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It’s amazing how home always smells like home, no matter how long you’ve been away.
Mom had made everything as neat as a pin. A stack of blankets, sheets, and pillows were on the sleeper sofa, waiting for us to make up our bed. Well, waiting for Sophie and the young, twenty-something Neil mom had pictured. I had no illusions about how the night would go when she got back.
“This is pretty much it,” I said as Neil stepped in behind me, carrying our bag. I took it from him and put it down in the space between the end of the couch and the entertainment center. Then I shrugged off my coat and gestured around. “Through there is the kitchen, beyond that is the dining room. Over that way is the bathroom, and my old bedroom. But that’s my mom’s now.”
“You and your mother shared a bedroom when you were growing up?” He sounded shocked at the idea.
“Nope.” I shrugged. “Mom slept on the couch out here, and I got the bedroom. She’s probably still got my posters up, if you want to see how embarrassing my life truly was.”
He took off his coat and laid it over the arm of my mom’s Lay-Z-Boy. “I don’t think it looks embarrassing at all. You were clearly raised by a very loving—if loud—protective family. You had a comfortable home, a caring parent, and you grew up to be a woman I love very much.”
“Awww!” I stepped into his arms and hugged him hard. His chest was so firm and warm under my wind-burned cheek. I tilted my head up to kiss him, but first I said, “My family is loud?”
“I could barely understand anything they were saying, with all the background noise.” He made a disgusted sound, but not at my family. I’d heard that huffy exhalation before. “I feel ancient.”
“You’re not ancient. Chemotherapy can damage your hearing. You know that,” I said, reaching up to touch his face. I cupped his jaw with my hand, and he leaned his cheek against my palm. “Besides I kind of like being able to mutter under my breath without you hearing.”
“What was that?” he asked, widening his eyes and leaning slightly forward so that I would take the bait. And, because I’m too nice and trustworthy a person, I began repeating what I’d said before. He grinned, I realized the joke, and I smacked his chest.
“How do you manage to fall for that every single time?” he laughed.
“I was trying to console you!” I rose on my tiptoes, and he bent his head to kiss me. I’d meant to give him a brief peck, but what I ended up getting was a thorough tongue-fucking that made me lose my balance and lean against him. His hands slipped down my back, over my ass, and he lifted his head and cursed softly.
I opened my eyes to see the illumination of approaching headlights skating over the faux-wood paneling. “Mom’s home,” I said with a resigned sigh.
“The point of coming here was for you to see your mother, and now you’re trying to avoid her?” He stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. “Do I look like I was just ravishing you?”
“No, you’re fine. Except…wipe my lipstick off your mouth.” I brushed my thumb over the smudge of MAC Pre-Raphaelite that stained his lower lip.
The door opened and Mom stepped in, faked normal at the sight of our close proximity, and held out a huge Tupperware bowl. Neil stepped over quickly to take it from her.
“Potato salad,” she said as she handed it to him. “I think that’s the wrong color on you, Neil.”
His blush was kind of cute.
“Do you need us to bring anything in from the car?” I asked as she slipped off her coat and hung it on the pegged shelf beside the door.
“Nothing that can’t keep until morning.” Mom pushed her sleeves back. “I want to get some quality time in with my daughter, if that’s okay.”
This time, when she hugged me, it wasn’t a stiff armed, suspicious hug. She was also faintly alcohol scented, so I was so glad she’d been driving.
When she stepped back, she called to Neil, who was trying in vain to find room for the giant Tupperware bowl in the tiny galley kitchen, to ask, “Are you hungry, Neil? Do you need something to eat?”
“No, thank you, no. Still quite stuffed from this afternoon.”
Mom smirked at me and mouthed, “Quite.”
I mouthed back, “Stop.”
I wasn’t sure what I wanted her to stop doing, but I had this horrible feeling that what I’d meant was, “Stop finding my boyfriend cute.”
“How about drinks, then?” Mom suggested. “Neil, put that down, I’ll find a place for it in the fridge. What are you having?”
“Oh, um…” He stepped into the living room and let Mom past; the kitchen of a single-wide trailer was really a one-person show. “What do you have in the way of scotch?”
“I don’t know about scotch, but I have a fifth of Wild Turkey,” Mom offered. The bottles in the refrigerator door tinkled, and I heard stuff moving on the shelves. “And I’ve got some Jack.”
Neil looked like my mother had just asked him if he wanted to drink gasoline, but he managed to choke out, “I-I think Jack Daniels would be fine.”
