Chapter 30
HURRY-UP OFFENSE – QUICK PLAYS TO CONSERVE TIME.
Iforgot something critical in my battle to convince Maya to make a space for me in her heart.
My mother.
Other than the one run-in with each other, my parents have been surprisingly absent from the villa. I should have predicted I’d hear from them the way I did.
Mama:
Dinner tonight.
Bring Maya. 7 p.m.
No arguments.
We look forward to getting to know her.
I know this isn’t a summons to be ignored.
For little boys who grow up to be men that fail to seek their mother’s approval, they forget these are the women who cut up orange slices while nursing paper cuts.
These were the women who cheered their names over a crowd without megaphones.
They gave zero fucks if they wore makeup amid entire towns, all while waving plastic pompoms. They’re more vicious towards referees than any actual coaches, yet they still cleaned uniforms back to regulation white using some magical voodoo—the same kind that also informs them when you’re exactly thirty seconds late for curfew.
Yeah, there was no way I was going to disrespect my mother by ignoring her “invitation” to dinner. Still, I need to prepare Maya for what she might be facing. I bounded up to her room to hear her roaring with laughter. “Stop, Amy. You’re killing me.”
I knock on the door, and her head whips around. An evil smile spreads across her face. She beckons me forward. “Hold on, my friends. You can ask him yourself.” Maya takes out her earbuds and adjusts the speakers.
Uh-oh. “Maybe Pompeii erupts and saves me?”
At that, all four women burst into laughter. A woman with thick dark hair and a familiar face teases, “It’s not like we haven’t met, Troy.”
“Christin, we just haven’t met him with intention,” another woman with daring purple streaks in her hair reminds her.
“That’s true, Amy,” a third, with straight caramel-colored hair, concurs.
Maya saves me from having to remember her name. “The last who spoke was Emery. They’re my closest friends and helped me escape from the party that night before parts of it went viral.”
My appreciation of these women immediately overrides any anxiety I might have facing them like I’m about to become their target at a firing squad. Wrapping my arm around her, I declare, “Thank you all for what you did for my Maya that night.”
Maya softens against me. But these women, they make me wonder if the intimidation gene isn’t grown through motherhood but is part of the double X chromosome by the way they immediately put me on the hot seat.
Christin catches my possessive word use. “Your Maya?”
Emery huffs, “She’s been ours a lot longer than yours.”
“After her family, no one gets to claim Maya without our approval. Not anymore,” Amy warns.
I stare into the camera even as I squeeze her close.
Reassuringly, “Understood.” That’s when I casually drop a gossip bomb into the conversation as payback for pulling me in without warning.
“After all, I’m certain that’s why my mother invited me and Maya over for dinner this evening.
Just for a chance to get to know her better. ”
There’s complete silence. Maya’s body, previously pliant, has stiffened to the consistency of a board.
That’s when all hell breaks loose. The call detonates—voices, movement, faces flashing on top of one another—and still stiff as a board in my arms, Maya is frozen like a cartoon ice queen. Then her head whips in my direction and she snaps, “Do you think it might be nice to let me know that first?”
Amid a multitude of retributional suggestions by her girls, I realize something. I can take on anything if Maya’s by my side.
Including dinner with my family.
“Are you sure she wanted me there?” Maya asks for the fifth time as we ride over to my parent’s home on the property—one place I haven’t taken her to.
“Worse. She mandated your being here.”
“Oh, God. This can’t be happening.”
“It’s just dinner with my parents.”
“Repeat what you just said.”
“It’s just dinner with…right. Got it.” I lift my hand from the gearshift and rest it on her thigh, drawing circles on her inner thigh with my fingers.
She bats at my fingers with a warning, “If you get me worked up before we walk into your parent’s front door, I swear you will not get sex until the night before I leave.”
I immediately flip my hand over and offer her support another way.
Maya laughs before threading her fingers with mine. Her anxiety shows when she asks, “I take it she didn’t hate me that morning then?”
“Let me put it this way—and I say this not intending to pile on any additional worry, but…”
“Say it.”
“Not a single other woman I’ve dated has been invited to dinner with my family.”
“Ever?” Her voice holds epic disbelief.
“Not at the family home. Dinner in restaurants, sure. But here? Not a single one.”
She chews her lip then. “Is this because they’re busy?”
I pull off to the side of the road and pull the parking brake. “No, it’s because she suspects I think you hung the moon.”
We sit in the twilight, quiet except for the echo of the words I just shared. Then, before I can stop my runaway mouth, the thought flies out of my mouth. “You know, someday I wouldn’t mind getting to meet your parents.”
Her eyes snap in my direction, wider than saucers. “What?”
“I mean, not now. Not…tomorrow? Just…one day. When you’re ready. I’d like to get to meet the people who raised someone who can embrace life. To kickstart it…”
“When others would still be writhing on the ground?” She says wryly.
“No! I mean, yes. I mean, you kicked the rot to the curb. You took back yourself, Maya. That takes a certain strength.” I shrug, a flush climbing up my neck. “I just wonder how you did it.”
She stares at me for one beat, two, before leaning in and kissing me on the cheek. “Troy, we’ve only been ‘together’ for a few weeks.”
“I know,” I jump in quickly. “I’m not trying to rush anything.” Liar, my subconscious mocks me. “I just want to get to know the you I never thought I’d have the chance to.”
She relaxes back against her seat. “How about we get through one parental summons before we worry about a second?”
“Shit. What time is it?”
“A few minutes after seven. Why?”
I let go of Maya’s hand and drop the car into gear. “She said seven sharp. She meant seven sharp.”
Maya chuckles. “It’s good to see someone has you under their thumb. Most guys worry about what shoes to wear to impress their dates, not if they’re late to meet their mother.”
“Most guys aren’t me,” I say lightly as I pull up to the front of my parent’s house.
Just as I get out of the car, I hear her murmur, “I’m already realizing that.”
The front door is flung open by my mother, who shouts, “You’re seven minutes late!”
I open the door for Maya as I call back, “Sue me!”
Maya calls out a welcome to my mother. When we approach, the two women greet each other like long-lost friends. As they do, I can’t help but think that Maya settles something in me I didn’t realize was restless.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe thinking long-term is too soon.
But for the first time, it feels like a possibility that’s never existed before.
Then, I decide to embrace the night and call out a hello.
It’s entirely possible, knowing my father, that once he emerges I’ll be leaving Maya to defend herself against my mother without protection because once Cian Walsh has a captive audience to discuss his vacation exploits, he will not free them.
We might make it to the table for dinner.
Therefore, I’m astounded when he emerges from his study, gives me a hard hug before declaring, “I want to meet your Maya. She’s all your mother’s talked about.”
My Maya. The words sound perfect to my heart, but then fear strikes through me as I realize if my mother’s talking to my father about Maya, then, “This is bad. Tonight may be more dangerous for Maya than I thought.”
“Son? Dangerous how?”
I groan, “I left her all alone. With Mom. I thought she’d be fine.”
My father winces. “Bad play, Troy. Your mother’s been waiting for you to bring someone home for years.”
The two of us rush down the hallway only to be met with gales of laughter emerging from the kitchen. When we ease our heads in, Maya is sipping a glass of water while my mother stirs a pot. Her eyes meet mine before she asks, “You were telling me about Troy and his first homecoming date?”
My mother snaps, “That civetta. No sense of decorum.”
Hearing my mother call a fourteen-year-old a hussy, I’m about to step in when Maya asks what the word means. Then, to my mother’s delight, she wonders, “Do you mean Troy or his date?”
There’s absolute silence. Even my father hasn’t twitched. Just as I fear for Maya’s safety, my mother tosses her head back in delight. She leans over, kisses both of Maya’s cheeks. Grinning, she declares, “Benvenuta nella famiglia, Maya.”
Hearing her accept Maya so easily, my father and I feel like it’s safe to enter the kitchen. For the rest of the night, all the stories told are ones my mother must have stockpiled for a night such as this.
I’m just grateful it’s Maya she’s sharing them with.
After we make it back to the villa, Maya remarks, “I’m not surprised you’re the man you are with parents like that.”
Her words leave me feeling both proud of who I am and hopeful because I don’t just want this to be a vacation romance.
I want more.