“You can’t work forever,” my mother says at least once a week. “You need someone. A partner. A family.
”
“I have a family, Mom. You, Dad, Megan, Nana. ”
“You know what I mean. ”
She means a wife.
Kids. The whole package. I’m thirty, I’m a trauma surgeon, and I work sixty-hour weeks. I’m focused.
Mostly happy. Sure, sometimes I’m lonely, but that’s normal. So when she invited me to Thanksgiving this year, I said yes. “Just family,” she told me.
“Small and cozy. ”
That should have been my first clue. My mother doesn’t do small and cozy. She does big, dramatic, and orchestrated.
I pulled into my parents’ driveway at 2 p. m. There were way too many cars. “Small and cozy,” I muttered.
“Right. ”
The house smelled like turkey and pie. But there were voices. A lot of voices.
I walked into the living room and froze. At least twenty people were there. My family, yes. But also strangers.
“Jordan! ” Mom appeared, beaming. Suspiciously beaming. “You said this was small.
”
“This is small. It’s just two families. ”
“Two families? ”
“The Johnsons.
You remember Liliana, from my Pilates class? She’s here with her whole family. Isn’t that wonderful? ”
She was lying.
Her voice goes up half an octave when she lies. “Mom, come meet everyone. Liliana, this is my son, Jordan. ”
A woman in her fifties appeared, warm smile, wearing an apron.
“Jordan, it’s so nice to finally meet you. Josie talks about you constantly. ”
“Does she? ”
I shot Mom a look.
She ignored it. “And this,” Liliana gestured behind her, “is my daughter, Harper. ”
A woman stepped forward. Late twenties, dark hair pulled back, jeans and a sweater.
Pretty. Really pretty. She looked at me. I looked at her.
And we both realized at the exact same moment what was happening. We’d been set up. Harper’s eyes widened just slightly. I knew she saw the same realization in mine.
“Hi,” she said, voice tight. Polite. Mortified. “Hi,” I managed.
“Harper’s a veterinarian,” Liliana announced like we were on a game show. “She has her own practice in Brooklyn. ”
“That’s great. ”
“And Jordan’s a surgeon,” Mom jumped in.
“One of the youngest on staff. ”
Oh my god. They were doing bios. They were actually doing bios.
“Why don’t you two sit together? ” Liliana suggested. Not suggested. Directed.
“Actually—” Harper started. “Great idea! ” Mom grabbed my arm and steered me toward the dining room. I caught Harper’s eye.
She looked panicked. I mouthed, “I’m sorry. ”
She mouthed back, “Me too. ”
The dining room table was massive, set for twenty.
And guess where our seats were? Right next to each other. In the middle. Where everyone could see us.
I sat down. Harper sat next to me, stiff and uncomfortable. “So,” I said quietly, “you didn’t know about this either? ”
“Not a clue.
” She stared at her plate. “My mom said it was just Thanksgiving with her friend from Pilates. Didn’t mention the friend had a single son. ”
“My mom said small and cozy.
This is neither. ”
“Nope. ”
Silence. Awkward, heavy silence.
Across the table, my sister Megan grinned at me. She’s six months pregnant and loving every second of my discomfort. I glared at her. She blew me a kiss.
“So,” Harper tried again. “Surgeon. ”
“Yeah. Trauma.
You’re a veterinarian. ”
“Small animals mostly. Dogs, cats, the occasional rabbit. ”
“That’s cool.
”
“Thanks. ”
More silence. This was excruciating. Mom stood, tapping her wine glass.
“Before we eat, I just want to say how grateful I am for family, for friends, and for new beginnings. ”
She looked directly at Harper and me. I wanted to die. “Josie and I have been friends for five years,” Liliana added.
“And we’ve been talking about this for so long. Jordan and Harper are perfect for each other. Both in medicine. Well, sort of.
Both workaholics. Both single. ”
“Mom. ” Harper’s voice was sharp.
Warning. “What? It’s true. ”
“Can we just eat?
” I asked desperately. “Of course,” Mom beamed. “But first, let’s go around the table and say what we’re grateful for. ”
Dad went first.
Then Megan. Then her husband Brad. Standard stuff. Family, health, the baby.
Then it got to Harper’s brother, Louis. “I’m grateful my sister is finally dating someone. ”
“We’re not dating,” Harper said through gritted teeth. “Yet,” Liliana chirped.
I’m going to walk into traffic. It got to me. Everyone was watching. Waiting.
“I’m grateful for—” I paused. Looked at Harper. She looked miserable. “For my job, for my family, and for patience.
Which I’m going to need a lot of today. ”
A few people laughed nervously. Harper went next. “I’m grateful for my practice, for my animals, and for the ability to remain calm under pressure.
”
She glanced at me. I almost smiled. Around the table, the gratitudes continued, but I stopped listening because Harper leaned over and whispered, “How do we survive this? ”
“I don’t know.
Fake a medical emergency. You’re a doctor. ”
“You’re a vet. We could say one of your animals is sick.
”
“Emergencies don’t have schedules. ”
“We could just endure,” she suggested. “For however long dinner takes, then we politely excuse ourselves. Never speak again.
Pretend this never happened. ”
“That’s a good plan. ”
“Thank you. You’re a good strategist.
”
“Veterinary school. You learn to think on your feet when a cat is trying to murder you. ”
I laughed quietly. Mom saw it.
Her face lit up like Christmas. Dinner started. Turkey got carved. Plates got passed.
I was sitting between Harper and my aunt Denise, who immediately leaned over. “She’s pretty,” Denise whispered. Not quietly enough. “Aunt Denise.
”
“I’m just saying. Your mom has good taste. ”
“Please stop. ”
“When I was your age, my mother tried to set me up with the mailman.
”
“The mailman? At least your mom aimed higher. ”
“That’s not helping. ”
Harper was trying not to laugh.
I could tell. Her shoulders were shaking slightly. From her other side, her dad, Mark, asked, “So, Jordan, how long have you been a surgeon? ”
“Four years.
”
“That’s impressive. Steady work. Good income. ”
Oh my god.
He was vetting me like I was interviewing for the position of son-in-law. “Dad,” Harper said, warning tone. “I’m just making conversation. ”
“You’re interrogating him.
”
“I’m not. You asked about his income. ”
Harper looked at me and mouthed, “I’m sorry. ”
I mouthed back, “It’s fine.
”
It wasn’t fine. None of this was fine. But it was also kind of funny. Objectively, from outside, this was ridiculous.
Two grown adults forced to sit together while twenty relatives watched and commented like we were a nature documentary. Harper reached for the mashed potatoes at the same time as me. Our hands touched. “Sorry,” we both said at once.
She pulled back. I pulled back. Then we both reached again at the same time. “You go,” I said.
“No, you go. ”
“Ladies first. ”
“Chivalry isn’t dead,” Aunt Denise commented loudly. Harper closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“We’re going to be fine,” I said quietly. She looked at me. “How are you so calm? ”
“I’m not.
I’m internally screaming. ”
“Me too. ”
“But externally we can pretend. Fake it till we make it.
”
“Exactly. ”
She smiled. Small but real. I realized she had a nice smile.
Not that it mattered, because we were never seeing each other again after this. Halfway through dinner, Megan decided to help. “So, Harper, do you want kids? ”
I choked on my water.
Harper’s eyes went wide. “I—what? ”
“Kids. Do you want them?
”
“Megan,” Mom hissed. “Not appropriate. ”
“Why not? She’s almost thirty.
Jordan’s thirty. It’s a valid question. ”
“I’m twenty-nine,” Harper corrected, voice tight. “Same thing.
”
Harper set down her fork very carefully. “I love kids. I also love my career. I haven’t decided yet if I want both, or when, or with whom.
” She looked directly at Megan. “Does that answer your question? ”
“I was just asking. ”
“And I was just answering.
”
Silence. Then Nana Rose, my eighty-two-year-old grandmother, laughed. Actually laughed. “I like her,” Nana said, pointing at Harper with her fork.
“She’s got spine. ”
Harper looked surprised. Then pleased. “Thank you.
”
“You’re welcome. These two,” Nana gestured at Mom and Liliana, “are meddlers. But they mean well. Mostly.
”
“Mom,” my mom protested. “It’s true, Josie. You orchestrated this whole thing like a military operation. ”
“I’m just trying to help.
”
“Help or meddle. Tomato, tomahto. ”
I caught Harper’s eye. She was trying not to smile.
I was trying not to smile. We both failed. And suddenly this whole thing was less mortifying and more absurd. Funny.
The kind of story you tell later. If there was a later. Which there wouldn’t be. After dinner, Mom insisted on dessert.
Three pies. Apple, pumpkin, pecan. “Harper, do you like pie? ” my mom asked.
“I—yes. ”
“Jordan loves pie. Don’t you, Jordan? Remember when you were little, you’d eat a whole pie by yourself if I let you?
”
“I was eight. ”
“Still counts. ”
Harper was trying so hard not to laugh. Her hand covered her mouth, shoulders shaking.
I leaned over and whispered, “You okay? ”
“I’m dying,” she whispered back. But in a funny way. “Same.
This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me. ”
“Same. But also kind of entertaining. ”
“Same.
”
She looked at me. “You keep saying ‘same. ’ You’re very agreeable for someone who’s internally screaming. ”
“It’s a coping mechanism.
”
“Does it work? ”
“Not really. ”
“Then why do it? ”
“Because the alternative is actually screaming, and that would be awkward.
”
She laughed. Actually laughed out loud. Everyone heard. Mom’s face lit up like she’d won the lottery.
“They’re getting along,” Mom whispered to Liliana. Not quietly. “I knew it,” Liliana whispered back. Also not quietly.
Harper’s smile disappeared. “Oh no. ”
“What? ”
“They think it’s working.
”
“Is it? ”
“Is what working? ”
She stared at me. “I—what do I mean?
”
“I don’t know what you mean. ”
“You’re easy to talk to. This is less terrible than I thought. ”
“That’s the lowest bar I’ve ever heard.
”
“But you cleared it. Barely. ”
She was smiling again. Trying not to, but smiling.
I realized I liked making her smile. Which was dangerous. Because we were never seeing each other again. Right after dessert, people started lingering.
Talking. Kids ran around. Adults drank coffee. I helped clean up.
Harper did, too. We were loading the dishwasher when I said, “You don’t have to help. ”
“Force of habit. My mom always made us clean up.
”
“Same. ”
“There you go again. ”
“What? ”
“‘Same.
’ You keep saying it. ”
“Sorry. I’ll diversify my vocabulary. ”
“Please do.
”
We worked in silence for a minute. It was comfortable. Which was weird. “So,” I said, “how mad are you at your mom?
On a scale of one to ten? ”
“Forty. ”
“Same. ” I caught myself.
“I mean—me too. ”
She grinned. “You were about to say ‘same’ again. ”
“No, I wasn’t.
”
“You were. ”
“Fine. I was. ”
“Are you always this agreeable?
”
“Only when I’m internally screaming. ”
“Then why do it? ”
“Because the alternative is actually screaming, and that would be awkward. ”
She laughed again.
I was getting good at making her laugh. “You know what’s weird? ” she said. “Besides everything about today.
This isn’t terrible. Talking to me. ”
“Yeah, I thought it would be awful. Forced conversation.
Awkward silences. But it’s—” she paused, searching for the word. “Nice. ”
“Nice.
”
“Don’t sound so offended. ”
“I’m not. Just, ‘nice’ is a weird word. ”
“What would you prefer?
Tolerable? Bearable? Not the worst thing ever? ”
“You’re really good at compliments.
”
“Thank you. It’s a gift. ”
She was smiling. Full smile now.
Not hiding it. And I thought I’d like to see that smile again. Which was a problem. Because we were never—
“Jordan.
” Mom appeared. Liliana right behind her. Ambush formation. “Yeah?
”
“Would you mind giving Harper a tour of the house? She’s never been here. ”
“Mom, she doesn’t want—”
“She’d love to,” Liliana interrupted. “Wouldn’t you, honey?
”
Harper looked trapped. “I—sure. ”
“Great! ” Mom clapped.
“Jordan, show her your old room. You still have your baseball trophies up there. ”
“Mom. ”
“And your graduation photos.
”
“We’re going. We’re going. ”
I grabbed Harper’s arm and steered her toward the stairs. Behind us, I heard giggling.
Actual giggling from our mothers. “They’re not subtle,” Harper muttered. “Not even a little. ”
“Do you actually have baseball trophies?
”
“Maybe. ”
“Oh my god. ”
My childhood bedroom was exactly as I’d left it ten years ago. Posters on the wall.
Books on the shelf. And yes, baseball trophies. Harper walked in and looked around. “This is very teenage boy.
”
“I know. ”
“Is that a Red Sox poster? ”
“Yes. ”
“You’re brave.
Admitting that in public. ”
“Why? ”
“Because Yankees fans will murder you. ”
“Are you a Yankees fan?
”
“No. But I know people. ”
I laughed. “Are you threatening me?
”
“Maybe. ”
She was looking at my bookshelf, running her finger along the spines. “You have a lot of medical books. ”
“I was dedicated.
”
“Nerd,” said the woman who became a veterinarian. “That’s different. Animals are cute. Humans are not.
”
“You don’t find humans cute? ”
“Present company excluded. ”
She said it casually. Then froze.
Realized what she said. “I mean—not that you’re cute. I mean, you’re fine. You’re objectively fine, but I’m not—I didn’t mean—”
“Harper.
”
“What? ”
“You’re spiraling. ”
“I know. ”
“It’s fine.
”
“Is it? ”
“Yeah. You think I’m objectively fine? I can live with that.
”
“That’s not what I meant. ”
“What did you mean? ”
She looked at me. “I don’t know.
”
We were standing close. Closer than necessary. In my childhood bedroom. While our families were downstairs probably planning our wedding.
“This is insane,” she said. “We should go back down. ”
“Probably. ”
Neither of us moved.
“Jordan. ”
“Yeah. ”
“This is weird, right? This whole day.
”
“Extremely weird. ”
“Would you—” She stopped. Shook her head. “Never mind.
”
“What? ”
“Nothing. It’s stupid. ”
“Tell me.
”
“Would you want to actually get coffee sometime? Like, not orchestrated by our mothers. Just us. ”
My heart did something weird.
A skip. A flip. Something. “Yeah,” I heard myself say.
“I would. ”
“Really? ”
“Really. ”
She smiled.
That smile. The one I wanted to see again and again. “Okay. Good.
”
“Good. ”
We stood there smiling at each other like idiots. Then, downstairs, someone called that dessert was being served. The moment broke.
“We should go,” Harper said. “Yeah. ”
Neither of us moved. “Harper.
”
“Yeah? ”
“One more thing. ”
“What? ”
I leaned in just slightly.
“Want to mess with them? ”
Her eyes lit up. “How? ”
“Pretend this was a disaster.
That we can’t stand each other. Make them think their plan totally failed. ”
She grinned. Slow.
Mischievous. “You’re evil. ”
“Is that a yes? ”
“That’s a heck yes.
”
We went back downstairs. Game faces on. The families were in the living room. Coffee, dessert, talking.
They all looked up when we appeared. Expectant faces. Hopeful smiles. “So,” Mom asked, eager.
“How was the tour? ”
I looked at Harper. She nodded barely. Time to put on a show.
“It was—uh—fine,” I said, voice tight. Clipped. Harper crossed her arms. “If you consider being lectured about baseball statistics fine.
”
The room went quiet. “Lectured? ” I turned to her. “I was making conversation for twenty minutes about a sport I don’t care about.
”
“You asked about the trophies. ”
“I was being polite. ”
Mom’s smile was frozen on her face. “And you,” Harper continued, voice rising slightly, “wouldn’t stop talking about surgery.
Do you know how many times you said ‘fascinating incision techniques’? ”
“That is fascinating. ”
“To you. Well, excuse me for being passionate about my career.
”
“I’m passionate about my career too. But I didn’t bore you with stories about neutering cats for thirty minutes. ”
“That was five minutes. ”
“It felt like thirty.
”
The entire room was silent. Staring. Liliana’s hand was over her mouth. Mom looked like she might faint.
I could see Harper fighting not to smile. Her jaw was clenched. Eyes slightly too wide. I took a breath.
“You know what? This was a mistake. ”
“Finally, something we agree on,” Harper snapped. “You’re too—” I gestured vaguely, frustrated.
“Controlling. ”
“Controlling? ” Her voice went up. “You literally tried to organize my life story chronologically.
”
“That’s called conversation flow. ”
“That’s called boring. ”
Aunt Denise actually gasped. Megan’s mouth was hanging open.
Harper turned to her mom. “I’m leaving. Thank you for dinner. But this—” she gestured between me and her, “—is never happening.
”
“Agreed,” I added, looking at Mom. “Well-intentioned but a disaster. ”
“But you were laughing,” Mom protested weakly. “We heard laughing.
”
“That was nervous laughter,” Harper explained. “The kind you do when you’re trapped in an uncomfortable situation with someone completely incompatible. ”
“Completely incompatible,” I echoed. “Different values.
Different interests. Different everything. ”
“He thinks Die Hard is a Christmas movie,” Harper announced like it was a crime. “It is a Christmas movie.
”
“It’s an action movie that takes place at Christmas. ”
“Same thing. ”
“Not the same thing. ”
We were practically shouting now.
Nana Rose was watching with fascination, like we were a TV show. Everyone else looked horrified. Harper threw her hands up. “I can’t do this.
I’m sorry, Mom. I know you meant well. But Dr. Blake and I—” she said my name with exaggerated formality, “—are not compatible at all in any way.
”
“Dr. Johnson,” I replied, same tone, “is absolutely correct. We have nothing in common. This was doomed from the start.
”
“You’re stubborn. ”
“You’re stubborn. ”
“You interrupt. ”
“You talk too much.
”
“Excuse me. ”
Mom stood up. “Okay. Okay.
Let’s just calm down. ”
“I am calm,” Harper and I said at the same time. Then we glared at each other. Harper grabbed her coat.
“I’m leaving. Thank you for having me. The food was delicious. ”
She stormed toward the door.
I followed, because I was parked behind her. The families watched in stunned silence. As soon as the door closed behind us, we made it ten steps down the driveway. Then Harper broke.
She was shaking. Shoulders convulsing. For a second, I thought she was crying. Then I realized she was laughing.
Silently. Violently. “Oh my god,” she gasped. “Did you see their faces?
”
I was trying not to laugh. Failing. “Your mom looked like she’d witnessed a murder. ”
“Your mom looked worse.
”
We were both doubled over now. In the driveway. Laughing so hard we could barely breathe. “Die Hard,” I managed.
“That’s what you went with. ”
“It was the first thing I thought of. ”
“It is a Christmas movie, for the record. ”
“We are not having this argument for real.
”
“Because you know I’m right. ”
“Because I’m about to actually strangle you. ”
We were at her car now. Both trying to compose ourselves.
“That was—” Harper trailed off. “Mean. So mean. ”
“They looked devastated.
”
“Your aunt gasped. Audibly gasped. ”
“Megan’s going to have questions. ”
“Your nana looked entertained, though.
”
“She loves chaos. ”
Harper leaned against her car, still grinning. “We’re terrible people. ”
“The worst.
”
“They were trying to help. ”
“By ambushing us. ”
“Fair point. ”
She looked up at me.
“So. Coffee. ”
“Coffee. ”
“Tuesday?
”
“I work until six. ”
“Seven. ”
“Perfect. ”
We exchanged numbers.
She got in her car, rolled down the window. “Jordan. ”
“Yeah. ”
“For the record, Die Hard is a Christmas movie.
”
“I knew you agreed with me. But I’ll never admit it in public. ”
“Why not? ”
“Because watching you get worked up is too entertaining.
”
She drove away, leaving me standing in the driveway, grinning like an idiot. From the window, I could see multiple faces watching. Looking devastated. I composed my face, walked back inside.
“Well,” I announced to the room, “that was a disaster. Sorry, Mom. Nice try, though. ”
And I headed upstairs to my old room, leaving them to process what just happened.
Two months later, I was at my parents’ house again. Sunday dinner. Just family. Or so they thought.
I rang the doorbell instead of using my key, because I was bringing someone. Mom opened the door. “Jordan, you didn’t have to—”
She stopped. Because Harper was standing next to me, holding my hand.
“Hi, Mrs. Blake,” Harper said, smiling. Mom’s mouth fell open. “Surprise,” I said.
“You—what? How? ”
Dad appeared behind her. Saw us.
“Josie, who’s at the—” He stopped. “Oh. Jordan. ”
Mom’s voice was shaking.
“What is this? ”
“This is Harper. My girlfriend. ”
“Your girlfriend?
”
“We’ve been dating for two months. ”
“Two months? ”
Harper squeezed my hand. “Well, a month and a half.
We thought it was time to tell you. ”
“But—but at Thanksgiving, you said—”
“We lied,” I explained. “We hit it off immediately. But we wanted to mess with you for ambushing us.
”
Mom stared. Then she grabbed her phone. “Liliana. Get over here.
Now. ”
Ten minutes later, both families were crammed in my parents’ living room. “You lied to us,” Liliana demanded. “You ambushed us first,” Harper pointed out.
“We were trying to help. ”
“By embarrassing us in front of twenty people? ”
“We thought—” I said, smiling. “But also, you thought right.
”
“What? ”
“We do like each other a lot. But we wanted to do it our way. Not yours.
”
Liliana looked between us. “So you’ve been secretly dating for two months? ”
“Yes,” Harper confirmed. “While letting us think it failed?
”
“Yes. ”
“And you’re just now telling us? ”
“Yes. ”
There was a long silence.
Then Nana Rose started laughing. That full-bodied laugh of someone who genuinely found something hilarious. “Oh, I love this,” she wheezed. “You kids are devious.
”
“Mom,” my mom protested. “Josie, they played you fair and square. Accept defeat gracefully. ”
Mom looked at Liliana.
Liliana looked at Mom. Then they both started laughing. “We did ambush them,” Liliana admitted. “Pretty spectacularly,” Mom agreed.
“And they got us back. They really did. ”
They looked at us, both laughing now. Megan grinned.
“That’s brilliant. Can I use this strategy when Mom tries to set me up next? ”
“You’re married. ”
“She’ll try anyway.
”
Everyone laughed. And just like that, the tension broke. We ended up staying for dinner. Both families again.
But this time, Harper and I sat together because we wanted to. Not because we were forced. And when Mom made a comment about wedding plans, Harper and I just smiled. Because we both knew we’d get there our way.
On our timeline. Not theirs. But maybe, just maybe, they did something right.
Even if they did it in the most embarrassing way possible.
