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“All sorts of stages of Carly. Many, many awkward ones,” I joke. We’re at the basement stairs so I flick the light on and he follows me down.
“So, we are now entering the 1979 museum of the average household in Buffalo, New York. They considered using our basement for the That 70’s Show set, but Dad said no as it’d interfere with Monday night football.”
Aiden laughs as he takes in the space. “Great TV show.”
“It’s one of my favorites,” I inform him.
He stops at the sofa. “Mine, too. How do we open this thing?”
I lift the cushions off a
nd see the metal cage with the handle, the floral mattress underneath. I pry the handle up and tug. It doesn’t move. Not a bit.
“Uh oh,” I say, yanking on it.
“Here.” Aiden says.
I step aside, and he pulls, and it starts to budge, but makes a horrible, creaking, protesting sound.
I’m laughing. I can’t help it. He looks totally horrified. But it opens, finally.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, and I zip upstairs to the linen closet where I find sheets, pillows, and a blanket.
I come back down and start to make the bed. He watches me, smiling.
I’m smiling too, until I realize his eyes are on my butt as I’m bending over, trying to stretch the sheet over one corner.
“Grab that other corner, will you?” I ask.
“Hm?”
“My eyes are up here,” I tease.
His eyes move to mine and they sparkle. He moves to the other side of the sofa bed and helps me get the sheet on.
I hear noise upstairs.
“I’m back!” It’s Mom calling from the top of the stairs.
We go up and the three of us sit and eat our Big Mac meals and drink our Cokes while Mom quizzes Aiden about his family.
I’ve told her the tiara has been found and she beams for me. She knows how much it means to me. She squeezes my hand and turns her attention back to Aiden.
He tells her he has a brother and sister and a nephew and a brand-new niece. He shows Mom two pictures on his phone of baby Lilly and a handful of Braeden. Mom oohs and awes and then says, “So, you like kids?” And then she pops a French fry in her mouth and waits, looking like she’s on the edge of her seat.
My God, Mom.
I roll my eyes. Aiden sees it and gives her a glorious smile. “Love ‘em. I’m a big one myself, so I’m on their level. Just ask your daughter.”
“Truth,” I agree, earning me a belly laugh from my Mom.
“And… are your parents still together?” Mom asks.
Aiden’s mouth opens.
“Mom. Not our business,” I answer for him.
My Mom makes an oops face and starts talking fast to cover up the awkwardness. “I bought you hot apple pie, Carly. You, too, Aiden. These are Carly’s favorite. I always buy her one. Sometimes she saves it for later, and her father takes it. If anyone eats hers, she has an absolute fit.” Mom spreads them out on the table.
