AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Hand in hand, I lead Peyton through the house and away from my overzealous mother. I point and prattle off each room. “Dining and living room. Mom’s home office, formerly Shelly’s bedroom. Dad’s home office, formerly my bedroom. Bathroom. Parents’ bedroom.” Then I lead her into the last room on the right and close the door. “Guest room.”
The room is minimal, with white walls and smoky blue accents. A queen bed with gray-blue bedding, a white bed frame, and a mountain of throw pillows. A small, four-drawer white dresser and matching bedside table. Gray-blue curtains against white wooden blinds. The white-framed pictures on the wall of blue marine life or beachy images.
Not sure how my mother managed to replicate the same color for the entire room, but she did. On occasion, I wonder if she hired someone and gave them a color swatch. Wouldn’t surprise me.
“Doing okay?” I ask as I step into Peyton and hug her close. “Mom has been a little much recently. Not sure what provoked the change, but I hope it fades. Soon.”
Light laughter spills from her lips. “It’s fine. All mothers probably go through this stage. Wanting to see their children happy as adults.” Peyton breaks the hug, walks around the room and stops in front of one of the frames. “I won’t try to guess how my mom will be when you meet her. Generally, she’s pretty laid back. But I’ve also seen her at her best and worst.”
I step up behind her and wrap my arms around her front. “If she asks weird questions, you don’t have to answer. Shell and I are used to deflecting when necessary. You can use a code word, if she makes you uncomfortable.” I chuckle but mean every word. Mom isn’t bad, she just gets intense. Especially if you don’t know her.
Peyton rests her hands over mine. “It’ll be fine. No matter who we are, parents are always strange to us or people close to us.”
“Still think you should have a code word,” I mumble into her hair.
“Fine,” she says with a laugh. “How about sushi?”
“Sushi?”
“Mmhm.”
“How the hell would you work that into conversation?”
She shrugs. “Maybe I won’t have to. But if I do, I’ll figure it out.”
“Alright, sushi. Let’s go before they think we’re fucking on the bed.”
“What?” Peyton’s face pales as her eyes go wide.
“Joking, hellcat. C’mon.”
We join everyone in the dining room and sit at the table. Each place setting has a small salad and dipping oil for bread. Bread baskets sit at either end of the table—because we love bread. Mom brings out a large casserole dish and sets it at the heart of the table.
“Baked ziti, made with creamy pesto instead of marinara,” she announces with a glowing smile.
Peyton shifts in her seat and stares at me with a slack jaw. “Your mom makes dishes like this and all you can cook is breakfast?”
Across from us, Shelly snort-laughs and tries to cover it with a cough.
“Shut it, Shell.”
Mom joins in on Shelly’s laughter for a second, then stops when she sees my face. “Sorry, Micah. It is funny.” Mom shifts her gaze to Peyton. “I’ve tried to teach Micah for years and it doesn’t stick. But I refuse to give up. One day, he’ll surprise me, or you, and make something else.”
Once all the food is on the table, everyone settles and starts on their salad. Easy conversation flows around the table. Thankfully, Mom hasn’t said anything off-putting the entire time.
Every time she glances over to Peyton’s and my side of the table, though, I see the sparkle in her eye. The barely noticeable uptick at the corners of her mouth and eyes. And when Peyton speaks, Mom listens. She lets her say every word, then comments back as if she and Peyton have chatted hundreds of times.
By the end of the evening, we leave with full bellies, a heaping container of leftovers, and warm hugs.
“That wasn’t so bad,” I say once we are on the road.
“Your mom is nice. She loves you both and just wants the best for you and Shelly.”
“Yeah, she does. Glad she didn’t make you uncomfortable.” I lace my fingers with hers, lift them to my lips, and kiss her knuckles.
A couple songs and commercials on the radio later, I park in the driveway and we walk into the house. I lock the dead bolt and drop her overnight bag to the floor. She opens her mouth to ask something, but I cut her off with my lips to hers.
I frame her face in my hands and kiss the hell out of her. Her hands snake around my waist and fist the back hem of my jeans. We stumble toward the bedroom, our lips never apart. When her legs bump the mattress, I kiss along her jaw, down her neck, along her shoulder.
Grabbing the back collar of my shirt, I yank it off and toss it on the floor. I reach out, trace my fingertips along the dress seam at her breasts. Her eyes drift shut as a shiver rolls through her body.
But I don’t want her to shut out the world. Not tonight. Not now.
