“Oh, she’ll be here soon,” Nancy says, releasing me from her hold. “She had to work late. I swear, all that girl does is work. She needs to find a nice boy to take up some of her time, I think.”
Riley rolls his eyes, but he’s smirking as if this is a conversation they’ve had more than once. “She might not want a nice boy, Mom. Leave her alone.”
“Or a girl!” Nancy says indignantly. “You know we don’t care about that around here. I just want your sister to be happy!”
“Seems sheishappy with her job, Nance,” Whit chuckles.
“Oh, nonsense,” Nancy argues. “No one is happy listening to people’s problems all day!”
Well, she’s probably not wrong about that.
“Anyway, what are we doing standing here in the driveway?” Nancy throws her hands in the air dramatically. “It’s chilly out. Y’all come inside, we have a fire going!”
Riley shoots me a wink as we follow his parents into the house, and my nerves settle a little. I think that went okay, and Riley seems happy. That’s what matters.
The Cunninghams’ home is warm and welcoming, with a sign that says “Y’all Means All” hanging in the center of the wall in the wide entryway right next to a cross that looks like it’s made out of barbed wire with a Bible verse scrawled across a small wood plaque on the front. The open floor plan gives me a chance to have a good look around. There’s a hearty fire going in the living room, just like Nancy said, with holiday music playing from the television. There’s a formal dining room that’s already set for Thanksgiving tomorrow, and the number of place settings threatens to make my anxiety spike. A smaller pub table in the kitchen is taken up with a half-completed puzzle. It’s all so homey and inviting, like something out of a holiday movie.
“Come in, come in,” Nancy beams, bustling around to take our coats and hang them on the rack by the door. “Whit wasplanning to order pizza, if that works for you boys? The kitchen is an absolute mess, as you can see.” She gestures toward the “mess.” The counters are full of dishes and recipe books in preparation for tomorrow, but it all looks very organized rather than cluttered.
“That sounds great to me, Mrs. Cunningham, thank you,” I say, glancing at Riley for approval. He nods in agreement. I fight the urge to reach out and grab his hand for comfort.
“Oh, so polite!” Nancy giggles. “Please, none of that, Luke. Call me Nancy, I insist.”
I smile and nod. I’ll try. I was always so careful around adults growing up, addressing them formally and making sure to never get into trouble. I know Nancy isn’t that much older than me, but it’s hard to override those instincts to be a good, quiet kid who does as he’s told and doesn’t attract attention.
Whit goes to the kitchen to look for pizza coupons he’s saved while Nancy herds us into the living room and gestures for Riley and me to sit on the loveseat as she makes herself comfortable on the couch across from us. I’m secretly relieved to be so close to Riley. I might not have the right to hold his hand, but his warm, steady presence next to me in this completely unfamiliar situation is comforting.
“So tell us about LA, sweetheart!” Nancy is saying to Riley. “We barely hear from you. I want to know everything.”
“I text almost every day!” Riley laughs.
“Well that’s not the same!” Nancy admonishes. “How is your roommate? Have you found a job yet? Made new friends?”
“One thing at a time, Mom, geez.” Riley shakes his head with a smile. “My roommate is…okay, I guess. He’s never really around, and he doesn’t seem to like me very much, but the house is nice enough, so it could be worse. And obviously I met Luke, so that’s one friend, at least.”
I notice he dodged the work question, but Nancy doesn’t seem to, because she turns her attention to me. “Yes, Luke, tell me about yourself! Have you always lived in LA? What do you do for work?”
I shoot a panicked look at Riley, who twists a little and casually throws his arm across the back of the loveseat. I feel the barely there caress of his thumb along my shoulder blade, and the touch grounds me. “I, um…yes,” I stutter finally. “I’ve always lived in California, mostly the Los Angeles area. I’m a…filmmaker.”
“Oh, like in Hollywood?” Whit asks, returning to the living room and joining Nancy on the couch. “Have you worked on anything we would have seen?”
I blanch at that. I think my throat might be closing up. Why is it so hot in here? I glance over at Riley desperately for help.
“Luke makes, like, independent short films,” he interjects, rescuing me. “He’s built quite a following on social media, and he has a really artistic eye.”
Tension seeps out of my shoulders at that. Riley makes it all sound so professional, and they seem satisfied enough with that answer. Conversation shifts to pizza toppings and everyone’s preferences, and I’m barely paying attention. I think I manage to nod and say that I’m okay with whatever everyone else wants, but I’m too distracted watching Riley with his parents to know for sure.
What must it have been like to grow up in a house like this? With parents like this? The love they have for one another is palpable, and I can tell that both Whit and Nancy are supportive and proud of Riley, just like he said. No wonder he’s so secure and confident in himself. From what I’ve seen in just a few minutes with them, I think they would do absolutely anything for him, and he obviously has a lot of love and respect for them in return. The whole dynamic is fascinating to me. A wave ofemotion crests in my chest, and I suddenly feel really lucky that he invited me into this part of his life.
“Anyone home?” a cheerful voice echoes from the entryway, distracting me from the wide range of emotions threatening to rock my shit in front of all these people.
Amanda kicks off her boots and hangs up her coat as Riley leaps up to greet his sister with a hug. “Look at you, little bro, all tan from beach life!” She ruffles his hair affectionately and turns her attention to me. “And you’re obviously Luke. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“You have?” Nancy looks affronted. “Riley David, you’ve been talking to your sister but not us?”
I can’t help but smirk at the way Nancy busts out his middle name. “I just told her we were friends!” Riley protests, glaring at his sister. “Now everyone is caught up. Anyway, Luke, this is my sister, Mandy.”
“I prefer Amanda,” she corrects, holding out her hand to shake mine, “but my family calls me whatever they want, so if you want to call me Mandy, too, then go for it.”
