Chapter 19
SUMMER
I push open the door and drop my bag near the stairs.
“Mom?” I call out as I toe off my shoes.
“In the kitchen, darling!” she hollers back to me.
“Sorry, I’m late,” I continue with a raised voice so that she’ll hear me across the large space. I strip off my jacket and hang it in the hallway closet when I say, “I ran into way more traffic than I expected.”
“Oh, that’s okay, Summer,” she responds sweetly as I make my way into the kitchen. I turn the corner and see my mother sitting with an unfamiliar man. “It gave me some extra time to get to know Mitch.”
The random stranger gives me a hesitant smile and a wave.
I look back and forth between him and my mother incredulously.
My mother is beaming at him, as if he’s God’s gift to the world.
She’s wearing a nice sweater and skirt with black tights.
Her light-brown hair is pulled into a tight bun that any ballerina would be jealous of.
She’s gone with a modest makeup look and has a freshly styled manicure.
Mitch wears a light blue button-up and slacks.
His light brown hair is combed into submission by a copious amount of hair gel, and thick glasses frame his hazel eyes.
There’s something boyish about him, like he’s never been hurt before.
He looks… young.
I slowly look down at my ripped jeans and Pan!c at the Disco T-shirt. I clear my throat and smooth my hands down over my jeans. “Sorry, I wasn’t aware this was something we were dressing up for.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” my mother laughs, as if I’m just her silly, forgetful daughter. “You can go change; dinner will be ready in a jiffy.”
Jiffy? Since when did we start saying that?
“Um, sorry, Mom, but I thought we’d been pretty clear with each other about not having guests over this time, so I didn’t pack anything more formal.”
She blinks at me. Mitch rubs a hand along the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable.
“Well,” my mother sighs. “That’s alright.
I haven’t packed away the clothes you left in your closet.
I’m sure there’s something nice in there.
” She holds out a hand to gesture at the man beside her.
“Mitch, here, is Patrice’s son. He recently moved back here from New York.
” She waggles her eyebrows at me, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to visibly grimace. “Exciting, right?”
“Sure,” I reply awkwardly, drawing the word out. I hold my hand out to him, and he jumps to his feet to shake it. “New York, huh? See a lot of Broadway?” I ask because standing in silence seems much worse than polite small talk.
“Mostly worked,” he shrugs. His hand is clammy. When he steps back, I have to resist the urge to wipe my palm on my jeans.
Stomping upstairs and ignoring them both seems incredibly rude and childish, so I continue with another question, “What brought you back this way?”
His eyes dart toward my mother, and he coughs. Clearly, there had been some sort of briefing before I arrived. “Uh, bad breakup,” he says, clearing his throat.
“Ah,” I nod, starting to understand where all this is going. “So, I’m sure the first thing you wanted to do after breaking up with a serious partner and moving across the country is spend a night with strangers.”
“Well, my mother lives in the neighborhood and is friends with Gretchen.” He feebly gestures toward my mother.
If he lives within walking distance, I won’t feel too bad asking him to leave.
“Yes, Gretchen is friends with a lot of women with eligible bachelors for sons.”
“Summer,” my mom snaps. “Just what are you implying?”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “I think we’re all fully aware of what it is I’m implying.”
“Patrice and I are on the HOA board together,” she says by way of explanation.
She turns to Mitch and places a delicate hand on his arm.
“Summer gets very grumpy after driving all day. She was supposed to be here yesterday, but wasn’t feeling up to making such a long drive.
” She shoots me an accusing glare. “I begged her not to go to school across the state, but she’d rather live in the city than spend time with her family. ”
Here we go. This argument again.
“It’s just the two of us, Mom,” I sigh. “And you know that had nothing to do with why I chose my school.”
She sniffs. “You could’ve fooled me.”
“Look.” I put my hand up, trying to diffuse the situation. “I’m sure poor Mitch here doesn’t want to hear us gripe at each other.”
“I grew up with four siblings and divorced parents; I’m actually quite used to bickering,” he adds helpfully.
Both my mother and I stare at him for a beat, then I speak up. “Um, I’m sorry?”
“I’m one of the younger siblings, so I’m used to it.”
I nod. “All right, well, I hate to call this an early night, Mitch, but I think my mother and I will just do Thanksgiving alone this year. Do you mind—”
My mother cuts me off with a shrill voice. “Absolutely not, Summer! We are not kicking him out on Thanksgiving. What kind of hosts would we be?”
“Well, I’m not hosting, and as I said, I thought we had both been in agreement that Thanksgiving would just be us this year.”
“And I thought we both agreed that you would be here yesterday,” she bites out.
Ah, so she’s punishing me.
“If it’s no trouble, I wouldn’t mind staying,” Mitch pipes in. “My mother isn’t much of a cook, so I never get too many home-cooked meals.”
Oh, Mitch.
“Perfect!” my mom nearly squeals in excitement as she claps her hands. “Summer will just run upstairs and change, while I finish up dinner.”
I feel the sharp sting of my fingernails digging into my palms, but I figure arguing won’t get me anywhere now. I’ll just grin and bear it, and hopefully the night will be over before I know it. And if it takes too long, I have no issue feigning a stomachache to get this guy to leave early.
I drag my things upstairs, grumbling to myself. I toss my luggage on my bed and throw open my closet door. I haven’t worn most of these clothes in years.
I take my time digging through my dresses before landing on one I think I might actually be comfortable in.
It’s a bright red dress with a halter neckline that frames my shoulders with careless confidence, sweeping up and clasping at the back of my neck.
A sliver of skin peeks through a dainty cutout just below my sternum.
The top hugs my frame before cinching at the waist, the skirt flaring softly at my hips.
It’s cute, surprisingly comfortable—and I know for a fact that my mother hates the cutout.
Right now, anything that annoys her feels like a win.
I find a matching pair of red heels in my mother’s closet and decide that she won’t mind if I borrow them for the evening.
I begrudgingly make my way back down the stairs, bracing myself for a night of small talk and getting to know someone I have no desire to stay in touch with.
Maybe that’s not fair, I think to myself as I drag my feet through the hallway. Maybe I should be trying to enjoy my time with this guy. What if there could be something between us? He’s clearly a better idea than my Counseling Theories professor.
My mind flashes back to my night with Asher, and my cheeks immediately heat. I cannot believe I fucked my professor. Couldn’t I have at least waited until the semester was over? One more month and it would’ve been—well, still bad but so much better.
I round the corner to see the dining table already set for dinner, and Mitch is dutifully pouring red wine while my mother beams at him as she sets a dish of green beans down.
She glances up as I enter, and she narrows her eyes at me while her nostrils flare as she takes in my choice of attire.
I can tell she wants to say something, but she bites back any reprimand she has, since we have company.
Can’t embarrass her only daughter to the only available bachelor she can find.
I take the open seat on the left-hand side of the table, leaving two seats across from me. I unfold my napkin, set it in my lap, and give my mother a small, smug smile.
“Why don’t you sit over here, with Mitch?” my mother says politely, though I can tell she’s annoyed as hell.
“Oh, right here is fine,” I assure her, my voice saccharine.
Her eye twitches, and I hold back laughter. At least I can try to have fun with this whole situation. After brief small talk, my mother dashes into the kitchen for more food, even though we’re just three people, leaving me alone with Mitch.
“So, what is it you do for a living?” I ask to fill the silence.
His eyes light up, excited to be talking about something within his comfort zone. “I’m a gynecologist.”
My wineglass pauses halfway to my lips, and I see my mother hovering in the hall, listening. “Oh,” I say, surprised. “And how is that?”
“I really enjoy it. There’s something really beautiful about the female body.”
Even my mother can’t control her face at that; her nose scrunches, and her lips pinch shut. She turns on her heel and heads back to the kitchen.
We sit in silence, and I can only imagine the strained smile plastered across my face. I take a deep swallow of wine. “Did you always know you wanted to work… with… vagina’s?” It’s like a car crash. I know that what’s coming out of my mouth is bad, but I just can’t seem to stop it.
He freezes, staring at me as if he can’t tell if I’m making fun of him or not.
He must decide that I’m making some sort of joke because he says, “My professor gave us plenty of incentives to be very hands-on with her.” Well, I feel sick.
I feel the color drain from my face, and he takes in my startled expression.
The teasing smile quickly disappears as he clears his throat.
“Uh, no, it was something I decided in medical school.”
I nod. “Right. I didn’t always know I wanted to be a child psychologist, so I get it,” I say, trying to get us away from the uncomfortable topic of one fucking their professor.