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“Janie.” Warren’s calm voice pulls me out of my—notnervousstate—but the thoughts that have me twisting my hands and sweating like I’ve just run the damn Boston Marathon—which FYI, I have done, in college, and it wasnot fun.
“What?”I snap at him and he gets this expression on his face, one that tells me he’s going to wait until I’m calm enough to have a real conversation.
I take a deep breath and look up at the large, large house where I was raised. There’s nothing about this house that screams “home,” but then again, my own mother doesn’t screamhometo me either.
“We’re just having dinner with your mom. One meal. Then it’s done.”
“We’re also coming out as a couple to my mom. Not once. Not done.”
“If you don’t want this…”
“No,” I say in a panicked tone. I reach out and touch his forearm. “I want this. I want you and me to be free to be us. Whenever we want. This is just… hard for me.” I don’t know if my explanation is really satisfactory, but Warren gives me a warm smile and nods in understanding.
After our weekend away, when he confessed he wasn’t into hiding us anymore, we’ve been in good spirits with each other and he let me have the week to set a date with mom so we could tell her before the rest of the office found out.
Now that date was here and I was ten seconds away from a panic attack.
It’s fun having a toxic relationship. Super fun.
“You guys going in or what? I saw the chef leave and I want some leftovers,” Paulie says from where he leans against the car. We could have just as easily brought Warren’s or my car, but there was something comforting about Paulie that had me calling him up and begging him to drive us.
Then something clicks and maybe it’s a bad idea but…
“Come in,” I blurt out and Warren smirks, shaking his head. “You should… join us for dinner.”
“Uh…” Paulie hesitates.
“Seriously, Paulie.” I put on my most innocent look. “You have to eat! And I guarantee that my mother has enough for everyone.”
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt…” Still hesitant, I take his moment of indecision and quickly hop out of the seat and march to Paulie’s door. Giving him a broad smile, I then help him out of the car, to which he looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or protest.
I latch on to Paulie’s arm, pulling him with me up the sidewalk, leaving Warren to fend for himself. If he’s sonot nervous,then he’ll be just fine.
Am I using Paul as a buffer between my mother and myself and Warren? Maybe so.
But what’s the harmreally?
We step between the stone columns that head the front of the house, making it look like a near small replica of the White House itself. I’ve always hated it.
Mother’s idea of a home was white. White walls, white furniture, white marble, white everything.
Which was probably why when I found anything colorful, I bought it. I have blue couches for crying out loud. And I loved my blue couches, my burnt-orange drapes, my yellow bookcase and my eclectic artwork that hung around the house.
Paulie doesn’t fight me and Warren just strolls up to the door behind us with a smile on his face. “Shush,” I tell him and he holds up his hands innocently. I ring the doorbell and avoid the looks on both of their faces, because who rings the doorbell at their own parents’ houses?
I do. That’s who.
I hear the click-clack of my mother’s heels as she gets closer to the door.
“Hon, you may want to ease up there.” Paulie pats my hand and I relax my grip.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say quickly just as the door opens and my mother takes in the people on her porch, her gaze flitting from me to Warren and then brows furrowing when she sees Paulie there as well, who gives her a charming smile.
“Ms. Leads.” He tips his head and I glance to my mother, who smothers a small smile.
“Well,” she says primly. “Come on in, everyone.”
We file into the house, Paulie in the lead, and I step into the tall, gorgeous, cold marble foyer and gesture to Warren, then take his hand in mine. “Mother, this is Warren Blake, my boyfriend,” I blurt the words out and my mother doesn’t flinch.
