with age,” she says, eyeing me knowingly.

“He’s thirty-five, as of yesterday,” I tell her, wondering if her reaction will be the same as Amber’s. Sometimes they’re two peas in a pod.

Surprising me, my mom says, “Oh, that’s fine, then. What does he do for a living? Please tell me that he is an employed thirty-five year old,” she says pointedly.

“Yes,” I laugh. “You know that construction site a few blocks from your house? The one with the three huge buildings going up?”

“Yes,” she says slowly.

“Logan’s company is in charge of that site. And many others around the city,” I hasten to add. “I don’t know if you’ve ever read the banners that line the fencing—”

“Leary Constructions?” she interrupts.

I smile at her, her words taking me back to Logan’s and my first lunch date when he had heard of my mom’s work, and now here she is, recognising his. I nod. “Logan Leary,” I say smugly. “He used to be Jerry’s boss, until he fired him.”

“Ah-ha, so he’s a good judge of character, then,” she says. “And do you feel for Logan similar things that you felt for Jerry?”

“I never loved Jerry the way that I love Logan,” I blurt out, almost defensively. They are poles apart, as men and as partners, and mentioning them in the same sentence will never, ever feel right to me.

My mother looks a little disbelieving. “Love is a strong word, sweetheart,” she says cautiously.

“It’s the perfect word to describe how I feel about Logan,” I tell her sincerely. “He’s such a better man than Jerry. He’s respectful and mature and affectionate and open with me. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I do love him, mom, I promise you that.”

“Hmm…” She looks impassive more than skeptical.

“What?”

“I’ve never known you to be a drama queen or to blow things out of proportion, at least, not important things like this. You must like him,” she concludes.

I smile. Good, she believes me. This is a perfect start to our mother-daughter talk, but there’s still so much more to say. “I more than like him. I honestly, truly, completely adore him,” I impress, opening up even more, “and I really think you’re going to as well.”

“I’m intrigued, Gem,” she says, looking it.

There’s a quiet little cough behind me. It’s Evelyn, a teenage hairdressing apprentice and the youngest member of my mom’s staff. “Désolé de s’interrompre. Votre prochain client est ici.” Sorry to interrupt. Your next client is here.

My head whips around faster than any healthcare professional would recommend. Ouch! Near the front of the salon, Mary-Gene is happily chatting to Lucie. As I stand, she catches sight of me and waves.

“Hello,” I grin at her, hurrying over to her and giving her a quick hug, before the introductions begin. “Mom, this is Mary-Gene George, Logan’s mother. Mary-Gene this is Barbara-Anne Samuels.”

They begin with an awkward handshake, which eventually turns into a hug with both of them speaking over the top of one another, saying the usual, hello, how are you?

“Welcome,” my mom smiles, indicating the empty chairs at the back of the salon, which they both start walking towards. “Or welcome back.”

“I’m such a huge admirer of yours, Ms. Samuels,” Mary-Gene exclaims, showcasing her Southern manners.

I’m mid-step, about to follow them, when I change my mind. I spin and instead join Pedro, Bianco, and Lucie, deciding to let our mothers get acquainted without me babysitting them. I’m sure they’ll find lots to talk about.

“That’s his mom?” Bianco rightly assumes.

“Yes,” I nod, before a huge smile overcomes my face as I spot Logan outside the salon window, approaching the front door, and I realise that he must’ve dropped his mom off and then gone to park.

Seeing the sudden spark in me, Lucie follows my line of sight and sees Logan for the first time. “Oh mon dieu!” she cries, making me laugh. Yup, I think, that seems like a suitable reaction.

Logan looks up, his eyes finding mine, and everything outside of our bubble melts away. That’s the man I’m going to marry, I think. He smiles back at me and I don’t know why my heart is pounding so hard, but it is. I don’t know why I feel like I could burst into tears, but I do. Perhaps it’s the overwhelmingly happy memory of last night, or maybe it’s just the inexplicable everyday effect that he has on me? Yes, I think, that’s it. It’s the fact that he can make me feel loved and worthy and wanted, just by the way he looks at me. It’s not something I’ve yet grown used to, and I find myself hoping that I never do. I find myself hoping that for the rest of our life together, he’s always able to make me feel like this.

I automatically walk towards the door, my steps falling in time with his. I look him up and down appreciating every aspect of him. He’s the perfect mix of beauty and sex-appeal, wearing the sharp blue suit that I picked out for him this morning, choosing it because it matches perfectly with my own dress-and-blazer outfit. Making things match is second nature to me, an ingrained habit from my work.

With each step he takes, Logan is one step closer to meeting my mom, his future mother-in-law, for the first time and yet he doesn’t look one bit nervous. On the contrary, he looks as in command of himself as ever, his usual composure and elegance on full display. I meet him just inside of the door, knowing that we probably look like lovesick teenagers. His arms reach for me and I slide so willingly into them, my own reaching up to wrap around his neck.

“What do you think about a summer wedding?” he asks me immediately. “This summer,” he clarifies.

I reach up and smile against his lips, saying, “I’m pretty sure I’m free.”

“Good,” he laughs, before kissing me hungrily. I know from his fervour alone that he’s been thinking about me all day as much as I’ve been thinking about him.

When we break apart I change my answer to, “I’m definitely free.”

“Oh? I convinced you with that kiss?” he plays along.

“It’s not the first time, nor dare I say, the last time that such tactics have worked on me,” I let him know. “Now come,” I take his hand. “Come and meet my friends.”

I turn around and find Lucie, Bianco, and Pedro watching us like they would a soap opera, totally engrossed. Trying hard to keep myself from laughing, I lead Logan over to them and one by one I introduce them.

“It’s wonderful to put faces to the names,” Logan tells them, adding to me, “And it’s great to see what you’ve created in here, baby.” He looks around, taking in every element of the salon, which I designed. “Very purple,” he notes, making me laugh.

“As per my mom’s request,” I tell him, throwing a look up the room to our mothers, who are nattering away and seem to be unaware of Logan’s arrival. “Ready to meet her?”

He nods confidently, and excuses himself from Lucie, Pedro, and Bianco’s company. I take his hand once more and as we walk towards our moms, I throw a quick glance backwards. Pedro is fanning himself, Lucie is quietly giggling, and Bianco gives me a wink and a thumbs up. That was easy, I think happily, as Logan enquires how my day has been. Here’s hoping that Logan can charm the pants of my mom just as effortlessly, I muse. I immediately blanch at my own thought. No, Gem, not the pants off of her!