A/N: The line Nadine says in French translates roughly as : "Son of a bitch, what are we going to do? She will let nothing go, Greg, nothing!"
After Nadine's shift at the hospital was done that night, after she'd gone home and showered the day's grit and grime off her body, she sat on her overstuffed navy blue couch in her sweats, staring at the phone. Nadine hated calling her mother back, usually because it was one of her nieces who answered and always called her the 'silly American aunt on the phone'. Still, she knew it would be worse if she delayed the call. Sighing heavily, Nadine picked up the phone, dialed the number and was a little surprised when the lady of the house actually picked up.
"Allo?"
"Bonjour, Mama," Nadine replied in flowing French, kneading her fingers into the couch cushions.
"Nadine! Why are you calling so late?"
"It's only eight here, Mama."
"Who was the man who answered your phone so early this morning?"
"That was Greg, Mama, he's my boyfriend. He stayed over last night and I was in the shower when you called."
"I don't think that's proper, Nadine, for a single woman to have a man staying the night."
And so it begins, Nadine thought wincingly. Only the formidable Marie-Fantine de Rosemont – she'd dropped her married name after the divorce – could start a phone conversation from four time zones away and sound as if she was an eavesdropping neighbour.
"Greg and I have been dating for eight months now, Mama, so I don't think that single is quite how I'd describe myself."
"If you're not married you're single."
Nadine gritted her teeth, switched the subject to her mother's favourite topic quite deliberately. "How's Amandine?"
"Good, good, her firm is becoming quite well known. She and her partners recently settled a large case for Adeline Hernandez, the movie star. It has been very stressful on her, many nights at the office."
"Tell me about it, I've been putting in a lot of extra shifts so I can scrub in on surgical cases. There was this one, with a seven year old boy, and he'd-"
"I'm sure taking care of other people's children isn't quite so taxing when you don't have any of your own," Marie-Fantine neatly slapped at her daughter. "Amandine and Paul recently purchased a vacation house outside the city. The children absolutely love it, they get to play with other children their own age, and it gives Amandine a chance to relax."
"Yes, well, Greg and I are taking some time in a few weeks to go and visit his parents in San Gabriel, then spending some time at the house on Lake Mead."
"How do Greg's parents' feel about their son dating someone so old?"
Nadine fought the urge to hang up on her mother. Instead, she gritted her teeth and replied as evenly as possible, "Mama, Greg is two years older than me, so what does that make him?"
"Well, I'll be the judge of that when I arrive in Las Vegas."
A noise similar to ka-pow sounded in Nadine's head. "What?"
"I'll be arriving on the thirteenth at approximately six-fifteen your time-"
"But, Mama, Greg and I leave on the twelfth for San Gabriel to see his parents."
"I'm sure they'll understand, Nadine."
Nadine dragged a hand through her hair, went to the fruit bowl on her kitchen counter and picked up a navel orange. She needed to do something with her hands. "Alright, we can always go the next weekend-"
"My flight home is on the twenty-ninth," Marie-Fantine interrupted, "and I will need an escort to the airport."
Two weeks, Nadine thought, horrified. "You're…you're staying for two weeks?" she asked meekly.
"Of course, my dear, it's not as if Cayenne is like Los Angeles and there's a shuttle going every other hour. And I would think you'd be a little more enthused I am coming to see you."
A visit mother. Embarrassment. Nausea. Guilt. Torture. The sneaky bitch. "Of course I am." Resigned, Nadine juggled the orange from hand to hand. "Do you speak any English anymore Mama?"
"Why should I? I detested the United States. Filthy country and boorish people never treated me with respect, so I don't see the point in respecting them when they-"
"I just ask because Greg doesn't speak French," Nadine cut her mother off as she tossed the fruit in the air like a pitcher testing the ball.
"Well, thankfully you've remembered enough of yours so you should have no problem translating for him. I must go, it's getting late here. I love you, my dear and I'll see you next Friday."
Nadine stood rooted to the spot after she hung up the phone, drained. Two weeks of Marie-Fantine. That would be even more awful than no vacation time, and to make things worse, it meant no alone time with Greg. Suddenly very angry, Nadine heaved the orange at her door, only in time for it to hit Greg square in the chest as he came through it.
"Oh, sorry sweetie."
"Nah, it's fine. Good thing you weren't heaving grapefruits or we'd be on our way to the ER," Greg joked, then toned it down immediately when he saw Nadine was near tears. "Hey, what's wrong?"
"I called my mother back. She wants to visit."
"Oh." Greg tossed his keys in the catch-all candy dish and toed off his shoes as he followed Nadine into the kitchen. She'd begun taking onions and tomatoes out of the fridge for making his favorite dish – spaghetti and meatballs – and pulled out a large kitchen knife to begin the dicing. "When?"
"Next Friday. She wants to stay for two weeks. Two weeks Greg!" Nadine tapped her knife on the cutting board to punctuate her words. "I can't handle two weeks of her in my house, eating my food and constantly critiquing everything I do. And we're supposed to go to San Gabriel next weekend and have time for us with no distractions at the lake. I don't want to spend my two weeks off going having every move I make shadowed by that spiteful troll."
"My folks are three hours away. Your mom is four time zones away, I think they'll understand."
"And see? That's what I'm talking about!" Nadine heard her voice go higher, like Daisy Duck's but at this point she didn't care. "She's like a big sucking lifeforce…sucker. She sweeps in and takes over my life, my plans, nothing is sacred."
"Honey," Greg started, but stopped on second thought. When Nadine got on a roll she was like The Juggernaut – nothing could stop her – and she was wielding one hell of a butcher's knife. Instead, he went to the cupboard, pulled out the pasta and olive oil, as he set a large pot of water on the stove to boil. "It really can't be as bad as you think it will be."
"Really, Greg? Did your mother ever tell you that having premarital sex made you a whore no one would want?"
Greg gulped. "She said that?"
"Yeah, she did, and oh my god,"Nadine continued, going pop-eyed as she dumped the tomatoes into the crock pot with the onions, "she'll snoop through the medicine cabinet and see my condoms in there! She'll yell at me and then she'll yell at you and call you everything under the sun! Fils de putain, qu'est-ce qu'on va faire? Elle ne laissera rien sacré, Greg, rien!"
"Okay, all I got in there was my name, so let's put down the big scary knife," Greg suggested, taking the carving knife from her hand and nudging her towards the stove. "Why is this going to be a disaster? I'm sure after some wine and a little bit of dinner, I can butter your mother up."
"I forgot to mention, my mother doesn't speak English anymore. She dropped it when she went back to Cayenne."
Greg swallowed deeply. Okay now that would be a problem. "Even so, I'm sure that once she's sees us together, she'll realize that you have made an excellent choice with the dashing and debonair moi."
Nadine smiled, kissed Greg's cheek. "Smoothie," she said, "are you sure you don't mean dorky and delusional?"
"Just for that, I'm not putting out tonight," he replied with mock huffiness. It last for about two seconds when Nadine poked him in the ribs and his million-dollar smile flashed. "Trust me, everything will work out."