“Yeah?”
“Mom in the morning. Your parents at night.”
He pulls me down and kisses my forehead. “We've got this.”
“One of us has this. The other one is going to spend three hours in traffic on the expressway.”
He smirks and pulls me closer. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“You better,” I say.
Thankfully, Logan changes the topic. He tells me about the game tonight, and I tell him about the conference in Philadelphia.
“Did anyone hit on you?” Logan asks in a possessive tone that makes me laugh.
“Yeah. A corporate tax attorney from Boston. He asked if I wanted to get a drink.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I had an early morning.”
“You should have said you have a boyfriend who plays professional hockey and has a very bad temper.”
“You don't have a bad temper.”
“He doesn't need to know that.”
I laugh and press my face into his chest. As nice as it is being here with Logan, my chest is tight with anxiety. I hate disappointing my mother, and for sure, hearing about Logan and me will disappoint her.
But I hope that with time, she’ll get to know him again and see how special he is.
On Sunday morning, I'm up at seven. Logan is still asleep, his face half buried in the pillow, one arm stretched across the space where I was lying. I ease out of bed without waking him.
I shower and dress in the bathroom and do my makeup carefully. I desperately need routine this morning. When I’m done, I head to Logan’s kitchen and get the coffee machine going.
His coffee machine is nicer than mine — it's the one thing in this apartment that isn't basic. I pour two cups and carry one back to the bedroom. Logan is propped up on one elbow, staring at me.
“Morning,” I say, handing him the mug.
“You're already dressed,” he says with exaggerated disappointment.
I laugh, then grow serious. “I have a three-hour round trip to Long Island ahead of me. I need an early start.”
He sits up and takes the coffee. “You sure you don't want me to come?”
“I'm sure. This is something I need to do alone.”
“Call me when you're done?”
“I will.”
I kiss him. His mouth is warm from the coffee. He touches my cheek. “She's going to be okay, Jasmine. It might take her time, but she'll come around.”
I wish I were that confident. My mother has been known to hold grudges for decades. “You don't know my mother.”
“I used to, and I know she raised you. That means she's smart enough to see what's right even when it scares her.”
24
