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My movements are calculated but only out of habit. My mind is somewhere else, probably in the living room, hovering over the situation and dissecting it to pieces. And because my brain isn’t stationed in my head where it should be, my hands move on their own. Pulling the deep wine-colored dress that I subconsciously decide to wear from my closet over my head. Ruffling my hair while moving the loud blow dryer through it in haste. I’m on a perfected autopilot. But I’m stalling, as much as I can, at least. I know I’m running late, but I don’t know how to face Rhylan out there. If I do, then that means he’s going to meet my mom tonight. It’s too much to handle in one night.
I slowly walk out of my room when I’m finished, and Rhylan rises from his sunken seat on the couch to face me.
“You look beautiful,” he says softly.
“Thank you,” I answer back. “Rhylan, you don’t have to go with me tonight. You can meet my mom another night.”
He walks to me and cradles my elbows in his hands. “I’m not here to just meet your mom. I want to be here for you. I know you’re nervous about meeting your mom’s boyfriend, and I just want to be there if you need someone to hold your hand through it.”
I nod.
“But,” he adds, “if you really don’t want me to be there tonight, I won’t go. I’ll wait for you here. Or I can drop you off at the restaurant and wait in the parking lot, like the skilled stalker that I am.”
I laugh. Maybe having him hold my hand, squeezing it occasionally to let me know he’s there, will help me get through this night that I’ve been dreading. “Okay,” I finally say.
“Okay,” he says softly. He holds my hand in his, bringing it to his lips and gently kissing my knuckles. “Now, come on. You said you had an hour. We mustn’t be late, milady.”
The drive to the restaurant is quiet. The nerves are racking up inside of me, and Rhylan drives patiently, letting me process and prepare instead of prodding me with questions. The steakhouse my mom chose is nice, overly sophisticated, and different from the casual diners that she and I frequent.
When we arrive, the valet takes the car, and Rhylan is immediately recognized. As soon as we step up to the hostess, a manager greets us.
“Hello, Mr. Matthews. It’s an honor to have you dine with us tonight. May I show you to your table?” The man is nervous, speaking quickly to get his words out without stumbling on them.
“We’re actually meeting someone tonight,” he answers. He then looks down at me, encouraging me to speak.
“There’s a reservation for Mary Salerno,” I say softly. The commotion in the restaurant has grown around us. People strain their necks to glance in Rhylan’s direction.
The man looks down at the papers in front of him, his finger gliding down the list that’s illegible from my angle. “Ah, yes. We’ve already seated your party, but we would like to move you to a more private area of the restaurant if that would be more to your liking, miss.”
I look up at Rhylan, surprised. “Yes, please. Thank you.”
“Right this way,” he says with a smile and gestures grandly in the direction he’s headed.
We quietly follow. Rhylan’s hand grazes my shoulder and lowers down my back as he gently guides me to our seats.
“The rest of your party will join you shortly.”
Rhylan pulls out my chair for me to sit. As he’s crouching over his chair, my mom rounds the corner to our table, and he stands upright.
“Ellie! What is this? They said they moved our table over—” She cuts her sentence short when she notices Rhylan to my right.
“Hello, Mrs. Salerno. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says politely. He smiles as he extends his hand toward her.
“Oh, Rhylan Matthews. I–it’s nice to meet you too,” she stutters. She hurriedly shakes his hand.
Her eyes go from Rhylan to me and back to Rhylan and then me again. The silence is awkward, settling into a bubble that wraps around our table while the clinks of silverware and sharp chatter pass by us in the distance.
She’s staring at Rhylan, and he continues to smile politely at her.
“Mom?”
“Huh?” She finally turns to look at me. I gave her a look, raising my eyebrows, silently asking herWhat are you doing?
“I’m so sorry. Ellie, this is Mark.”
A man with dark hair and full beard steps to the side to get around my mom. He extends his hand towards me the same way Rhylan did to my mom, timorous but sincere.
“Hi, nice to meet you. This is Rhylan.” My tight-lipped smile doesn’t budge. But it almost falters when Mark’s hand moves to grip my mom’s shoulder.
