21. Rule #21 Always try to win over his mother.
Amelia
Iwish I was one of those people who could say she wouldn’t fixate on what happened last night and move on with her day with ease and total control.
But the moment my eyes pop open after a long night of fitful sleep, I can already feel the knotting in my stomach and the sense of dread building in my core.
Rolling over, I stare at the dresser on which I sat last night while Matis gave me a small taste of everything I have ever wanted. His touch was even more skilled than I expected. His mouth, his intensity, his care.
He is…as I knew he would be…perfect.
But now what? Now he’s going to spiral away from me, convincing himself that just ignoring me would be better for everyone. That it was nothing. That I should just forget it.
But then my phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I turn over to fish it out from between the discarded books and empty water bottle.
And there on the screen…is his name.
Matis: Good morning, my treasure. I am going to see my mother today, but perhaps afterward we can talk. I know I left things uncertain last night. Please don’t worry too much today. Everything will be okay.
A stinging sensation builds behind my eyes and nose as my lips stretch across my teeth in a tight smile. How dare he be so fucking perfect?
How dare he know exactly what I need even without me asking for it?
How dare he not be mine?
Sitting up in bed, I type out my response.
Amelia: Thank you for that. Tell your mom I said hi. You know if you want some company when you go to see her, I have nothing on my schedule today.
Biting my bottom lip, I consider if maybe this was too bold. Does he think I’m only trying to seduce him back into my arms again? That’s definitely not what I want. I don’t actually want to torment Matis. But I also want him to see that this isn’t all physical for me.
I want him. Not his body or his skills or attention.
He and I are actually really good together, and even if he doesn’t see that, then maybe I can convince him that if things don’t work out romantically, I will always be a part of his life. Or at least I want to be.
Quickly I type out another response.
Amelia: I mean as a friend, of course. No funny business.
It takes him a moment to respond. But when his text comes through, it makes me smile so brightly I could fly off this bed.
Matis: Sure, Trouble. Yes, I’d love the company and I’m sure she’d love to see you. Can I pick you up in an hour?
Amelia: I’ll be ready.
I leap out of bed like my house is on fire.
Jumping in the shower, I have a tingle of excitement deep in my bones.
No matter how hard I try to calm myself, it doesn’t seem to work.
Matis and I are on the precipice of something big, and I know I should be calming my racing thoughts and coming back to earth, but that might as well be impossible.
I quickly blow-dry my hair and straighten the messy waves into a slick bob.
Then I pull on a green corduroy skirt with a white lace crop top and a pair of tan strappy sandals.
Checking my appearance in the mirror, I realize it’s missing something, so I sift through my assortment of jewelry to finish the look.
Lots of gold bangles and some dangly earrings help a lot.
There’s a creak in the floor, and I watch in the stand-up mirror to see my mom peek her head in. “Hey, can I borrow your weekender bag?”
I’m clasping one of my hoops in place as I nod toward the empty bag in the corner. “Sure. Where are you going?”
“Your dad wants to check on the plumbing at the London house. You don’t mind if I go with him, do you?”
“Again? You were just there last weekend.”
She responds with a shrug, and I get the feeling that she’s up to something.
The thought of being alone in the house creates a gnawing unease in my gut. I hate being alone, but I don’t let it show. I’m too old for this, right? Plus, it’s not fair that my parents feel the need to be at home with me. I’m a grown adult.
So I force a smile and nod. “Of course you can take it. Have fun.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” she says with a coy smile as she crosses the room to get the bag on the floor. Then she notices my outfit. “Very cute. Where are you going?”
Matis and I are doing something that is actually wholesome and innocent, so I don’t feel bad telling her the truth.
“Matis invited me to go see his mom with him.”
My mom pauses for a moment, deliberating as I fix my unruly bangs. Judging by the way she’s scrutinizing me, I’m starting to wonder if even wholesome and innocent activities with my godfather raise red flags.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she mumbles, looking away. “That’s sweet of you to go with him.”
“Yeah. We’ve been hanging out a lot lately with me helping him on the dating apps. That’s all.”
Can’t say I love feeling as if I have to defend myself.
“And how’s that going?” she asks with a tone of suspicion.
“Good,” I reply with a casual shrug. “Still no luck, though. I don’t like any of these women he’s getting matched with.”
She nods, clearly biting her tongue. Finally, she steps toward me with a heavy sigh.
“Just…be careful.”
My fingers freeze around my earring. “Why?”
“I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
The air in the room starts to boil as I avert my gaze from my mother’s watchful eyes. “What are you talking about? What a weird thing to say, Mom.”
“I know what I’m talking about, Mel.”
“No, you don’t,” I argue. “Matis would never hurt me.”
“I know he wouldn’t,” she replies softly. “But I don’t want to see you get attached. He’s a very easy person to fall for.”
My brow furrows as I fight the burning anxiety starting to creep under my skin. The snappy anger and need to defend myself grow like a blazing fire. Because she’s wrong.
“I’m not falling for him,” I snap. “It’s not like that.”
“Okay, okay,” she murmurs to calm my nerves. I can tell she wants to place her hands on my arms but doesn’t. My mom knows me better than anyone, but instead of loving that…sometimes it feels like an invasion. “I only want you to be happy. That’s all I ever want.”
Glancing down at my sandals, I nod. “I know.”
Inside my head, I imagine myself telling her the truth. I picture a world where I could voice to my mother all the excitement and love blossoming inside me because it truly is a big deal. But I can’t.
And maybe she picks up on that too.
Taking my bag, she walks to the door and glances back as if she has more to say.
“Have a good trip,” I mumble, essentially stopping her from saying more. I’m not sure I can handle more.
“Thanks, sweetie. I’ll text you when we get there.”
With that, my mom disappears from the doorway, and I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My mind is an endless cadence of she’s wrong, she’s wrong, she’s wrong.
Beneath all that, I can’t help but admit…she’s not wrong. I know full well that I’m at risk of getting hurt. That getting attached to Matis is as easy as it is dangerous. The problem is that even if I am at risk, there’s not a thing I would do to change it.
Matis texts when he arrives, and I practically skip out the front door to find him standing on the concrete with a bouquet of lilies in his hand.
He doesn’t own a car and never has. One doesn’t often require a car when living in Paris.
Not where there are Métro stops and taxis everywhere.
Owning a car is just more of a headache than a convenience.
“Are we walking again?” I ask as I jog to where he’s waiting by the street.
He chuckles. “No, Trouble. We are getting a taxi.”
As I come up to greet him, there’s a moment of intensity in our eye contact. Memories of what we did last night linger in the space between us. It’s a thick mist that makes everything else harder to see.
And every time I think about it, I’m hit with an electric current of arousal.
Unsure of how to act, I stick with what I know. Pressing up onto my toes, I give him a hug and touch my cheek to his on each side, a greeting he himself taught me when I was little.
The French handshake, my mother called it. Which looking back now…sounds much dirtier than it should.
Once we part, our eyes linger on each other for a moment. The last thing I want to be today is clingy. Yes, I want Matis, and obviously I want him to want me back, but I won’t make myself a thorn in his side to get it.
I want this to happen without pressure.
“How are you feeling?” he asks softly.
“Fine,” I reply nonchalantly as my shoulder lifts and drops to show just how cool and calm I’m being about this. “How about you?”
His lips press together, and he glances off at the street as if compiling his answer mentally before speaking. He looks so incredibly handsome in moments like this, with his stoic brow and crow’s-feet sprouting around his eyes. I’d be content to just stand here and stare at him.
Finally, he glances back down at me, forcing a lighthearted smirk on the side of his mouth. “I have a lot on my mind, Trouble. But I just want to enjoy a nice day. We can talk later.”
With my heart bursting in my chest, I wrap my arm around his, leaning into his side. This is where I’m safe.
And also where I’m in the greatest danger.
“Sounds perfect.”
A moment later, a taxi rolls up. He must have ordered it specifically because it’s a black SUV with dark tinted windows. As he opens the door for me, I climb in and he follows, staying close to my side.
The ride is quiet until we get closer to the nursing home. It’s in Montsouris, in a converted art nouveau mansion. Honestly, a stunning place tucked behind a vine-covered stone wall.
As we pull up, Matis pauses, putting his hand on mine. “Pouvez-vous nous laisser un moment, s’il vous pla?t?” he asks the driver, requesting a moment to speak with me before we have to get out.
The driver nods and exits the car, standing outside to wait.
Matis turns toward me, every muscle in his face looking tense and uncomfortable. “I should prepare you,” he mumbles sadly.
I know his mother has dementia and that she’s been slowly deteriorating over the last few years. My heart splinters at the sight of his despondent eyes as they gaze unfocused at the hem of my skirt.
Squeezing his hand, I draw his eyes back up to mine. “You don’t have to prepare me. It’s okay.”
When he squeezes back, it gives me a shred of hope that he feels a little less alone. How long has he gone through this by himself? No siblings. No family. No partner.
I should have been here with him all along.
Reaching up, I touch his face gently, and he leans into it. Then, to my surprise, he eats up the distance between us and draws my lips to his. I practically melt into his arms.
The kiss is not passionate or heated. It’s a gentle intimacy, and I wish it could last forever. When he pulls away, we breathe the same air for a moment, our lips no more than an inch apart.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers, making me huff with a hint of laugh.
“You keep saying that.”
He grins, and I want to devour that smile. I could live on it for the rest of my life.
The door opens for me, which I guess means the driver considers our moment over. I climb out first, and then Matis follows me. As he steps in front, he takes my hand and leads me through a cobbled courtyard toward the door.
When we get inside, he smiles at the woman behind the desk, and they exchange casual greetings in French.
My eyes dance around, absorbing the home.
It has a warm coziness to it, and I know in my heart that Matis has spared no expense when finding a place for his mother.
I’m not sure how much this cost, but I’m willing to bet he spends more on her comfort than his.
Keeping me at his side, he takes me down a long hallway with residence rooms on either side. When he gets to his mother’s room, he freezes. Standing on the mat, he stares at the door and draws in a long, heavy breath.
Does he do this every time he visits her? Mentally prepares himself.
Suddenly, I imagine that it’s my mom or dad on the other side of the door. I picture what it would feel like to look my dad in the eye and not have him recognize me. A lump builds in my throat at the mere thought of it.
Gripping Matis’s hand tighter, I cling to his side. After shooting me a quick, comforting smile, he opens the door.
The room inside is small and dimly lit. There’s a large window that overlooks the garden, but the sheer curtains are drawn, letting in very little natural light.
A woman sits at the table alone, and a TV plays in the next room.
An open book is resting on the table, but her eyes are not focused on the pages.
“Bonjour, Estelle,” Matis greets her warmly as he walks into the room. “Comment vas-tu?”
The woman doesn’t respond. She doesn’t even move.
Seemingly unfazed, Matis walks in and places a kiss on her cheek.
I watch from the other side of the room as he takes the vase of flowers from the window into the kitchen.
As he works to replace them with fresh ones, he speaks to her.
He asks her questions she doesn’t answer.
He tells her about the weather and how beautiful it is outside.
After putting the new flowers in the sill, he seems to notice me standing here for the first time. Coming over, he takes my hand and draws me toward the woman.
“Mama, you remember Amelia.”
The woman lifts her gaze to my face. I have met Matis’s mother before, when I was young.
When she still remembered things. She was beautiful then, and she’s still as beautiful now.
Time and sickness have stolen so much of her complexion and definition, but she still has the same long and thick hair, more gray than brown sprouting at the middle part.
Her eyes are the same shade of grayish blue as Matis’s, and she has the kind of natural full cheekbones that many people have cosmetically planted. Matis told me she was a cabaret dancer, and I’d give almost anything to see photos of her back then. I bet she was extraordinary.
As she gives me a long, blank stare, I smile at her and offer my hand to shake. She only looks at it as my smile tightens. Then I lean forward and squeeze her hand resting on the table.
I tell her it’s nice to see her again as sweetly and softly as I can. “Je suis ravie de vous revoir.”
Her mouth doesn’t move into a smile, but I see a hint of it in her eyes.
Breaking the tension, Matis puts his hands on my shoulders. “Let’s go out to the garden. It’s a beautiful day.”
Standing up straight, I nod, and I notice the way Estelle’s eyes follow me. Something about that fills me with a sense of pride. I know it seems silly to assume it already, but I get the feeling that she likes me.
And judging by the soft way he’s caressing my arm, he seems to think so too.