After Our First Date His Mother Called

I’m 25, and dating apps have taught me one thing: expectations rarely match reality. Still, when I matched with David, he seemed… fine. His profile said he was 30. He sounded confident, articulate, and suggested a classy restaurant—the kind with cloth napkins and prices you feel in your chest.

Before we met, he insisted, “Don’t worry about money. I’ve got it.”

That should’ve been my first clue.

I ordered carefully anyway—the cheapest entrée, one drink, no dessert. I don’t like feeling indebted to strangers. The conversation was fine. He talked a lot about his career, his opinions, his standards. I nodded, smiled, asked questions. It felt more like an interview than a date, but I’d had worse.