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“Eli if it’s a boy,” I say. “And Elianna if it’s a girl.”
She thinks about it and then shakes her head. “No. I think I’m slightly fed up of biblical names.”
I’m holding her and rubbing her belly as she ponders more options. “How about—”
Her phone rings before she can complete the thought. She fishes for it in her bag, but the ringing stops before she can get the phone out. She frowns when she sees the caller ID, then heaves a heavy sigh.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“It’s my mom,” she says in a subdued tone. Then she takes a deep breath before she answers. “Probably trying to lure me into having lunch with her again.”
“You don’t want to?”
“Ineverwant to go there. But I love her, and don’t want her to worry about me.”
“Hmm.” I rub her belly. “What if I go with you?”
She blinks at me. “What?”
I raise an eyebrow. “I mean, don’t you think it’s about time I meet your mother?”
She gapes at me and then shakes her head. I already knew she would say no. She’s trying to put off me meeting her mom for the longest time possible.
“My mom and I don’t get along right now,” she says. “It’s too soon and besides, he might be there."
I know who he is. She told me a little about her relationship with her stepfather and that’s another reason why I want to meet her family.
Because I need to meet the monster who terrorized her for so many years.
“Precisely,” I say. “I want to meet him too.”
She frowns but I don’t elaborate. I watch her bite her lip as she contemplates it for even longer, ignoring the punch of desire in my gut as she plays with the soft poutier lower lip. And then she releases a resigned sigh.
“Fine,” she says. “I suppose it’s as good a time as any for you two to meet, and this way hopefully, I can be free of her for another couple of months at least.”
I smile and kiss her, appreciating her trusting me in this way. I know it’s not an easy decision to make, and I can tell she gets more and more nervous as the dinner date gets closer.
On the drive over to her mom’s place, she’s quiet and clutches my hand like it’s an anchor.
And when we finally drive up to the small cottage surrounded by corn fields, I get the smallest, imperceptible shake in her hand.
“It’ll be fine,” I say as I help her out of the car and shut the door. I kiss the back of her hand as we walk up to the door. “Trust me.”
She swallows and nods. But her hand still trembles again when she knocks on the door.
After the second knock, the door is open by a small, noble-looking woman with stern eyes and a ramrod straight spine.
“Hi, Mom,” Delilah says nervously as we stand at the doorstep. The woman eyes me, and I can see a tenseness in her lips but she says nothing about my presence here. Delilah must have told her I was coming.
"Dinner is ready," she says as she turns around and walks in, leading us to a neat, homey dining room. A tall, rangy man is seated at the head of the table, staring darkly at me.
The atmosphere is cold and unwelcoming as we sit around the dining table, and I wonder how long it will take for someone to break the silence.
In the end, it’s Delilah’s mother who does it.
“What do you want with my daughter?” she asks plainly as she’s cutting her chicken.
“To love her and care for her,” I say in just as casual a tone.
