He holds up his hands apologetically, although his face is the farthest thing from apologetic. “Guess I need to purge my collection. Anyway, sandwich?” Then he takes the stairs two at a time, leaving me to deal with my stunned mother.
“Well… he was… I wasn’t…”
She’s staring at the landing where he’s disappeared, and my first instinct is to trip all over myself to make excuses for him. But you know what? No. An actual boyfriend would’ve been freaked out by that little speech about her sad single daughter.
If you don’t communicate your boundaries, how will anyone know when they’ve crossed them?I’ve never been good at putting that therapy mantra into practice, but if not now, when? If not me, who? If not directed at my mother, what am I even doing here this week?
“You made me sound pathetic just now, Mom.”
She blinks a few times, likely surprised to get the tiniest bit of pushback from me. “Oh honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. Now that it’s out of her system she’ll probably calm down, so there’s no need to upset her. I hug her again, resting my head on her shoulder. Her hair, more gray than brown now, tangles with my earring as she squeezes me back.
“We’re just so excited you brought someone home with you. We only want you to be happy, but with every year that goes by…” She releases me, and her eyes drift upstairs again. I’m pretty sure we’re both thinking about that damn thong. “Was he serious about the sandwich?”
Good question. “I’m not sure. Why don’t I head up and check?”
I haul my suitcase—I have literally never thought about my luggage as much as I have in the past five minutes—up the stairs and ease my door open to find Gabe leaning awkwardly against the wall farthest from the bed. He’s staring at the pink-and-white quilt covering it. Mom made it for me when I turned thirteen, and it still makes me smile.
“It doesn’t bite,” I tell him as I shut the door behind me. “It’s a mattress, not a torture device.”
“Ha. How’d it go?”
I climb onto the bed and kick off my shoes.
“You were perfect, and by that I mean perfectly awful.”
He shrugs modestly. “I told you, I have a history of terrible behavior to draw from.”
“Your poor ex-girlfriends.” A horrifying thought strikes me. “Wait, is that where you got that thong?”
“God, no. I bought a new one just for this.”
“What a gentleman.”
He wanders to the window, pulling back the curtain to peer out into the backyard. “Using old underwear would be beyond tacky.” He turns and grins at me. Good Gabe in the house.
“Definitely,” I say as he steps away from the window and resumes his position by the wall. “Okay, what’s going on here?”
He swallows hard, his throat working. “It’s so small.”
“It’s a queen.” I pat the ample space next to me. “That’s not small.”
He still looks dubious. “’I’ll just sleep on the floor.”
I snort and flop backward onto the bed, flinging my arms and legs out like a starfish.
“See? Still plenty of room. We’d barely touch.”
“The floor’s no big deal,” he insists. “I slept on a futon for a full year. A carpeted floor is nothing.”
I sit up. “Sure, but you were sleeping on that futon when you were, what, nineteen and made of rubber?”
“Try twenty-five. My body’s impervious to pain.”
I wince. “Wow. You do own sheets and towels now, right? Because if not, I’ll ask Santa to bring you some.”
He just laughs and folds his arm over his chest. “I wasn’t kidding about that sandwich,babe. My manly hunger needs to be met.”
