Page 123 of True Colors

He hesitates, then smiles again—warmer this time. “Hannah and I would love to have you over for dinner tonight at our place in Nob Hill.”

My brain stalls.

Dinner?

“H-hannah?”

“My wife. Luther’s mother. She thinks he’s been an idiot as well.”

What the fuck is going on?

“Dot will be there. Her husband, Neil, you know him, don’t you?”

Dumbfounded, I nod.

Yeah, I know Dot. I know Neil. I don’t know you or Hannah, Luther’s mother, who also thinks her son’s an idiot.

Maybe I’ve slipped into a parallel universe.

Or maybe I’m hallucinating. I’ve been worrying about that lately, and seriously, that’s more likely than the parallel universe theory, because as much as physicists enjoy flirting with spacetime loopholes, they’ll also tell you there’s no experimental data to back any of it up. And no matter what Finn says, Star Trek is not grounded in scientific reality.

“Oh—I….” Have no answer, Mr. Grant. None at all.

“Ria, my daughter, she’s also looking very much forward to meeting you.”

I lick my lips. “D-does she th-think Luther is an idiot, too?”

The words slip out without my permission, and my eyes widen.

What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t even know this man, and I’m joking with him? I don’t do that. How did he make me feel so comfortable that I did?

He chuckles. “Ria is doing a PhD in organizational psychology, and trust me when I tell you, she ripped him a new one when he told us what happened.”

So, they all know and…yet they accept me?

I open my mouth again—still searching for a graceful refusal.

Then he adds, almost casually, “I’m going to be honest here, Anouk, my wife is very eager to get to know you.”

That gives me pause.

“W-why?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“Because, dear Anouk”—the corners of his lips twitch in amusement—“you are the first woman our son has fallen in love with.”

Definite hallucination. The doctors told me that PTSD doesn’t just have to give you a stutter; it can also throw in the occasional bonus feature, like imagining things that are absolutely not happening.

“Oh.” That’s about all I manage to say.

Jacob tucks his hands in his pockets and sighs deeply. He looks so much like Luther that my heart melts.

“She’ll be disappointed if you say no.” He tosses up his shoulders. “And, no pressure, but she’ll come looking for you and my wife—I love her—but she can be a bit of a drama queen.”

A surprised chuckle slides out of me.

“Will you come?” he asks.

How can I say no now? “Y-yes. Th-thank you.”