24. Then
TWENTY-FOUR
then
Ella
Let’s have dessert again!
I can bake something for us. Or we can each make something… unless you’re scared you won’t be able to match my mad kitchen skills.
Grayson
Ellie
I barely know how to boil water.
If I agree do you promise not to make fun of me?
Ella
Hmm
Nope.
For the first time ever, I got to brunch before my mother.
Tavern on the Green was just starting to fill up. Patrons and servers filtered in and out of the greenery-draped fa?ade, a couple dozen feet away from my table in the courtyard corner.
I knew my mother had arrived when all the heads in my general vicinity suddenly turned to watch the hostess escort her to our table. In expensive jeans and a violet-colored blouse, she looked as casual as someone like her could. Oddly so, actually.
Her thin, pointed face didn’t bear its usual makeup. Her lips were weirdly pale when she pursed them and nodded the hostess away.
Looking at me didn’t help. Mom slid into the seat across from mine, suspicion pinching the spot between her eyes. “You’re here early, mi amor . Are you well?”
The truth was, I woke up early and couldn’t fall back asleep. The anticipation pumping through my body made it hard to even sit still. I kept checking the time, trying to convince myself not to count the hours until Ella came over.
My mother scrutinized my face for a long second. “You seem well,” she told me. “Much better than you did a few weeks ago. Has work improved?”
The mention of my internship threw me. I’d forgotten all about using it weeks before as a cover for my obsession with the “random girl” on the subway. The thought made me smile now.
“Work is good,” I hedged, shaking out my napkin and draping it over my sweatpants.
I should have known she wouldn’t take that bullshit. “…And?” she prompted, boring her eyes into mine, smoothing her linen over her lap.
The way she looked at me sent tingles over my scalp. I managed to shrug, feigning innocence. “And….?”
My phone buzzed with another text from Ella. As much as I liked the notion of her wearing an apron and nothing else… I wasn’t even sure I owned an apron. My kitchen was strictly for takeout storage and reheating.
I set my phone back down, trying and failing to come up with any dessert ideas that wouldn’t lead to me burning down my apartment building. When I glanced up, I found my mom gazing at me. Her eyes swirled, but her mouth tightened with ill-concealed amusement.
She molded her lips into a reproachful pucker. “Who was that?”
I realized my mistake too late. “No one.”
True to form, she didn’t buy my lie for a second. “They made you laugh, so they must be some one.”
I expected dread. After all, sharing details of my dating life with my mother was never something I relished. But as I sat there, facing her genuine interest, I only felt an inexplicable thrill. And I realized—I wanted to tell her.
I just had no clue why. Or even what .
I met a girl? Because she was knitting on the train, and I couldn’t stop thinking about her? So I wore her down with waffles and an ill-fated pumpkin? Then, last week, we almost had sex in a closet in Chelsea?
God. Not that .
“Her name is Ella.”
Mom’s small smile turned knowing, even though her eyes still seemed oddly far away. “So this one has a name, hmm? I assume that makes her your girlfriend?”
Pressure built in the pit of my stomach, a mix of excitement and hesitance. “I’m not sure I’d call her that.” Yet . “We’ve been out a few times.”
And she blew the top of my head off last weekend.
“You like this girl,” Mom realized aloud. “She must be special.”
All my memories of her swelled and swirled. Ella’s slight little frame nestled into a fuzzy pile of yarn on the subway. The sweet way she combed the hair at the nape of my neck whenever she let me hold her.
Her quiet, bubbly laugh. Her favorite hideous shoes. The soft fullness of her curves, melding into my bare chest while I touched her. The fear that sometimes fell over her eyes and the way she tried her damnedest to push it back.
She was special.
I didn’t stay up late on the phone with anyone—except Ella. I didn’t chase down girls on the train—except Ella. I didn’t pursue women who walked away from me—except Ella. For fuck’s sake, I didn’t pursue women at all .
Except Ella.
Ellie .
She was the exception to all my rules, boundaries, and expectations. All the roadblocks that usually kept other women at arm’s length, I didn’t even notice her jumping those hurdles. Because, with her, they all melted into puddles. And she splashed right through them in her ugly green clogs, adorably oblivious.
The forlorn look on my mom’s face distracted me from my revelation. I was talking about my love life and she wasn’t gushing? Or scolding? I frowned at her. “Are you okay, Mom?”
She watched me for a long moment, clearly turning things over in her mind. Finally, she sighed and gave a shrug. “I suppose I am getting old, mi amor ,” she demurred, dropping her eyes and taking a hasty sip of her water. “Old and sentimental. ”
Old ? I almost laughed. That was the last word anyone would ever use for Jacqueline Stryker.
“Mom, seriously,” I chuckled. “What’s going on?”
Her expression softened as she surveyed mine. “I would like to meet this girl-not-girlfriend,” she replied, ignoring my question. “I think I would like her. She has you smiling more. Perhaps brunch next week?”
A week ? The thought dampened my palms. “Maybe next month ,” I asserted, sitting back again. “I have to finish sweeping her off her feet.”
And, you know, actually make her my girlfriend first, I reminded myself.
The crazy thought had me shaking my head. It was insane—we hadn’t even slept together yet. A situation I hoped to rectify within the next twelve hours.
Mom watched me with increasing warmth. “You should have no issue winning her over,” she said. “Just remember, the best gestures don’t cost anything.”
She picked up her menu, giving her wisdom a chance to sink in. I stared at the list of entrees, unseeing, thinking about my plans for Ella that night.
“Hey, Mom? Do you have any good dessert recipes?”