“A hug would be great,” I tell her, bending to make it easier on her. She smells of Italian herbs. It reminds me immediately of Rafael.
She pats my shoulder before stepping back. “Come on in. Lasagna is in the oven. You kids want something to drink?”
“Do you have orange soda?” Todd calls from further inside the house.
Isaac’s mom smiles fondly as she heads that way. “In the fridge like always.”
Isaac blows out a quiet breath, toeing off his shoes. I do the same, wondering if his nerves are simply a product of having his boyfriend over to meet his mom or something else.
“Wouldnowbe a good time to bring up the porn?” I ask, making sure my voice doesn’t carry.
The comment works as I’d hoped. Isaac gives me a shove, a smile on his face as he grabs my hand. “Come on.”
Isaac lets go as we round the corner into the kitchen. The smell of herbs is stronger here, coming from the baking lasagna. Lumi and Todd are seated on a padded bench inside a bay window, their legs drawn up so they can both fit. Each has a glass of orange soda, and another two are waiting on the table nearby.
“So, Trevor,” Isaac’s mom says, launching into conversation as she places frozen breadsticks on a baking sheet, “Isaac tells me you’re a business major?”
“I am,” I answer, glancing quickly at Isaac. He appears to be biting his tongue. I avoid the topic of my videos. “I’m in my last semester.”
“That’s wonderful. Three of you are graduating this year.”
Isaac’s expression flickers, the reminder of Todd and Lumi nearing the end of their schooling seemingly having droppedhis mood. I take a seat next to him at the table, letting my thigh rest against his.
“I’m glad I’m nearly done,” I say. “I’m not sure I could manage as many years as Isaac will be tackling.”
“You could if you were studying English,” he tosses out. “You’d be in heaven.”
I can’t refute that.
“You like literature, as well?” his mom asks.
“He’s a damn poet,” Isaac answers, his gaze piercing me, steady and bright. “Although I’m positive he’d never admit to it.”
“Because it’s nothing,” I put in.
Isaac’s eyebrows pop up. “Who was it that told me words have weight? That they carry intent? Are you telling me yours are worthless to the people who hear them?”
Well, shit.
“He’s a poet,” Isaac insists, voice firm. “And the most modest person I’ve ever met.”
I’m trying to formulate some sort of response when I see Todd lean forward on the bench seat. I run my gaze from his frowning face over to where Isaac’s mom is standing near the stove, her hands braced against the countertop.
“Ms. Newport?” Todd asks, causing Isaac’s gaze to flick that way, as well. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she says quickly, shaking her head a couple times as if coming out of a fog. “Just a dizzy spell. Good thing lunch is almost ready, hm?”
Todd is still frowning, and Isaac is now, as well.
But Ms. Newport straightens and tosses a smile over her shoulder. “I’m fine. Trevor, do you read your poetry anywhere?”
“Oh, no. Isaac is the only one who’s heard any of it.”
“Any?” Isaac asks, stressing the word. “Is there more I haven’t heard?”
I smirk, and his eyes widen.
Lumi snickers. “I’d ask to hear some, but from Trevor’s expression, I’m fairly certain it’s not meant for our delicate sensibilities.”
