Love and Other Goals (Love and Other #1)

Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

T he rest of November rushes by like the Kansas wind blowing the final leaves off the trees. Everyone is starting to buzz with the anticipation of an extended weekend off school for Thanksgiving. I know a lot of people will ditch classes on Monday and Tuesday to just take the full week off, but my studious streak that got me accepted to law school just won’t quit, so I’ll be one of the few attending every class before heading home Tuesday afternoon.

With the Division II men’s soccer tournament looming at the beginning of December, the soccer team still has practice scheduled for the Wednesday morning before Thanksgiving. Coach Anderson asked Mateo and the other captain if they could attend a film-watching strategy session on Friday afternoon. As Mateo phrased it, “Coach’s requests are more like expectations.” So, even though it means he won’t get to fly home for Thanksgiving, Mateo agrees.

When my mom finds out about his situation, she insists that I invite him to join us for Thanksgiving. Mateo gratefully accepts, planning to stay with a teammate who is also from the Kansas City metro. He’ll spend the whole day with us on Thursday before driving back to Townsend Friday morning .

My mom is giddy with anticipation, and I half wonder if she called Coach Anderson and asked him to schedule this Friday meeting. If so, I’ll need to thank her, because I’m even giddier at the prospect of getting to spend a holiday with Mateo and my family. It certainly feels like a huge step toward the future in our relationship.

I’m attempting to sleep in Wednesday morning, but my mom comes knocking far too early with a long list of preparations I’m supposed to help with. I roll out of my old childhood bed and trudge downstairs in my pajamas, heading straight to the coffee pot.

My dad is sitting at the kitchen counter eating a bowl of cereal as Mom chatters on and on about all the things we need to do to make tomorrow “extra perfect.” I look at my dad with a deadpan expression in my eyes, and he just stifles a laugh.

I walk over to where my mom is writing out a to-do list, placing my hand over the pen in hers. “Mom, you have met Mateo. You know that he is kind and gracious and relaxed. You do not need to try hard to impress him tomorrow.”

“I have met him, dear,” my mom says in a stern tone, “so I know what’s at stake. We can’t risk losing him!”

My dad bursts out laughing as I face palm and groan. Mom glares at Dad, and he quickly straightens up and turns his laugh into a cough. She is not kidding around.

I play along and help my mom deep clean and prep as much as we can. Olivia is even mildly helpful, enticed by the excitement of finally getting to meet Mateo tomorrow. We order takeout for dinner and sit around the table as Mom rattles off the schedule for tomorrow for the fiftieth time. Mateo will come over in the morning to join us for a casual brunch, we’ll get everything prepped and cooking, we’ll have time to hang out in the afternoon, and my grandparents will join us for an early dinner at 5:00.

“Ugh, we know, Mom,” Dean groans, rolling his eyes.

“You’d better have a more respectful attitude when we have guests tomorrow, young man,” my dad tells him with a note of warning in his voice .

Dean looks ready to pick a fight, but I jump in. The last thing I need is Dean going into tomorrow feeling like he’s under a microscope. “It’s fine, Dad. Mateo has siblings, so he knows how real families act. And he’s totally chill—we don’t need to roll out the red carpet for him.”

My parents let it drop, and Dean sits back with his arms crossed but looking less grumpy.

Despite all my assurances to my family, as I lay in bed that night, all the butterflies in my body wake up and give me anxious energy. I’m not nervous about Mateo being around my family, meeting my siblings and grandparents. I know they’ll like him, and I know he’ll be so kind to everyone (even Dean) because that’s just who he is.

But I can’t rein in my thoughts from charging ahead to the future and imagining every family holiday including Mateo in the picture.

Mateo texts me to confirm that he’ll be here at 9:00 tomorrow morning.

Mateo

Has it been longer than a day since I’ve seen you? Because it feels like forever. I don’t like it

Well, it has been more like 31 hours, so yes, technically longer than a day

Only 11 more to go

My eyes burst open when my alarm goes off at 7:00 a.m. I’m up and in the shower in a matter of minutes, then head downstairs to get a cup of coffee while my hair air dries. My dad and I sit at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and silently scrolling our phones (although he is more nobly reading the news as opposed to my mindless social media) .

I’m about to head upstairs to finish getting ready when my dad stops me. He hugs me tightly and says, “I’m so proud of you, kiddo. I’m going to miss you like crazy when you’re in California next year.”

“Aw, Dad, don’t make me cry right now!” I say as I hug him back. “Let’s table that emotion until the spring.”

He chuckles and then steps back to study my face. “You know, Lana, your mom may be acting a little…”

“Crazed?” I offer with a smile.

“That’s one way to put it,” he says with a smile in return. “But she means well. You know that we both really like Mateo. And we’re really happy to see you so happy. Not just happy about law school, but happy with Mateo. Every parent wants to see that kind of contentment for their kids.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I respond, giving him another squeeze before heading up to my room.

I may be talking a big game about us not needing to impress Mateo, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to put extra effort into my appearance today. After all, it is a holiday.

I blow-dry my hair and apply slightly more makeup than usual while waiting for my curling wand to heat up. I’m singing along to Christmas music on my phone as I wrap section by section of my hair around the wand. While the curls cool off, I pull on a pair of leggings and an oversized jade-green sweater that I know will make my eyes pop. I tease the curls in my hair into loose waves and add a finishing spray and spritz of perfume.

Surveying my reflection in the mirror, I quickly run a brush through the lengths of my hair to dislodge any stiffness from the product I used. I’m already anticipating Mateo’s fingers weaving through my hair, and I get goosebumps just thinking about it.

I head downstairs to help my mom with brunch preparations. I can smell the cinnamon coffee cake already in the oven, an aroma I associate with heaven. We assemble an egg casserole and put it in the oven as we pull the coffee cake out.

Either the smells from the kitchen or my dad woke up my brothers because they’re both sitting at the table. Olivia is leaning against the counter, scrolling her phone and trying to act nonchalant. But I can tell she put some extra effort into getting ready today too.

The doorbell rings at 8:55 on the dot, and I smile to myself. On time is late , I hear Mateo’s smooth, deep voice repeat in my head.

Olivia decides at this moment to drop her cool, casual act and takes off running toward the front door. “Hey!” I call after her as I sprint to catch up. She makes it to the door first but shrieks when I shove her to the side as she’s opening it.

Mateo is standing on the porch with an eyebrow raised and smirk on his face as he watches Olivia and I scuffling at the door. I give her a stern look and swipe my disheveled hair out of my face.

“Hey.” I smile at Mateo, stepping back so he can come in the door.

Olivia immediately slides in front of me when Mateo steps foot in the foyer. “Hi, I’m Olivia, Lana’s very mature younger sister,” she says, batting her eyelashes at him. I roll my eyes, but I can’t really blame her. I’ve shown Olivia pictures of Mateo and me together, but nothing can quite prepare a girl to see him in the flesh for the first time.

Mateo is all graciousness as usual, greeting Olivia and giving her a side hug despite holding several things in his hand, including two bouquets of flowers. My parents come up behind us, Mom still in her apron, offering their welcome to Mateo.

Mom goes right in for the hug, and then Mateo hands her one of the bouquets of flowers. “These are for you, Mrs. Grant, for being a welcoming host.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” she says with an appreciative smile. “And you know you’re supposed to call me Alexis.”

Mateo holds up the second bouquet of flowers. “I hope you might have an extra vase to store these in for the day until Lana’s grandparents arrive?”

If Mom wasn’t melting already from her own flowers, she certainly is now. Mateo Alvarez, turning women into puddles everywhere he goes.

He then holds up a paper bag. “These are from my mother. She found out you had invited me to join you for Thanksgiving and made a big batch of polvorosas to overnight to my teammate’s house yesterday. They’re a popular Guatemalan shortbread cookie—I’m sure you already have dessert prepared, but she would be honored if you’d add these to the table as a token of her appreciation.”

My mom takes the bag from him as she says, “Oh, that is so thoughtful. Please extend our thanks to her.”

My dad takes Mateo’s coat from him and shakes his hand in greeting, then takes the bag of polvorosas from my mom to carry to the kitchen. Mom and Olivia follow him, and I turn to Mateo with a smile. Gosh he looks good, in jeans and a dark gray quarter-zip sweater that accentuates the muscles across his chest and biceps.

“Now my arms are finally open to hug you,” he says, pulling me toward him. My head rests against his heart, and I feel him press his face into my hair at the same time his fingers weave their way through against my lower back. I could stand here forever, but I know that Olivia will get snoopy and come back to the foyer if we don’t join them in the kitchen soon.

Looking up into Mateo’s eyes, I tell him, “I’m sorry you can’t be with your family today, but selfishly I’m really, really glad you’re here.”

He brushes a knuckle across my cheek and says, “Me too. Thanks for inviting me.”

I fight every impulse in my body wanting to lean up and kiss him, threading my fingers through his and leading him toward the kitchen instead. I introduce him to the twins, Carter standing up to shake his hand while Dean gives him a small head nod of acknowledgment.

Mom turns down his offer to help with breakfast prep since he’s a guest, handing him a cup of coffee instead. Mateo sits down at the table with my dad and the boys, sharing about their recent conference tournament win. I’m cutting up fruit, and Olivia comes to lean her back against the counter facing me. “He is so freaking hot,” she mouths silently but exaggeratedly. I give her a playful shove and mouth, “Behave yourself,” as I fake point the knife at her. She waggles her eyebrows but doesn’t say anything else, returning her attention to texting her friends.

I hear Carter talking about his cross-country team, and Mateo builds him up with admiration for long-distance runners (even though I know as a midfielder he’s doing just as much running in a match). I glance over and see Carter beaming, chest puffed up from the praise. Mateo turns to Dean and asks about his interests.

When Dean reluctantly responds that he mostly spends his free time playing video games, Mateo doesn’t scoff or drop the subject. Instead, he asks follow-up questions about Dean’s favorite games and gaming strategies. Dean sits up a little straighter as he shares more with Mateo’s full attention.

“You know,” Mateo says, “more and more colleges are starting to have Esports teams. You can even get a scholarship to join if you’re good.”

Dean sits up much straighter as my dad asks, “Esports? What does that mean?”

Mateo explains, “Just like there are teams for athletic sports like soccer or basketball, some colleges are forming teams for video gaming. They practice as a team and engage in competitions just like physical sports athletes.”

I’ve been trying to stay out of the conversation to not disrupt his connection to Dean, but I can’t help myself now. “Wait, this is really a thing?” I ask over my shoulder.

Mateo nods. “Yep—in fact, Townsend has a team. There’s a guy named Parker in one of my classes who’s on it. He told me a little bit about it at the beginning of the semester.” He turns back to Dean. “Of course, there are specific games that they focus on, but I recognize some of the ones you said you like.”

Dean leans in with more expression on his face than I’ve seen in a long time. “How do you get on a team?”

“I don’t know exactly. I’m sure it varies from college to college,” Mateo says. “Obviously you have to be skilled at the games themselves, but Parker talks a lot about teamwork and communication skills. He said he learned to play chess and other games that increased his strategy and pattern analysis skills. So, those would be some practical steps to take.”

I can see the wheels turning in Dean’s head and a spark in his eyes, sparking hope for him in my heart as well.

Mateo says, “I’d be happy to ask Parker if he’d be willing to connect with you and give you a little inside scoop on the process.”

“Yes!” Dean says, with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. He seems to remember himself and tones it down a bit before adding, “I mean, if he’s okay with it, that would be cool.”

Mateo moves on to ask my dad when Nutcracker performances begin, seeming to intuitively sense that less is more with Dean right now. The oven timer beeps, and I look over to see tears in my mom’s eyes as she reaches in to pull out the egg casserole.

Conversation over breakfast flows easily. Mateo gives Olivia her time in the spotlight, asking about high school and how homecoming went. Carter is thoughtful and asks Mateo about his family, and even Dean is acting like a fairly approachable human being instead of the prickly version of himself he’s been the past couple of years. I reach over to hold Mateo’s hand under the table after I’m done eating, smiling to myself as I listen to him engage with my whole family.

All the food is prepped to go in the oven at the appropriate times, so my mom sets timers on her phone to remind her when to rotate in each item. With a lull in preparations, we head to the living room with refilled coffee mugs to sit and chat. Mateo takes the love seat, and I sit down next to him, tucking my feet up under me. He places a hand on my knee, and I loop my arm through his with my hand resting on his firm bicep. I’m officially good to go for the afternoon—no need to move for the rest of the day.

Dean requests permission to go to his room to play video games, and my parents agree more readily than they usually do. When Dean asks Carter to play with him, Carter suggests a compromise. “How about we play a game of chess first?” Dean agrees, and I think angels might be singing.

The twins run upstairs, and my mom says to Mateo, “Thank you so much for talking to Dean like that. I sure didn’t know anything about these video game teams. But that’s the most I’ve seen him converse with another person in a long time.”

She’s getting misty-eyed again, but Mateo brushes off the compliment. “It was nothing, no reason to thank me. Most teenage boys don’t really want to talk to their parents all that much,” he says with a smile.

My mom takes that as a runway to ask more questions about Mateo’s family. “Did your family have any Thanksgiving traditions when you were growing up?”

“My mom is all about any reason to share a big meal with loved ones,” Mateo replies with a warm grin. “We didn’t have any extended family close, but our home was an open door on Thanksgiving to anyone looking for a place to belong. We always had a mash-up of traditional American Thanksgiving side dishes and warm Guatemalan foods like pepián or hilachas with rice. Trust me, no one ever left our house hungry at the end of the day.”

I’m once again struck by the affection in Mateo’s face and voice as he talks about his family. I really hope I get to meet them soon.

There’s a natural pause in conversation between topics, and Mateo tips his head toward the piano in the corner and says to my dad, “So, Lana told me that you two used to play duets together. Have you played any in a while?”

Olivia rolls her eyes, “Only all summer long while Lana was home. It’s all we ever listened to in the evenings.”

I aim a throw pillow at her head and hit my target perfectly, earning a classic “La-nuuuh!” whine from her. My mom half-heartedly scolds me while trying not to laugh.

Mateo moves his arm behind my shoulders and angles toward me. “I’d love to hear you and your dad play together if you wouldn’t mind.”

Heat immediately floods my cheeks, and Mateo gives me that wildly attractive smirk reserved for when he makes me blush, which doesn’t help me not blush. “Oh, I don’t know,” I stammer. “It’s been a while since I’ve had any practice.”

“Whatever, liar,” Olivia rats me out. “You and dad just played again when you were here over homecoming weekend.”

The daggers from my eyes aren’t working because Olivia just looks at me smugly.

My dad jumps in to further block my way out. “Sure, we can play. Lana, why don’t we do the piece we played a lot over the summer? Surely your muscle memory can get you through that one.”

“Oh yeah, ‘A Thousand Years’,” Olivia pipes in again.

“Wait,” Mateo interjects, “‘A Thousand Years’? Like, the song from Twilight ?”

I give him an incredulous look. “Do not tell me you were a Twilight fan.”

He throws his head back in a laugh. “I was not, but my older sister was. She went through a massive Twilight phase in high school and subjected my entire family to way more Edward and Bella than any of us ever asked for.”

I smile at his response, but my heart is out the starting gate of the Kentucky Derby. I did not mentally prepare myself to play the piano in front of Mateo today, and I particularly did not mentally prepare to play that song for Mateo.

The song I poured my heart into all summer long thinking about Aaron. Letting all my angst about how long I had liked him and the uncertainty about what would happen with him flow out through my fingertips in the emotion of the music.

Mom is giving me an empathetic look that communicates she knows exactly what’s racing through my head right now. She gives a small nod and says, “Come on, Lana. I’d love to hear you play also. It will be good for you,” she adds as her eyes flit to Mateo.

No one else will understand what that comment means, but I’m the only one who needs to hear it.

Mateo, being the sweetest boyfriend on the planet, tries to backtrack. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, Lana. You don’t have to play. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

I look into his eyes—his tender, sweet, captivating eyes—and can’t resist. “No, it’s okay, we can play.” I nod to my dad, who stands up to retrieve his cello, and I move to the piano before I can talk myself out of it.

The music for The Piano Guys’ arrangement of “A Thousand Years” is still right there at the top of the stack in the bench. My dad quickly tunes his cello next to me as I glance back through the music to remind myself of the places I made alterations. As much as I’d like to be as good a pianist as Jon Schmidt, I am not even in the same orbit, so there were a few spots I simplified.

“Lana, let’s do a quick C scale so I can warm up my fingers,” my dad says, but I know he’s making this request to give me a second to warm up my fingers and chill my nerves. The piano is situated so that Mateo is diagonal to my back, which is good because I’m not sure I could concentrate if I accidentally made eye contact with him. Although, it also means he has a perfect view to watch me play—possibly badly considering how nervous I feel. When I glance at my mom out of the corner of my eye, she gives me an encouraging smile, so I take a deep breath and nod at my dad.

He counts us in, and I press my fingers into the chords of the intro melody until Dad comes in on cue. I’m grateful the music is arranged so that the cello takes center stage for the first verse, giving me some time to block out my worry and settle into the song.

Just like it did this summer, the music draws in my emotions as my fingers move across the keys and I hear the steady, soothing sound of my dad’s cello. The arrangement and the lyrics running through my mind grip my heart in a new way.

All summer, my heart cried those lyrics as I played, thinking about how long I had liked Aaron, feeling like I had waited a thousand years, longing for him to pursue me. It sounds super dramatic, but hey, I’m a mildly hopeless romantic.

But today as I’m playing, my heart is stirring with different thoughts—all of them filled with Mateo.

While I was pining for Aaron, Mateo was harboring feelings for me. Did he believe all along that he would find me, that time would lead my heart to his, or did he almost give up hope? I’m so thankful he didn’t give up. More importantly, why did it have to take me this long to find him ? What’s he thinking now?

The thoughts and emotions overflow my heart, burning behind my eyes as my dad’s bow and my fingers fly into the bridge interlude. I force my mind to concentrate on the trickiest part of the arrangement. I make a few mistakes but play forward through them, the number-one rule of duets.

The music winds down to the final seconds of the song until I lightly play the concluding notes. Everything is silent for a few seconds after I lift my hands from the piano till my mom begins softly clapping, soon joined by Olivia and Mateo. I smile at my dad next to me and then swivel on the bench to see Mateo’s eyes full of moisture and face full of emotion as he claps.

I think I love you, my mind proclaims as my heart catches at the tender passion in Mateo’s gaze as he looks at me.

I’m not really sure how to transition out of our mini performance, but my dad saves me by standing up and giving a flourishing bow, then extending his hand toward me. I giggle and stand up to give a curtsy as my mom praises us. She then further saves me by announcing that we should check on the progress of the turkey and rotate a casserole into the oven.

Everyone follows her to the kitchen, but Mateo pulls my hand to a stop in the hallway. Turning me to face him, he kisses the pads of my fingertips. Voice low and husky, he says, “Lana, that was…captivating. You were beautiful.” His voice trails off as he leans in toward me, my back against the wall.

For a moment I think (hope?) that Mateo might kiss me. But then I remember that my family is a doorway away. Instead, he cups his left hand on the base of my neck and leans his forehead against mine. “I won’t ever forget today, Lana,” he whispers.

I reach my hand up and run my fingers along the stubble of his jawline. He pulls his forehead back and turns to kiss the palm of my hand. Drawing in a shaky breath, he takes a step backwards. “We should go see if your mom needs help.”

“Yep,” I say breathlessly and turn to lead Mateo toward the kitchen, my feet moving on autopilot.

My pulse is silently pounding a steady, I love you. I love you. I love you.