Scott?” Shea asks in the cab on the way to my mother’s house.“Uhhh… Margie, I think,” I tell her, realizing I’m probably even more nervous than she is.“Shit, you don’t know?”“You’re the first girl she’s met since my sixteen-year-old girlfriend. She called her Mrs. Scott. I think we’re beyond that now, though. Call her Margie. I’ll introduce her as Margie.”“Your hands are shaking,” she says.“It’s cold.”“It’s not that cold.”“This is terrifying,” I admit.“Don’t tell me that!” she half-yells. The cab driver laughs from the front seat. “Meeting the mom for the first time?” he asks.“Yes,” we say at the same time.“You’re a nice girl,” he tells Shea. “She’s a nice girl,” he confirms to me. “Nothing to worry about.” I look at his license. “We’ve got Joe’s seal of approval, at least. Thanks, Joe.” I smile at him though the rearview mirror. “Do you have two extra seats at Christmas dinner, just in case?” He nods his head assuredly, just as we pull up to the house.
