To my utter horror, my mom blushes, then leans over to whisper an aside to me. “Oh, he’s a keeper.”
I think I’m gonna barf.
It isn’t long before conversation takes off, and I foolishly think I’m safe from contributing due to a stuffed piehole. I, of course, am sorely mistaken.
“So, what are your intentions with my daughter?” she prods, diving headfirst into the million-dollar question.
I love my mother to death, but that woman wouldn’t know subtlety if it whacked her in the face.
A traitorous noodle coincidentally gets wedged in one of my pipes, and I dissolve into a choking fit that has me straining and reaching for the nearest glass of water. Fingers scrambling, throat spluttering, the second I contact ice-cold salvation, I chug it until the tears stem in my eyes.
I can’t believe she just asked him that!
“Mom!” I scold.
Unsated by small talk, Knox leans forward with a fire in his eyes, so sure of himself that there’s no telling what brazenness is about to step onto the scene. “Like my mother always said, a man’s greatest purpose in life is to cherish his woman. And I can assure you, Marjorie, that I was raised to be a gentleman first and foremost.”
A gentleman? Oh, please. Knox would probably give up a kidney just to get into my pants. If our foul play frontage doesn’t fall apart quicker than wet tissue paper, I’d be surprised.
My mom seems pleased by his rehearsed response, stabbing a flight of green beans onto her fork kebab-style. “I’m so glad to hear that. My little Buttercup needs all the TLC she can get.”
No! Not the nickname. Knox is going to?—
“I promise that your littleButtercupis safe with me,” he declares, an amused grin splitting his lips, his true, devious selfreflected in the eyes that deadlock with mine. He knows this whole interaction is killing me, and he’s relishing every second of it.
My grip on my utensil tightens, ire guiding my half-bitten words in the same way a flame on a tall-wicked candle does in a power outage. “Yeah, Knox is…he’samazing.”
“And how did you two meet? Don’t tell me you’ve been keeping him a secret from me, Staten.”
I wish I could’ve kept him a secret.
I’m not sure why I’m so caught off guard by a pretty standard, relationship-related inquiry, but nevertheless, the question scrapes away at my confidence like sticky fingers shelling pomegranate seeds from a ruby-red rind.
Oh, you know, it was love at first car wreck. He nearly killed me—I was blinded by his flashy car and equally flashy personality. We skipped the whole enemies subplot and couldn’t get enough of each other.
I don’t have an answer for her, and I’m not sure what’s worse—Knox being the one to curate our imaginary meet-cute, or my mother plucking at the first fraying strand of our unbelievable fabrication.
Luckily—or unluckily—for me, Knox is the buttress for my burden. “We’re in the same Intro to Literature class. The first time I heard her speak, she was deconstructing F. Scott Fitzgerald’s literary devices and making the rest of us look like fools. I’ve never heard a more articulate or intelligent take,” he explains, staring at me in a way that has my heart using my ribs as a launching pad. “I don’t remember ever paying attention in class before, but in that moment, I would’ve given any excuse to hear her talk again. For one, she finally put Mr. Hardwin in his place. Looking good while doing it? That was just a bonus.”
This is just an extremely intricate lie, Staten. Nothing more. He’s playing the part you forced him into.
Then why did all that sound so…real?
Because Knox Mulligan is a sweet talker. He’ll say anything to get what he wants.
But maybe that’s not really who he is. Maybe?—
A smile blooms on my mom’s lips, tugging at the crow’s feet beneath her timeworn eyes. She looks like she could cry tears of joy. “Staten, why haven’t you told me any of this?” she asks, shifting the proverbial interrogation lamp onto me.
I stiffen like opossums do when they play dead. Shit, she’s singling me out. She knows I’m a terrible liar! If I give her even thesmallestreason to doubt us, it’s game over. I want to make my mom happy; I can’t stop the lie now. Knox’s and my chemistry has to be so believable that anyone would think I’d let him invade my mouth with his tongue. On a regular basis.
Spurring this lie is the equivalent of trying to navigate through an endless, mulberry night with no sign of daybreak. Panic conducts a clean-cut robbery on my conviction, and I lag for a few moments before mustering the most synthetic smile, digging into my shallow roots of high school theater.
“We, uh, wanted it to be a surprise,” I finally confess, glancing over at Knox and clearing my throat rather loudly as he gobbles up a slider in one bite. “Isn’t that right, schmoopy?”
It’s Knox’s turn to freeze, and he swallows to digest both the fall-apart pork and my merciless curveball. “Right,schmoopy. You know the saying: you never brag about a good thing.”
That’s definitelynota saying.
