“I’m impressed.” He kisses me again, right there on the front steps, for everyone in the neighborhood to see, and I drop my umbrella and kiss him back, not caring one bit about the rain.
“Jenny?” comes a voice from the sidewalk. “Jenny? What— Is that— What’s going on here? Do you even know this man?”
And there goes my happy.
“Hi, Mom,” I say. “No. He’s just some homeless guy who was sitting here, but I was lonely, so I asked him if we could make out.”
“And I said yes,” Leo adds. “She said she’d feed me afterward and give me ten bucks for booze, so why not?”
Mom looks at us both, frowning. Like a cat, she hates being wet, so she’s wearing a huge black rain poncho, rain boots, a clear plastic rain hat and has a doorman-size umbrella. Her expression says Not Amused.
“Mom, this is Leo Killian,” I say. “He’s my...” Crap. He’s my what? Landlord? Boyfriend? Fuck buddy?
“Her lover,” Leo says, grinning. My heart melts a little more. Not just at the word, but because he’s tweaking Mom. Solidarity, you see.
Mom flinches. “Oh, Jenny,” she says in a voice leaden with disappointment. “I told you a rebound was a bad idea. You’re still hung up on Owen.”
“I’m only interested in her from a physical point of view,” Leo says. “Still, maybe we can talk about it over dinner. I cooked.”
He cooked.
“Lasagna,” he murmurs. “Salad. Garlic bread. Red wine. Don’t read into it.”
“I’m totally reading into it.” I turn to my mother. “Come on in, Mom. Want to stay for dinner?”
Fifteen minutes later, Leo has brought up the food, we’ve both changed into dry clothes, Mom has been convinced that he’s not actually a homeless man, and we’re sitting around my kitchen table, Loki snoring at our feet. Leo’s charm offensive isn’t working on my mother—he’s not a pediatric plastic surgeon, after all—but it sure is working on me.
“You can make a living, teaching piano?” she asks dubiously.
“No. That’s why I mooch off Jenny.”
It had occurred to me that this town house is a fairly pricey piece of real estate. And that, while Leo has a steady stream of students, it’s a little hard to imagine that he bought a town house in Westchester County with that income alone. Then again, he also composes a little, he said once. I guess that pays a lot.
“So what are your intentions toward my daughter?” Mom asks. “She’s still in love with her ex-husband, you know. Owen. A doctor. He and his wife just had a baby.”
“I’m really not, Mom. But thanks for sharing.”
“I’ve met Owen. I wasn’t impressed.” Leo raises his eyebrows and leans back in his chair.
The gauntlet has been thrown.
“Not impressed with Owen?” Mom squeaks. “He’s wonderful! He’s a doctor. You should see his work. He changes lives.”
“He dumped your daughter.”
“Now, now,” I say, pouring wine into Leo’s glass. “You’ll dump me, too, someday.”
Mom huffs. “Then, honey, why are you wasting your time with this...piano teacher?”
“She has needs,” Leo says. “Physical needs. You understand, right, Lenore?”
She glares. I bite down on a smile.
Dinner is something of a battle, as is usually the case when the angel of death is trying to kill joy. Mom is definitely off-kilter, punishing me for not telling her about Leo, even though she would’ve lectured me about how Owen really was the perfect man and I blew it and the world shall never see his like again, etc., etc.
But it’s nice to have someone on my side, in a way that Rachel never is, because being on my side would mean she wasn’t on Mom’s side, and she wants there to be no sides at all.
“So guess what?” I say when we’ve all had two helpings of Leo’s excellent lasagna. “I’ve been asked to make a wedding gown for the grandniece of the King of Liechtenstein. Or maybe it’s his second-cousin. Anyway, she’s a minor royal! Isn’t that cool? And I think I’ll be asked to come to the wedding. Just in case of a dress emergency, but still. Liechtenstein in the springtime. Should be nice.”
“Too bad it wasn’t Norway,” Mom says. “Now that’s a country I’d love to see.”
“I think you missed the point,” Leo says. “Jenny has been asked to make a gown for a princess.”
“Oh, I know. She’s very talented. It’s just that I’ve always wanted to go to Norway.”
“Then book a flight,” he says pointedly. “Congratulations, Jenny. That’s incredibly impressive. I’m sure your mother is very proud. Are you proud, Lenore?”
“I already said I was.”
“No,” Leo says in a silky voice. “You didn’t.”
“Fine. Jenny, I’m very proud of you. I just think Norway is a beautiful country. I didn’t realize that was a crime.”
Her face is folding in on itself, and there it is, the reluctant pity. I like that Leo is defending me, but...well, it’s my mom. I’m used to her and her little pecks and veiled insults. She feels like the odd man out, it’s clear.
“I’d love to go to Norway, too,” I say, channeling my sister. Besides, this is just Mom’s way of being part of the conversation. She’s not deliberately malicious.