“Maybe she won’t be living alone too long,” Mrs. Robbins said slyly. “Chris just lives in that crappy one bedroom apartment. She can move in with Julia.”
“It’s not crappy!” Chris protested. “It’s just small and boring, but there’s nothing actually wrong with it.”
I looked over at my father, widening my eyes and tilting my head towards our mothers in a silent entreaty to help us out. Fortunately he intervened.
“When’s dinner, dear? I’m starving and I think the interrogation portion of our evening can be over now.”
He stood up, and Mr. Robbins followed suit, adding, “These girls will figure things out in their own time. There’s no reason to badger them.”
The rest of the dinner went relatively well. Other than a few random questions about our first date and how much we worked together, our mothers mostly stayed on other topics although they kept giving us meaningful looks and whispering things to each other.
Chris and I were on the same side of the table, across from the mothers, and we scooted our chairs together close, the way that you’d do if you were dating someone. All for show of course. My fake girlfriend leaned towards me to press her shoulder against mine, and I put my hand on her thigh, gave it a comforting squeeze, and left it there. When I looked up I saw my mother’s eyes on us, taking in the way my hand had gravitated into Chris’s space with a small smile.
“You two are so cute together,” Mom beamed.
Chris and I groaned in unison.
“These pork chops are delicious Mrs. Montego,” Chris interjected.
“I made them special for you,” Mom said proudly. “I remembered how much you always liked them.”
I resisted mentioning that Mom rarely made my favorite foods. She’d told me more than once that with my curves I needed to be careful not to gain weight.
“You’ll have to come to our place next time,” Mrs. Robbins said. “We could do a taco bar. You girls always loved that when you were younger.”
By the time we’d had dessert and helped with the dishes, the strain of the evening was getting to me. I stepped close as Chris closed the dishwasher, looking over my shoulder at our mothers who were watching us through the space between the kitchen and the dining room. Putting my hands on Chris’s shoulders, I leaned in and put my mouth by her ear.
“I’m going to need a fucking drink after this. You in?”
She smiled, then popped her head forward to give me a quick kiss on the cheek, playing it up for the parents, I was sure. I kept having to remind myself of that.
“You read my mind. Can we get out of here now?”
I pulled her into a tight hug before stepping back. “God yes.”
It felt like it took forever to get out of there, but finally Chris and I were in her truck, heading back to my place.
“I feel like we went through hell back there,” I said.
“Because we did. Let’s drink until we forget about it.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We parked her truck at my house then walked three blocks down to my neighborhood bar. Like every Saturday night, it was fairly busy, but mostly with people from the neighborhood. Finding two stools at the bar, we ordered shots of tequila and a basket of chips.
“To our fake relationship!” I said, holding up my shot glass to clink against hers.
“To getting our mothers off our backs,” she replied.
We downed our shots and gestured for another round from the bartender.
“Bartender! I’m in the mood to celebrate.”
Chris
Ihadn’t been drunk since I was in my early twenties and now I couldn’t remember why. This was so much fun. I felt great. I had a beautiful woman drinking shots with me, the knee that I’d blown out playing soccer a few years ago wasn’t aching at all, and my mood was great. I felt light and happy.
“I think you girls better get home,” the bartender said, sliding yet another glass of water in front of us. “Do you need me to call you an Uber or something?”
