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I just endured her efforts. And like any good mother, she took my silence as a sign of acceptance.
    Then I got a football scholarship to Florida.
    Once I had escaped moved out of state, the most my mom could do was ask me endless questions about my love life. The questioning was about as uncomfortable as you might imagine it. I went out with a couple of girls my freshman year. I had less of a problem selling my “player” vibe in Florida. People expected that guys on the team were going to sleep around. I really thought I was going to survive college without having to make a serious commitment to a girl. Then I caught a forty-three yard pass late in the fourth quarter against Virginia. I got hit so hard that I literally lost consciousness for a moment.
    When I woke up, I was looking up at the sky and my left leg was twisted in a way the human leg was not designed for.
    I lost my scholarship and had to relearn how to walk. That sounds painful, but it was nothing compared to seeing my dad’s face when he found out I was never going to play football again. It was a horrible moment and, in my opinion, one of the lowest moments of my life. Everything I had done up to that point had been steps on my path to playing football. When I woke up on the field that day and knew what had happened, I also realized I was lost with no idea what to do next.
    I returned to Foster, learned how to walk without a limp, and tried to move forward.
    Which was, of course, a cue for my mom to open her matchmaking service again.
    My parents had planned for years to retire and move to Florida, leaving the store to me. So my mom knew the time she had left to get me married was quickly coming to an end. I kept trying to make excuses, but she thought I was retreating from people because I was depressed about my accident. She kept pushing, I kept dodging, and then one night I just snapped.
    Which was how my parents found out I was gay.
    My dad went a little nuts, but not in a bad way. He just could not handle that his only son, his pride and joy, liked guys. I suppose he went through the normal stages every dad must when they find out their son is gay. Denial: There is no way you can be gay; you dated girls . Anger: How can you do that to your mother? You know how much she wanted grandchildren . More denial: Maybe it’s just a phase. Have you thought of that ? Bargaining: Maybe you just haven’t found the right girl. There are lots more girls out there. A little more denial: But you seemed so happy with your girlfriends . Depression: Was it something I did wrong? Something I could have done better? The last bit of denial: But I saw you kiss girls.
    It was my mother though who finally brought some kind of acceptance.
    She had no male ego to overcome, no illusions that I was some überathlete. In her eyes, I was her baby and that was all that counted. She took Dad out one afternoon, and they had a talk. To this day, I have no idea what she said to him but when they returned to the house, Dad was changed. He would never be completely happy with me being gay, but he stopped complaining about it, and we went back to relating to each other through sports.
    My mother didn’t even pause in her quest to find me a mate. She just moved to another gender. Every week there was another article about gay rights lying on the table for me to read. She began by zeroing in on the physical therapists who worked with me to rehabilitate my leg. While we did slow-motion quad extensions, she launched a series of completely unsubtle and exhaustive questions about their sexual orientation. After a month, the in-home agency began sending only girls to our house. I’m pretty sure some of the guys complained about sexual harassment.
    Undeterred, my mom continued her search.
    Which brought me back to my current problem.
    “Does she know Matt Wallace lives out of state?” Linda asked, snapping me out of my stupor.
    “She has to,” I answered miserably. “Which means she is