Page 84 of The Plus One Pact

"I know." Her blush deepens. "I was embarrassed."

"Why?" I ask.

"It's close. And it's our heritage. Not mine, ethnically, of course, but this was all Mexico once," she says. "It feels wrong, to never visit the country properly."

"You have to come," Mom says. "On our next family trip. If you can stand to spend another week with us."

Since when do we invite girlfriends of three months on family vacations?

I shoot her a curious look.

She waves me off.

"I'd love to." Ivy looks to me with wide eyes. She moves a little closer. Places her hand in mine.

She wants to connect.

Or wants to look like she wants to connect.

Of course. This is a pivotal moment in a relationship. Meeting the family. Finding acceptance there.

I squeeze her hand and lean in closer, but I don't kiss her. Instead, I rest my forehead against hers.

She melts into the gesture for a long moment then she pulls back with a smile. The easy intimacy of a couple in love.

It's a sensation I don't recognize. A glimpse of a life I've never had.

The ability to connect with someone, to feel true intimacy, to grab a hit of love anytime you need it.

I can see how that gets addicting.

The she scoots back to her original seat, and that feeling is gone. Only reality remains. We're playing a game on top of a game.

None of this is real.

We go through another round of silly answers. Daniel's secret hatred of mezcal. It tastes like licking a barbeque.

Cynthia's secret stash of gossip magazines. Ivy's best friend knows details about our sex life. She's never told me that. But, of course, I assumed.

I did tell her to go wild. Share with anyone.

Women either want to keep an experience with me secret or they want to share it with the world.

Then it's mine. "I didn't think I'd ever fall for someone who knew more about sex than I do." Mom laughs as she reads the card. "I suppose that could be either of you." She looks to me and Ivy. "The professional."

So that came up in this morning’s conversation. Good. Better if Ivy can be as open as possible. "Or the very active amateur," Cynthia laughs.

Ivy's lips curl into a smile as her eyes find me. "I bet you didn't."

"I didn't," I agree.

"But theory is different than… experience," she says. "It plays out differently."

"Even so." This time, I pull her into a slow, deep kiss.

This time, Mom clears her throat, even as Cynthia hoots and calls, "get a room."

And the game continues. Mom opens the next card, and her lips curl into a frown. Still, she pushes forwards. "I'm nervous about getting married."