Chapter 25 Elizabeth
ELIZABETH
@pancakesareelite:
Do you think we know each other in real life?
@theanswerisno:
Possible
@pancakesareelite:
Maybe we talk every day
@theanswerisno:
Impossible
@pancakesareelite:
Why?
@theanswerisno:
Because the only woman I talk to every day is my mother and that would be the worst outcome I can imagine
I was going to meet Lincoln’s mom. I hadn’t met another person’s parents in ages. No friend or lover had been close enough to invite me home, and now I was on my way to meet my boss’s mother.
And Lincoln was nervous. Did I need to be nervous?
He worried his bottom lip, and his gaze was fixed on the road.
Every few seconds, he’d make an attempt at saying something like, “My mom…” Then he’d pause and rethink it.
“She’s great but…” Sometimes he’d start all the way at the beginning.
“Elizabeth, my mom is…” Cue the long exhale.
The sigh. The hand sliding to rake through his beautiful, black curls.
What a lucky hand.
I glanced away. Maybe if I couldn’t see him, it would be easier to shut out these thoughts. “If it makes you too uncomfortable, then you don’t have to take me. I could even wait in the car, and you could hand-deliver me a snack.”
A peal of laughter burst out of him. “Yeah, right. As if my mom would allow that. She’d drag you in herself.”
Summoned by his laughter, I turned to face him.
He smiled now, one I’d never seen before, and I imagined it was reserved for his mom. “She’s nothing like me. She’s chatty and welcoming. She never quite understood where I came from.”
“She sounds wonderful,” I said. Of course she was wonderful. She made you.
Leaning my head back, I shut my eyes for a second. I hadn’t been sleeping well, and right now, in this giant moving vehicle, with my favorite music and my favorite boss, I felt a warm calm take over. “It’s nice that you’re close.”
“What’s your mom like?” he asked, and sucked in a deep breath. “It’s okay if you don’t want to answer. I didn’t mean to pry. I know everyone is always curious when it comes to your family.”
I kept my eyes closed, knowing if I opened them, I’d find him studying me. “My mother is… She’s beautiful and funny and…” Trapped in a relationship with an evil man. “And… busy. She’s really busy, so I don’t see her much.”
He didn’t ask any more questions, but I found myself wanting to tell him things.
“She was a model. Her name’s Charlotte.”
“Oh,” he said, and the surprise in his voice was genuine. Everyone else who’d met me had already known.
“I kind of… followed in her footsteps for a while.”
I didn’t miss the flashing lights, the way the clothing didn’t fit, and the unhealthy competition with the other girls. I’d mastered the value of a flawless fake smile before I’d mastered multiplication.
“Did you like it?” Lincoln asked, almost a whisper.
My eyes flew open, and I turned to face him. His gaze moved between me and the road.
“Not really.” Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I blinked them away. It was that time in my cycle where my emotions were a little more heightened than usual.
The low grumble he failed at swallowing went straight into my belly, untwisting me in the process.
“It’s okay,” I said, noting the way his knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. “It was Douglas’s idea. Not hers.”
“Douglas?”
“Douglas Gordon-Bettencourt, my stepfather. Surely you’ve heard of him.”
Lincoln looked at me with narrowed eyes. “Of course I have. But… I thought he was your father.”
“Most people think so. That’s what he wants people to believe, I guess. I don’t know. I don’t try to understand the workings of his mind anymore.”
Lincoln’s brow furrowed, and he tilted his head.
I swallowed the unwelcome lump in my throat. My hormones were wreaking havoc today.
A few seconds later, we pulled up in front of a bright yellow house. The garden sprawled out in front of it was filled with furniture and bordered by lines of beautiful roses. In the corner, there was a small vegetable and herb patch.
The door flung open, and a woman, who had Lincoln’s rich brown skin, straight nose, and black curls, walked up to the truck, her arms already spread wide.
Lincoln did what I called the yikes face before hopping out.
I reached for the handle, but he somehow sprinted around and opened the door for me before I could get to it.
I slid out of the truck, even though Lincoln was there, ready and waiting with an elbow extended.
But it was better not to touch him. Every accidental office brush had my body malfunctioning.
“Mom, this is Elizabeth. Elizabeth, this is my mom, Irene,” Lincoln said after being released from his mother’s tight hug and kisses.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Carden,” I said.
She pulled me into a hug too. “You can call me Irene.” She extended her hands, pushing me away before looking at my face. “You are stunning.” She gasped and looked at Lincoln. “Look at her fiery hair, and those eyes. Lincoln, look!”
“I’ve seen her, Mom. Every day at work,” he replied, and looked skyward. He offered us a smile before stalking off. I couldn’t hear him, but I knew he was sighing.
“Come inside. I’m baking for you.” She pulled me into the house.
The living room was completely empty. All the couches, tables, and chairs out front probably needed to be in here. In the middle of the floor sat a child on a blanket.
“That’s Emily Ann, my future grandchild,” Irene said. The little girl didn’t even look up from the iPad she was busy with. “She doesn’t hear anything when she’s watching those shows.” Irene kept leading me through the hallway until we got to the kitchen.
“Sit.” She gestured at the small table and chairs. “Do you eat biryani? It’s not very spicy. My white colleagues can handle it.”
I had never had it in my life, but I nodded anyway.
“Good.” She walked over to the stove, where she dished spoonfuls of rice, meat, potatoes, and lentils into a plate.
The oven light clicked, and she leaned left to grab a cake dish filled with batter.
She slipped it into the oven and turned the timer on before reaching for the food-filled plate and putting it into the microwave.
The kettle on the stovetop called for her attention, and while I’d expected water, she poured a caramel-colored, cinnamon-scented tea from the spout and offered it to me.
Watching her in the kitchen was mesmerizing. She could write a book about multitasking. I’d never seen anything like it. Even the professional cooks we had back home didn’t move like this.
Lincoln walked into the kitchen at the same second the now-heated plate of food was placed in front of me. The steam pressed against my face, followed by a most delicious smell.
“Mom, give her a second to breathe before you feed her.” He smiled at his mother and turned to me. “Feeding people is her love language.”
“It’s yours too,” his mother said.
I sipped on the hot tea in an attempt to disguise the flurry of heat traveling through me at that single comment.
Beside me, Lincoln threw his hands up. “Okay, well, I don’t have all day, so I’m gonna help Daniel move the couches and shelves into the living room, then I’m off. Deal?”
She nodded, and he looked at me. I gave him a thumbs-up. He took that as permission to leave me alone with his mother.
I expected an awkward silence or, at the very least, an awkward pause once left alone together, but Irene launched into conversation. “Lincoln and my soon-to-be husband, Daniel, surprised me with this house.” She placed a hand on her chest. “I don’t mean to brag about my son, but I can’t help it.”
After dishing up a plate of her own, she sat across from me and used her hands to eat, scooping up the rice between her thumb, forefinger, and middle finger on her right hand.
“Lincoln is really thoughtful and kind,” I said without any hesitation. “He deserves to be bragged about.”
I tried mimicking her, but the rice kept slipping out. Enough of it went into my mouth, and the spicy food packed a heat I wasn’t prepared for. My cheeks must have burned bright red, because Irene scooted the tea closer to me.
“He’s always been thoughtful,” she said. “Since he was a child. Soft, and thoughtful. My guess is that all that thinking had him realizing the world needed someone who listens, rather than speaks. Someone who gives, rather than takes.”
“That is the perfect description.” The warmth in my heart reserved for Lincoln spread. It grew every time I found out something new and wonderful about him.
Lincoln’s mother tilted her head and observed me. I scooped another handful into my mouth to stop myself from confessing all my thoughts about my boss to his mother. I’d need a few bottles of water after this meal, but it was delectable.
Irene polished off her plate and put it into the sink. As she washed her hands, the little girl ran up to her.
“Look what I found.” She handed a thick photo album over to Irene.
After drying her hands, Irene sat down at the table and tapped the chair for the young girl to join.
“Hi, I’m Emily Ann.” The kid waved and climbed onto her seat. “Are you Uncle Lincoln’s girlfriend? You’re very pretty.”
I choked on the rice.
But Irene came to my rescue. “She works with Uncle Lincoln.” She pulled the attention away from me by opening the album.
The first photo was of a brand-new baby in the arms of a much younger Irene and a man who looked nothing like Lincoln, aside from the soft brown eyes I could see despite the aging photograph.
She turned the page, and Lincoln was starting to look like himself. “How old was he here?” I asked, starting at the top left.
“He must have been around five.”
“I’m older than that.” Emily Ann huffed. “And this is kinda boring. I’m gonna go play outside.” She walked over to the fridge, grabbed a juice box, and then skipped out of the kitchen.
I turned my focus down to the grinning boy. There were so many photos of him having fun. And being happy. Dancing. Dressed up. Baking. Running. Playing.
On the next set of photos, his smile wasn’t quite as wide. But the half smile was something I was used to. Something I adored.
“This was around eight or nine.” She pointed at the boy in a school uniform. “He was so brilliant, the teachers would force him onstage and test him in front of everyone.”
“Oh” was all I managed, because the Lincoln I knew would have hated that.
“He started feeling isolated from his peers. They pushed him over a grade. My little genius.” She sighed. “I didn’t know how to slow him down or protect him, so he did it himself.”
She turned the page, and Lincoln, a few years older than the previous set, wore the same grumpy expression he wore now. Beside it, another photo of Lincoln, this time with half a smile as he held a deck of cards with a little girl standing next to him.
“Who is that?” I asked, pointing at the girl.
“Claire.”
“Claire?”
“His friend. They’ve been friends since he was a child.
One night, I prayed to God my boy would come out of his shell, and the next day, she moved in next door.
I may have orchestrated a friendship after that,” she said with a chuckle.
“And I’m so glad I did. She was the only one who could pull the occasional smile out of him. ”
There were two strange pangs in my chest. Jealousy and heartache. I stared into the sad eyes of this boy who resembled my boss. The man who spent countless hours helping me in more ways than one. And even though he was only a few feet away, I missed him.
Irene pointed at another photo of Claire. “But I knew she’d be able to handle him. He was a lot more back then, and the kids weren’t always sure what to do with him.”
“He’s perfect as is,” I clipped out, without intending to. I brought the cup to my lips and shut my eyes.
“He is,” she said with a smile. “I wish more people would see that. But judging from the way you look at him, you have.”
I gulped down the scalding tea.
She patted my back. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”
The timer went off, and she pulled open the oven door, letting the scent of freshly baked carrot cake engulf me. “Let’s take our boys a slice of cake, shall we?”
Our boys. Our?
Lincoln wasn’t mine. He was my boss, and I should probably tell his mother that, but then why was I carrying a slice of cake? Why did I want to be the one to hand it to him?
And why, why is it that, when his shirtsleeves were rolled up and his hair was all messy, I lost my breath? Why is it that when he took the slice of cake and thanked me, his smile seemed to control the blood flowing in my veins?
Danger, Elizabeth. Danger.