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We stood up and stretched. He wrapped me in a bear hug and I tried, as always, not to enjoy it. “Let’s do this again,” he said. “Invite Michael and we can all go to dinner at my parents’ house next weekend.”
I laughed into his shoulder. “You, me, and a football player? There’s not enough food in their house.”
I felt the smile in his voice. “They’ll make it work.” His voice turned slightly sour. “Because they definitely love you more than me.”
“Hey, babe.” Michael smiled as he smacked a wet kiss on my cheek. He dropped his bag where he stood and headed to my kitchen. “Want me to make something to eat?”
I moved the bag to the hook as I grit my teeth. I loved having my own space. Before Michael, I always knew where things were; I could navigate my apartment in pitch blackness without turning on a light.
But then, Michael happened. Almost immediately after he proposed, he started to encroach on my space. Soon, I started finding errant socks with no match, or bags piled up in the hallway. Worse, the invasion of my space hadn’t gotten any easier with time. I could only imagine how much worse it would get when I moved in with him.
I plastered a smile to my face as I turned to him. “Sure. What are you in the mood for?”
“Spaghetti.” He rummaged through my cabinets. “You?”
I shrugged. “I’ll eat whatever you’re making.” I sat at the kitchen bar. “How was your day?”
“Good.” He held up the spaghetti in triumph. “Associates didn’t have any major problems with customers, which was a nice change. We did have an old-lady smuggling ring come through, though.”
“An old-lady smuggling ring? What the fu— heck is that?” I caught myself on the swear before Michael could frown at me.
He poured meat sauce into the saucepan and turned it on low. “They’ve hit up all the major locations in the mall and smuggled goods under their shirts or in their bras. Another manager calls them the Blue Haired Group.” He snickered. “Because old ladies sometimes have blue hair. You get it?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I got it. So have they been stopped yet?”
“Yeah, we caught them today.”
I nodded. “Good.”
“How was your hangout with your friend? Andy?”
“Andrew,” I corrected as I grimaced. Andrew hated the nickname Andy. His younger twin brothers used to call him that, and it was the fastest route to a headlock. “It was fine. He invited us to have dinner with his family next weekend. He wants to meet you. You wanna go?”
“Sure, babe,” Michael said easily. “Just remember that your parents planned that thing for next Saturday.”
I let out a groan. “I completely forgot about that. God! Do we have to go?”
Michael smiled and kissed my forehead. He held out the sauce spoon for me to taste. “Yes, babe, we have to go. It’s being held in our honor, so it’s kinda the point that we go.” I licked the spoon clean and sighed in pleasure. Andrew may know how to eat, but Michael knew how to cook. “Invite Andy. Kill two birds with one stone. I can meet him then.”
“Andrew,” I corrected again, frowning. “And I guess I could do that.” I tried to picture Andrew mingling with my parents’ high society friends. Something deep in my stomach twisted. I wasn’t entirely convinced that my mother didn’t still hate him.
“Do it, then.” Michael shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt.” The stove timer beeped, and Michael turned it off. He broke the pasta in half, little pieces flying everywhere. I ground my teeth together, watching some of the pieces fall underneath the fridge.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said.
Won’t that be weird? Doesn’t your mom still hate me?
I laughed. It’s as if he’s in my head, I thought.
I guess we’ll find out on Saturday. And I got the okay from Michael, so there’s that. In fact, he suggested that we invite you.
How big of him.
I rolled my eyes at the screen. Andrew’s sour, doubtful look popped into my mind as I typed. I thought it was really sweet of him, actually.
It’ll be a pissing contest. And I’ll be on his turf.
I frowned; I hadn’t thought of it that way. Michael doesn’t think like that.
