Oh, God. Oh, no. What am I doing? I just called Brandon my boyfriend. To my mother. Out loud. There's no taking this back now.
I can't seem to stop talking; the words tumble out of my mouth like I've lost all control over my vocal cords. I'm too terrified to look at Brandon directly, so I shift my eyes sideways without turning my head. I can see him staring at me, and I'm pretty sure those are the whites of his eyes taking up most of his face.
Please play along, I pray silently.
“Hello, Brandon!” my mother exclaims, rushing toward him with her arms outstretched. “It's so nice to meet you!”
She pulls him into one of her signature Southern mama hugs, and over her shoulder, Brandon shoots me a look that could absolutely be classified as murderous. I bring my hands up in a desperate pleading gesture, and his eyes narrow in a way that tells me I'm going to be buying our Thursday night dinners for the next year.
When she finally releases him, something magical happens. Brandon's entire demeanor shifts, and suddenly, he's all charm and grace. Even I'm convinced we're dating.
“Mrs. Rhodes, it's such a pleasure to meet you,” he says, his voice warm and smooth. “I can see where Stella gets her beauty.”
My mother practically melts on the spot.
“And I have to tell you,” he continues, reaching over to take my hand and pull me against his side, “I absolutely adore your daughter. She's the most incredible woman I've ever met.”
Holy shit. He's actually doing it. He's holding my hand and telling my mother he adores me with the kind of sincerity that could win him an Oscar. I can literally see her falling for it in real time.
The casual way he touches me, like it's the most natural thing in the world, sends an unexpected flutter through my stomach. Even knowing this is all an act, my skin tingles where his fingers brush against mine.
“Please, call me Caroline. And what do you do, Brandon? Besides sweep my daughter off her feet, apparently.”
“I'm a stuntman,” he says simply. “I work in film and television.”
My mother's eyebrows shoot up, but instead of the disapproval I'm expecting, she looks impressed. “A stuntman! How exciting. That must require incredible strength and athleticism.”
“It has its moments,” Brandon says, shooting me a glance that clearly asks, “Is this really happening?”
“So, how long have you two been seeing each other?” she asks, her eyes bright with curiosity.
“Not long,” I say quickly. “Like I told you, it's still really new.”
“But promising,” my mother says with a knowing smile. “I can tell. You have that glow, sugar.”
Brandon clears his throat. “So, uh, how long are you planning to visit?”
“Oh, just a few days.” She gestures to the rolling bag in the hallway. “I thought I could stay in your guest room and we could have some lovely mother-daughter time. And of course, I want to get to know Brandon better.”
My guest room. Which doesn't exist. Because I live in a one-bedroom apartment with a living room, kitchen, and bathroom. There is no guest room.
“Actually, Mama, I don't have a guest room. This is just a one-bedroom.”
She gets a perplexed look on her face, one that makes her look like she already knew that detail, and immediately, I'm suspicious. “Oh. Well, that's fine. I can take the couch. I'm not picky.”
Crap on a cracker. I can't let my mother sleep on the couch. “Mama, you can't sleep on that. You'll hurt your back.”
“Then where do you suggest I stay? A hotel?”
Yes. Yes, I do. She loves fancy hotels. I'm not sure where she's going with this. Her acting skills escalate to look offended, like staying in a hotel is the equivalent of sleeping in a cardboard box.
And that's when my mother's gaze shifts between Brandon and me, and I can practically see the gears turning in her head. Her eyes narrow slightly as she takes in the dinner setup, theway we're standing close together, the general domestic comfort of the scene.
“Unless…” she says slowly as a knowing smile creeps across her face. “Unless you two are already staying together most of the time anyway?”
My face goes completely red. “Mama!”
“Oh, don't be embarrassed, sugar. I'm a modern woman. I know how these things work.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Young couples spend time at each other's places. It's perfectly natural.”
