“You’re right.” If I keep repeating it to myself maybe it’ll make it true. “What do you think about her?”
His opinion is something I want. Not that it’ll change my mind on anything regarding Kate, but I need to know if they’ll clash.
“I like her. The wine wasn’t necessary, but she brought flowers for your mom. Anyone who shows your mother what a treasure she truly is, is golden in my book.”
“Gee, thanks. You don’t care about how she treats me?”
“That’s not what I’m saying, kiddo.” Ugh, I hate when he calls me that. As if I’m not in my twenties and doing my best to get my shit together. “If she treated you badly, you wouldn’t be with her. You would never have brought her home to meet us. This is the first woman you’ve brought home to meet us since you were in high school. There’s a reason for that, and I trust your judgement when it comes to your heart. When you know, you know.”
This is the first time I think we’ve ever had a conversation about my relationships since I was a teenager. He’s not wrong, though. Maybe that’s why I left my number that first night. There’s something about Kate that pulls me to her.
Laughter floats into the living room from the kitchen. Dad and I are still watching the movie, but it’s good to know my mom and girlfriend are getting along. Earlier Dad mentioned the girl from high school, but Mom couldn’t stand her. Not that I blame her. It’s not the she was a bad person, but she was very selfish and didn’t treat me the best. It took a long time for me to realize it, and both of my parents were happy when things didn’t work out between us.
There are times being high school sweethearts works out, but I’m grateful that wasn’t the case for me. I never would have gone off to college or met Kate.
The movie credits are rolling when Mom calls out, “Dinner is ready.”
“Do you have any idea what she was making?” I ask Dad. “Dinner never takes this long.”
“I thought it was spaghetti,” he shrugs as he stands from the recliner, “maybe she changed her mind.”
We make our way to the kitchen and dad was right, she made spaghetti. But now there are brownies cooling on the counter. “So, Kate needs to come over for you to make brownies?”
“No, Xander,” Mom shakes her head, “she asked me to teach her to make them. So, I did.”
“You realize you’ll need more in your fridge than the bare necessities to cook, right?” I smirk in Kate’s direction.
“After that comment, I may never cook,” Kate sticks her tongue out at me. “You’ll have to get used to cooking for me forever.”
I can see the second she realizes what she said. Her eyes widen and she sputters, “Or, however long we’re together. Not that I’m putting an expiration date on us. Oh my God.” She buries her head in her hands.
“Don’t worry,” I move to her side and wrap an arm around her waist, “I’ll cook for you as long as you’ll have me.”
Dad winks at me and smiles knowing damn well I mean it. I pull out the chair next to mine and wait for Kate to take a seat. Mom and Dad both sit in their usual spots. Mom motions for everyone to fill their plates and I don’t wait for another suggestion. I’ve barely eaten today in anticipation of Kate coming over.
She nudges me in my side after I take my first bite. “So, how does it taste?” Her voice is barely above a whisper and it takes me a moment to realize why she’s asking.
“It’s great.” I mutter around my mouthful of spaghetti.
“Kate helped season the sauce and meat,” Mom beams, “I told her it was perfect, but she wouldn’t hear it from anyone but you.”
“Are you sure?” Kate asks again. “It’s not too herb-y?”
“Not at all,” I take her hand in mine, “I told you; your heart and intuition tell you when to stop.”
“Ah, he does listen when I teach him to cook,” Mom laughs before taking a bite. “His grandma taught me the same way. I don’t even know if she had measuring cups. She always knew when the ingredients were just right.”
“That’s not how my mom cooks at all,” Kate shakes her head, “everything has a precise measurement.”
“To each their own.” That’s what Mom says, but I have a feeling she’s already formed an opinion about Kate’s parents, and I hope that doesn’t get in the way of anything if, and when, they meet each other.
“For what it’s worth, I think I like the way you cook.” Kate’s smile is small. I wonder if she’s thinking about how things could have been different for her if her parents were more like mine.
“Thanks, but all the credit on this dinner goes to you.”
“She’s not wrong,” Dad says, “this is really good.”
“Thank you, Mr. Charles.” She takes a bite of her own food, and from the soft moan that escapes her lips, I know she’s proud of the meal she’s helped make.
