“You love birds planning on moving in together?” Mama asked.
I nearly choked on my wine. “Ma?—”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we’re ready,” Fontaine answered smoothly. “I’ve had some family things come up recently, and Nai travels a lot for work. It’s just not a priority.”
A strange feeling settled in my chest. We’d never talked about moving in together, even though these days I was at his place more than my own.
My mother’s eyes flicked between us as I felt Fontaine give my leg a reassuring squeeze under the table.
We’d helped her tidy up dessert and decided to call it a night.
“It was really nice meeting you, Fontaine,” Mama said as we put on our coats.
“Likewise, Mrs. Crawford,” he said, flashing her a dimpled smile.
I sat with my arms folded, eyes trained ahead and tried to talk myself out of the annoyance that kept crawling up my spine.
Fontaine drove with one hand on the wheel, unbothered, humming along to whatever was playing on the radio. I wanted to flick him in his stupid face.
“You were really comfortable in there,” I said.
He glanced over. “I thought the evening went well.”
“I bet you did.”
He sighed and looked back at the road. “What’s the problem, Kitten?”
“There’s no problem,” I huffed. “I just find it funny how you could walk into my mother’s house and hold a whole conversation with her like you’ve known her for years.Meanwhile I can’t get through a meal without feeling like I’m talking to a stranger.”
“So you’re mad because I got along with your mom?” he asked slowly, making sure he heard me correctly.
“I’m not mad.”
“You’ve had a scowl on your face since we pulled out of the driveway.”
“I have a headache.”
He sucked his teeth. He knew I was lying and we both knew he knew, and that made it worse somehow. I turned toward the window and watched the streetlights blur past.
It was childish. I’d set this whole thing in motion—been the one to invite him, worked up the nerve to do it. And he made the whole thing look like a walk in the park.
What did I expect? For my mother to be stiff and formal the way she was with me most of my life? For there to be some kind of disconnect between them that would make me feel less of a failure because I was just now forming a relationship with my mother?
It shouldn’t have bothered me. I knew that. Yet, I was sitting at dinner feeling like a guest in my childhood home.
He didn’t press me for the rest of the ride and let me stew in it. By the time we got inside I wanted to fight, scream, punch, something, and I wasn’t proud of it.
I dropped my coat on the chair and went to the kitchen. Fontaine came in behind me and leaned against the fridge, watching me pour myself a glass of water, like he was waiting for me to say whatever was still bottled up.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m a problem you’re trying to solve.”
“Nairobi—”
“She’s never been like that with me.” It came out before Icould reel it back in. “That warm. That welcoming. Even now when we’re working through our mess, it still feels like I’m pulling teeth most of the time. And you walk in one time—” I laughed dryly. “One fucking time, and she’s laughing and pouring wine, asking about your life like she actually cares.”
