Father Found by Arnold Judith

Author:Arnold, Judith [Arnold, Judith]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2011-10-04T23:56:24+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

GUY STUFF by James McCoy—

I got a call from my mother yesterday. “Jamie,” she said—she’s the one who tagged me with the nickname, since my father’s name is Jim and he kept getting confused during my first few weeks of life, when my mother would say, “Now, Jimmy, stop fussing and put this in your mouth like a good boy….” But I digress.

Anyway, my mother said, “Jamie, I’ve just met the perfect girl for you.”

Sharpen your pencils, folks, put on your thinking caps and follow along with me as I deconstruct that sentence.

Let’s begin with “I’ve just met.” Understand, please, that my mother lives about twenty-five hundred miles away from me and she was calling me from her home. So if she says, “I’ve just met,” it means that the person she met must be located twenty-five hundred miles away. In other words, “the perfect girl for me” is currently situated in my mother’s neighborhood, not mine, which in turn means either that my mother wants me to move closer to her or else she believes that the only girl who could approach perfection in relation to me would be one who maintains a distance of several thousand miles between us.

Moving on: “perfect.” Now, this is a loaded term. In my mother’s mind, “perfect” would have nothing to do with bra size. It would have even less to do with lifestyle. My definition of “perfect” as an adjective to describe a woman would be a professional dog walker who wears cropped T-shirts and low-slung, high-cut denim shorts and, perhaps fifty percent of the time, can string together enough words to fill a sentence.

My mother’s definition of “perfect,” on the other hand, is someone who likes her.

“Girl.” We’re not supposed to use that term in reference to anyone over the age of three anymore. Kindergarten females are now called “potential women,” or sometimes “very small women,” or, on occasion, “PMS apprentices.” And my mother isn’t an idiot. She knows this. She actually read The Feminine Mystique in hardcover when I was still called Jimmy and got my mouth plugged with something to suck on whenever I fussed.

Therefore, we must deduce that my mother used the term girl deliberately. Her reason probably has something to do with her fear that describing this perfect female as a woman would scare me off.

By the way, why didn’t anyone ever tell me it’s impossible to use a computer keyboard when you’ve got a squirming little PMS apprentice on your lap and she’s trying to suck on your mouse….

HE PRESSED A KEY to delete the last sentence and cut loose with a string of colorful expressions he hoped he’d never hear Samantha using.

He wished he could delete her that easily.

No, that was a terrible thought. A brief spasm of insanity must have brought it on—or, perhaps, a brief spasm of sanity.

He hadn’t told his mother about the baby when she’d called Sunday afternoon. Thank God Samantha had been asleep on the screened porch in her

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