Leaning close, I whispered, “Is your dad not okay with our relationship?”
Maurice snorted. “He’s fine with us.” He took a deep breath. “What’s wrong, Dad?”
Bertie set a plate of rolls onto the table, then waved a hand at Maurice. “Don’t worry about him. He’s been listening to those news programs again, the ones that get him all riled up. He’s been on edge for days. I told him not to do that.”
All at once Maurice’s dad turned toward me, his blue eyes snapping with an unexpected intensity. “You’re in business, right?” He pointed at my suit. “You do something professional?”
“Uh, yes.” I froze.
“What do you know about the tax codes around these parts?”
Maurice smiled, then cleared his throat and attempted a straight face, but his eyes twinkled. He was no help.
“Uh, that depends. Quite a bit in some situations, not so much in others.”
His dad grunted. “Those people are always trying to steal your money, son. You better wise up. If you’re with Maurice, I don’t want you getting duped. I’ll look into it and send you some links. You gotta give me your email.”
I cut a glance at Maurice, and he mouthed “no” at me.
“Uh, thank you, sir.”
Maurice’s head dropped toward his chest and he seemed to be fighting off chuckles.
“Come on, boys! This food won’t eat itself.” Bertie set a dish of meatloaf on the table, followed by mashed potatoes and a boat of gravy, and all at once I’d never been more famished in my life. Maurice and I sat on one side of the small rectangular table and Maurice’s parents sat on the other, and I was glad I was across from his mom and not his dad, whose name I still didn’t know. I glanced around the kitchen, and it was perfectly pleasant with pink walls and cupboards and white counters. I began to sweat in my suit because it didn’t seem like they had the AC on very high. Or maybe it was nerves that had me swiping at my forehead.
Maurice lowered his attention to the table, and my heart twisted as he piled food on his plate. I did the same. He proceeded to shovel bites into his mouth as if eating was an Olympic sport and he was going for the gold, and things about him slotted into place in my mind. His dad’s mouth twisted and the old man muttered. Bertie glared at Maurice, who seemed like he was in a rush to finish and leave.
I rubbed Maurice’s arm and his eyebrows rose as he glanced at me. Bertie grabbed a roll and plopped it onto my plate. “Eat up, they’re homemade. I don’t drag out the good recipes for just anyone.”
“It’s fantastic, Mom,” Maurice said with a smile.
She beamed back at him, but as he began to shovel food into his mouth again, she scowled. “Slow down or you’ll choke.”
He laid aside his spoon and sighed.
Leaning in, I murmured, “You want to leave that bad?”
“Is it obvious?” he asked at regular volume.
Bertie pointed at him, and I sat back in my chair, spine going straight. Years of conditioning from my own parents had always made me hate that sort of gesture. “It’s because you eat that way that you’re big.”
Maurice’s jaw firmed so hard the point stuck out. “Thank you, Mother.”
She shook her head and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her dress pocket. It took her a second to light up, and when she did, she cursed. “Slide me that ashtray.” Maurice lifted a crystal bowl from the end of the table, and she took it and settled it beside her plate. “You’ve got someone now, so you need to think about your habits or you’ll drive him off, just like you did that nice boy Matthew. He was a good boy, and he helped your father around the yard and didn’t complain.”
Maurice leaned back in his chair and his gaze slid to the ceiling where it stayed stuck. “Thank you, Mother.”
There was a tense silence that was only broken by his dad coughing.
“I happen to like Maurice the way he is, so please don’t berate him on my behalf.” I spoke loudly enough that everyone stared at me.
Bertie snorted and grinned. “Look at him. He’s all ruffled up over you. That’s cute. You’re sweet.” She shook her head.
Maurice’s dad smiled as he seemed to tune back in to the conversation. “I tell her to leave the boy alone, but you can’t tell her nothing.”
Maurice groaned. “I have asked you a thousand times to keep out of this part of my life.” He gestured toward the food on the table. “I won’t come over here for meals anymore if you don’t quit.”
“I want you to be healthy,” Bertie cracked back, and this conversation had the feel of a well-worn argument.
