Dad steps up to Eli and holds his hand out. “Eli, good to see you.”
“Good to see you, Mr. Lawes,” Eli says, his voice sounding nervous.
“Joseph is fine.”
Mom then pulls Eli into a hug and says, “Ooo, I forgot how tall you are. And before you call me Mrs. Lawes, Tina will do.”
He chuckles. “Good to see you, Tina.”
When Mom pulls away, she sniffs the air and says, “Did someone cook?”
“I did.” Eli raises his hand and then sticks it back in the pocket of his jeans. “Hope you like lasagna.”
Dad pats his stomach just like a dad would and says, “Always room for lasagna.”
“Good, I made a large pan of it.”
Dad claps Eli on the back, and together, they walk into the kitchen while Mom hangs back with me.
Whispering, she says, “He made dinner? That’s impressive.”
Quietly, I say, “He wanted to show you guys he’s as he said, more than a talented hockey player with a credit card.”
“He’s so adorable.” Mom watches as Dad talks to him about the series. Always hockey on his brain. “And my God, honey, is he handsome.” Tell me about it. “Are you sure you two are just friends?”
“Positive,” I say just as Eli looks up and our eyes meet. He smirks at me and then goes back to cutting up the garlic bread in the kitchen.
“Are you sure? Because that look he just gave you doesn’t really say friends.”
“Please, Mom, not you too. Blakely won’t let up about this nonsense either.”
“Well, forgive us if we see something you might not see.”
“You’re coming up with things in your head.”
“Mm-hmm, so this dress you’re wearing has nothing to do with him?” She looks me up and down.
“Can’t I wear a nice dress?”
“Penny dear, you know I love you, but the dress you’re wearing isn’t necessarily something you’d wear while having an intimate dinner with your parents. That’s more of an intimate one-on-one dress, if you know what I mean.”
“Mom, fashion advice from you, the turtleneck queen, won’t necessarily be on point.”
She chuckles and takes my hand. “So you’re telling me those second trimester hormones haven’t kicked in?”
I gulp.
“I, uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She just smiles. “Okay, honey.”
And then we walk toward the dining room, where Eli is setting down the breadbasket, and Dad is bringing over the salad.
Like the gracious host he is, Eli asks everyone to take a seat before pulling out my chair and helping me take a seat. My mom eyes me suspiciously, but I just ignore her. It doesn’t help that Eli drags his hand over my shoulder before walking away. Doesn’t help at all.
He takes the next few minutes to retrieve drinks for everyone, rejecting all help and telling us to just relax. He moves around my kitchen effortlessly, serving everyone lasagna with poise and ease, and he waits until everyone has taken a mouthful of their dinner before he starts his own.
“Wow, this lasagna is incredible,” Mom says. “I might have to steal the recipe from you, Eli.”
