Page 8 of The Snuggle Is Real

She's sporting a huge smile and her cheeks are flushed red. I know her well enough to recognize she’s been drinking a glass or two of wine. Even tipsy my mother keeps it classy. She’s always well dressed and never swears, but get some Chardonnay in her and she’s going to hug everyone who gets within three feet of her.

"Emily! Oh, honey, come here." Emily gets folded into a hug that lasts long enough for me to be concerned about her airway.

"It's so good to see you, Mrs. Lennox."

"Mrs. Lennox. Listen to her." My mother pulls back and holds Emily by both arms, studying her like she wants to see what dating me has done to her. "You call me Diane. You're practically family. Well." She shoots me a look. "Maybe more than practically."

"Mom," I say.

Emily was right. This is nuts.

"What? I'm just saying." She gestures to the buffet table set up on the patio next to her. "Derby pie. I made it specifically with you in mind. Don't let the boys at it, they're animals."

Emily's face goes soft. "You remembered."

"Of course I remembered. Now tell me everything. When did this happen? Malcolm tells me nothing."

Emily glances at me.

I glance at Emily.

"About two months ago," I say. “But there was a wedding before that, where, well, you know.”

“Y’all finally hooked up?” my mother asks, nodding.

“Mom! Jesus.”

“Don’t take the name of the Lord in vain. What? You’re a grown man. You’ve known each other forever. Weddings are romantic, the drinks are flowing⁠—

“I think the drinks are flowing tonight right into your mouth, Mom,” I comment. “You’re embarrassing Emily.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” Emily says, looking thoroughly amused.

I glare at her.

She lifts her eyebrows.

“There’s a slow dance, then you walk her to her room, you’re carrying her shoes, she invites you in⁠—”

I groan and put my hands on my mother’s shoulders. “Please stop. I love you. But please, I’m begging you, please stop speaking. It wasn’t anything like that. We’ve always been friends and then⁠—"

"—it just shifted," Emily finishes, and she slides her arm through mine and leans into my side, easy as anything, like she's done it a thousand times.

She hasn't.

It doesn’t feel natural. It feels like my throat is closing off. A low throb starts below the waist. I shift a little and cough.

My mother presses her hand to her heart. "Who made the first move?"

"He did," Emily says instantly.

That’s the total opposite of what she said in the truck. And she’s the one who wanted to get our stories straight.

My mother stares at me in naked astonishment.

"Wow," I say. "You’re finally speechless, Mom."

I prefer this to her discussing my sex life.