36. Sloane
Sloane
The following morning, I’m a bag of nerves.
I can’t believe I agreed to meet my boyfriend’s mom mere days after agreeing to be in a relationship with him. Thank God my other boyfriend is coming for moral support or I’d truly be panicking.
The casserole I’ve made is cooling on the side in the kitchen. Em raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything when I explained what I’d made, which is probably a great sign.
My phone buzzes on the table, making me jump out of my skin.
FREDDIE
Want me to come pick you up?
Isn’t that a bit out of your way?
FREDDIE
I can walk to you in 10 mins then we can share a cab. I’ll get you all to myself for 20 minutes.
Ok, that would be good actually. I’m nervous AF.
FREDDIE
Don’t be nervous, my mum will absolutely love you.
What have you told her about me?
FREDDIE
Told her you were a sexual deviant who insisted on getting me naked and oiled up before you’d consider dating me.
FREDDIE.
FREDDIE
I told her you’re the woman of my dreams (true) and that we’re in a throuple with Cole (true) but that I’m your favourite (true).
I pause for a moment, bowled over by Freddie’s openness with his mom. For one hilarious moment, I picture introducing Quentin to both the boys. It would be fun to see just how purple his face would get.
Are we playing two truths and a lie? You know I don’t have favorites.
FREDDIE
It’s fine, I won’t tell Cole. I’ll see you in 20 minutes.
As I pocket my phone, I smooth a hand over my hair one last time. This is going to be fine. I meet new people all the time.
I’m finishing my third coffee of the day when there’s a buzz at the door. I let Freddie in a few moments later, realising as I do that it’s his first time coming to my place.
“So this is where you live!” he says, strolling in and taking a look around. Before I can stop him, he pokes his nose into my bedroom. “Your room, I take it?”
I nod, following him over.
“Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” I say, going to elbow him in the ribs. He catches my arm before it makes contact and spins me so fast that I’m up against the wall before I even know what’s happened.
“Thank you, darling, I will.” He leans in, bypassing my lips to kiss me just under my ear, and I shiver, craning my neck slightly to give him more access. “Delicious,” he breathes, placing another kiss on my tender skin.
It’s too much and not nearly enough, and we definitely don’t have time to get into anything before we have to head to his mom’s house. I whine softly and he pulls back, mischief dancing in his eyes.
“I’d love nothing more than to bend you over your kitchen table and have my way with you, but we don’t have time for all the things I wish to do with you.”
My breath hitches slightly and a tiny moan escapes me, unbidden. He laughs softly.
“Later.”
It’s a promise, but he says it like a prayer.
I nod and he steps back, looking back into my bedroom.
“What would I find in your bedside table, princess?” He smirks as he takes a step towards it.
“Sadly, no pineapple sex lube,” I reply, and he bursts into laughter.
“What a shame. Something to investigate another day, perhaps? And on that note, shall we find Cole and get this show on the road?”
I grab my coat and follow him out the door, scooping up the casserole as I go.
We arrive around noon outside Freddie’s mom’s place in Southwark. Cole’s waiting for us outside, sitting on a wall. He jumps up as our cab arrives.
Freddie pays while I climb out. Cole pulls me into a tight hug, the casserole wedged between us.
The embrace lasts a beat or two longer than usual, and I suddenly wonder if Cole’s nervous.
His relationship with Freddie is in firmly unchartered territory, which could well be fuelling some background anxiety, despite the fact that I know he loves Freddie’s mom to pieces.
“You good?” I ask, as he finally releases me. He cups my jaw and gives me a soft smile as he lightly traces a thumb over my bottom lip. I draw in a sharp inhale, rocked by the tenderness in his touch.
“I’m good,” he replies. His gaze drops down to my casserole. “You made something?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “It’s a casserole thing. I thought I’d sprinkle a bit of good ol’ Americana on this very British Sunday lunch.”
“Sounds intriguing,” Freddie says, appearing on my left. He glances between Cole and me, before looking up at the flats. “You ready for this?”
“Totally,” I say, with a breeziness I do not feel.
Cole gives a firm nod, then Freddie takes my hand in his and leads the way to the door.
His mum buzzes us into the entryway and we climb a set of concrete stairs.
As we arrive on the right floor, she’s waiting for us by her front door with a beaming smile on her face.
“Mum!” he greets, tugging me close. “I want you to meet Sloane Reed. Sloane, this is my mum, Carol.”
I smile as I hand over the bottle of white I brought. Carol Lane is petite and blonde, with laughter-lines adorning her face like a topography of all her life’s joys. And judging by the warm smile she’s giving Freddie, he’s the main source of them.
Her eyes slide over to me and I brace myself slightly for a pursed lip or a raised brow – the greeting I’m used to getting from Aggie or my dad. But I find only warmth and curiosity in her light blue eyes.
“Hello, Sloane,” she says, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around me.
For a moment, I just stand there, slightly stunned.
Then I wrap one arm around her in return, passing Freddie the casserole with my other hand.
“It’s so lovely to meet you, sweetheart.
” She steps back, then practically squeals as she pulls Cole into another warm hug.
“Hey, Carol,” he says, wrapping his arms around her affectionately as she tugs his much taller frame into her.
She looks up and into his eyes, a slight touch of humour about her lips as she reaches up and pats him on the cheek.
“Cole, darling,” she says by way of greeting.
For a moment she just takes the three of us in, a genuine smile on her face, then she shakes her head slightly and blows out a breath, as if the sight of us has sparked an unexpected level of feeling.
“Where are my manners? I’m accosting you all before you’ve even crossed the threshold. Come in, come in.”
“What, no hug for your only son? Your flesh and blood?” Freddie says in mock outrage.
“You’re old news, darling,” she says, cuffing him on the shoulder affectionately. He laughs, pulling her into a side-hug as they lead the way into her flat. “Can you boys go and turn over the roasties while I sort drinks?”
Cole glances at me and I nod, before they both vanish into the kitchen. Incredible smells are wafting out from the direction of the oven, and my stomach rumbles as I move through Carol’s apartment.
Freddie’s childhood home is cosy and charming, immaculately clean, and absolutely filled with photographs. There are no blank spaces. It’s crammed full of stories, memories, beaming faces.
Freddie appears in many of them – photos of a dark-haired baby in a stubby snowsuit, a smiling toddler with an ice cream, a theme park photo of a teenage Freddie on a rollercoaster, screaming his head off.
The dark curls are a consistent feature along with his delectable dimples, and I can’t help but smile at them as I take them in.
Carol materialises next to me and hands me a large glass of white wine.
“That’s one of my favourites,” she says, nodding at a photo of the two of them on the beach. They’re sitting in front of a huge sandcastle complete with little paper flags on each turret.
“It’s an adorable photo,” I reply, sensing the genuine joy that radiates from both the image and Carol’s happy memories of it.
“It was a wonderful day,” she says, eyes creasing. She turns to me, raising her glass. “Thank you so much for the wine. I’m so happy to meet you. Freddie’s told me so much about you.”
I feel a touch of colour rise to my cheeks as I wonder what exactly Freddie has shared.
“Thank you so much for having me, Ms Lane,” I reply, taking a sip of wine. The crisp sharpness of albarino slides down my throat and I hum in delight.
“None of that, sweetheart. It’s Carol.” She smiles again and I return it. “I can’t wait to get to know you. I’ve never seen Freddie so smitten. I hope you’re keeping him on his toes.”
“Oh, I’m trying,” I reply, glancing to the kitchen where the man in question has just sworn in confusion.
“Sloane, can you come in here?” he calls, and I raise my brows at Carol.
“Sure,” I reply, as Carol and I both make our way to the kitchen.
“I was going to put your casserole thingy in the oven to heat up, but… I’m confused.”
He’s pulled the tinfoil off and is staring down at my offering. Even I will admit it looks fucking weird, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Cole cranes his neck, looking over Freddie’s shoulder. “Is it dessert?”
“No, it’s sweet potato casserole,” I say shrugging. “We have it at Thanksgiving. I thought it might go well with a Sunday roast since it’s mostly the same thing.”
“A sweet potato casserole?” Freddie repeats, eyebrow raised.
“Yes,” I reply, frowning.
“If it’s a casserole, why the fuck are there marshmallows all over it?”
I huff out a breath.
“It’s traditional. You know, a bit of sweetness to pair with the?—”
“Sweetness?”
I arch a brow. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, Englishman.”
“I’m definitely intrigued,” Cole says, peering at it.
“What is in this thing, then? It is just mashed sweet potatoes and marshmallows?” Freddie’s expression is pure disgust.
“No, it’s not just mashed sweet potato and marshmallows! It’s also got butter… and brown sugar in it. Some people add pecans, but I didn’t have any.”
There’s a pause, and then every single person in the kitchen bursts out laughing. Freddie’s doubled over so hard I think he’s going to drop the damn dish.
“This is the most insane thing I’ve ever seen,” he wheezes out. “America is a truly baffling place.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” I reply, grinning. “I’ll introduce you to a Minnesota cookie salad sometime. Or the chicken dish my mom used to make with two cans of condensed soup and a bag of potato chips.”
That only leads to more laughter. Carol’s wiping tears away by the time we all stop.
“Well, Sloane darling, let’s get it in the oven. I for one can’t wait to try this culinary delight.”
An hour later, we’re all stuffed.
Carol’s Sunday roast has got to be one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth.
“I’m not going to lie, I thought the Sunday roast was kind of overrated when I first arrived here. But I’ve never had a homemade one before, and I get it now.” I pat my stomach as Carol beams at me.
“Roast potatoes are only good when they’re homemade,” Freddie agrees, spearing his seventh or eighth one onto a fork and swirling it in gravy. “Pubs and restaurants just can’t get the crunchy to fluffy factor right.”
“And they never give you enough of them,” adds Carol. “I’ve got to say, the casserole was a delightful surprise.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “A good surprise or a thank-you-for-making-something-please-never-feel-the-need-to-again kind of surprise?”
Her lips twitch and I can’t help but smile.
“Well, I’m kind of hoping you’re going to bring the cookie salad next time.”
The table grows quiet for the first time since we sat down.
It’s been a merry lunch, with wine flowing and many happy stories shared.
Freddie’s brought us up to speed on the antics of his asshole client, and Carol’s shared some hilarious anecdotes from the hospital where she works.
I know the context for at least half a dozen of the photographs I admired now, and have had a colourful recounting of Freddie’s awkward teenage years, much to his dismay.
“So, Sloane,” Carol begins, and my heart skips a beat. She’s going to ask me something personal and I’m going to have to figure out what narrative to spin. “What brought you to the UK?”
Ok, cool . This is an easy one.
“I’m a dual citizen,” I reply, taking a sip of wine. “My mom’s back in New York but my dad’s from England. I moved here to do my master’s.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. You can pick between two pompous and broken countries!”
Her comment startles me into a laugh, and I know instantly that this woman is exactly the kind of parent I’d have loved to have growing up.
“And do you miss home?”
“A little, but not much. I miss the 24-hour nature of New York, and the giant iced coffees, and the over-the-top customer service. You just don’t get the same raging insincerity here,” I reply with a shrug. “Plus, I would kill a man for a decent bagel.”
Carol snorts a laugh.
“What about your parents – are you close?” She cocks her head, warmth radiating from her features.
“Mum,” Freddie interjects, giving her a not-very-subtle glare.
Cole’s hand slides onto my thigh and gives me a very gentle squeeze. I clear my throat.
“Not especially,” I reply, taking another mini reprieve in my wine. “Honestly, I think my mom was slightly relieved when I moved here. And my dad… he’s an asshole.”
Carol nods, knowingly.
“Shit fathers are a bit of a theme around here,” she says with a shrug.
“Oh good, let’s hope daddy issues aren’t the glue of this whole relationship,” mutters Freddie, but I just laugh.
“I think it’s wonderful,” Carol pushes on, “that the three of you are giving this a go. For whatever it’s worth, I’m really proud of you.”
Her gaze is fixed on Freddie, but it swings around to Cole and me in turn, and I feel a prickle of tears threatening to spill over.
Here is a woman who’s known me for less than ninety minutes, and not only has she accepted me without question, she’s given me her blessing to date both her son and his best friend. Where the fuck do I sign up for a mom like this?
As if she can sense my roiling feelings, she lightly lays a hand over mine on the table and I look up into her warm and loving eyes.
“I’m very happy to have met you today, Sloane.” The sincerity in her tone goes straight to my heart, and I flip my hand over to squeeze hers.
“I’m very happy to have met you too, Carol.” My reply is a whisper, and there’s a beat where we all feel the specialness of this moment of connection.
“Speaking of which,” she says, suddenly frowning, “where did you all meet?”