I stumbled forward and he walked backwards, bumping his back against the wall. I kissed him there, our tongues exploring the warmth of each other’s mouths. Then he spun me and pressed me to the wall, kissing me harder and with more hunger. The hard shape of his arousal was definitely pressing against my stomach, and I caught myself gasping as I moved gently against it.
“Okay,” I half shouted, pushing him back with both palms.
Our lips came apart with a suction sound and I was breathing like I’d just sprinted up a hill. Travis’ hair was dangling in front of his eyes and his lips were red and puffy from our kissing.
He cleared his throat. All his usual carefree confidence was nowhere to be found. He looked sincere. Worried, almost. Why would he look worried?
“Well?” he asked. I noticed he was breathing hard, too.
“That was…” I sighed. “One more date. And this time, you have to meet my mother again. She’s been begging for it, so we might as well get it over with.”
20
TRAVIS
Elizabeth’s mother lived in a no-nonsense apartment right in the heart of the city. It was well-furnished, huge, clearly expensive, but it also felt clinical. It was like the kinda place a serial killer would bring you back to before showing you his body fridge.
“This is lovely,” I said.
Mother pressed her lips together and dipped her head in gratitude. “I still don’t see why we can’t do this at your place.” She was wearing a black pantsuit with white embroidery. Her long silver hair was up in a tight ponytail. The family resemblance was definitely there. I could almost picture a younger mother. She was probably pretty like Elizabeth. I bet she drove a few men to crazy lengths in her day as well.
“I told you, mother. Unless you want our dinner to be flavored like broken pipe water from the ceiling, it had to be here.”
She gave Elizabeth a look that said she wasn’t entirely buying the excuse, then disappeared into the kitchen to unpack a catered meal she’d ordered from some restaurant in the city. I should’ve guessed she wouldn’t cook for our dinner.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Elizabeth muttered.
I bumped my shoulder into her, smiling. “Enjoy the ride, remember?”
“That’s hard when I’m strapped in next to an egomaniac.”
I put my palm to my heart. “I’m wounded. Is it a crime to be happy with who I am?”
“It’s a crime to be that happy with who you are. Yes.”
“Agree to disagree,” I said. “You’ve got to learn to love yourself before you can love someone else. Lucky for you, I’m primed and ready for the loving someone else part. Even if they are stiff, disagreeable, and enjoy pretending they don’t want my company.”
“Just don’t make things worse, please,” she begged.
“How would I do that?”
“Oh I don’t know, suddenly claiming we’re getting married soon or something?”
“You really think I’d do that?”
“Yes,” she said flatly.
“Okay. That’s fair. And honestly kind of tempting. Can you imagine the look on her face?”
Elizabeth jabbed a finger in my face. “Don’t you dare.”
I chuckled. “Fine. Fine. I'll be good. I promise. Anything to make you happy.” I playfully chucked her chin with my thumb and forefinger. Her lips quivered, either because she was trying not to smile or trying not to bite me—it was hard to say which.
“I hope you don’t mind Indian food.” Elizabeth’s mother emerged with two large silver trays in her hands. She set them down on her dining table, which was tucked in a half-walled room by a huge floor-to-ceiling window with a beautiful view of Winston-Salem’s downtown at night.
“I love all food,” I said, rubbing my stomach.
“That’s shocking to hear from the guy who has an endless supply of snacks in his pockets at all times,” Elizabeth said.
Her mother shot us a strange look, then went to get the rest of the food from the kitchen.
“So,” I said, once we’d all been seated and the food was arranged. I took a piece of naan and heaped up some green stuff on it with rice. “Elizabeth hasn’t even told me your name yet. Should I keep calling you ‘mother,’ or would you prefer ‘gorgeous,’ maybe?”
I felt Elizabeth’s glare without even looking. Or maybe it was an eye roll.
“Celestine,” she said, smiling at my comment. “And you may call me whatever you like, so long as you keep being such a good influence on my daughter.”
Elizabeth’s silverware clattered. “What makes you say he’s a good influence, exactly?” her tone was careful, but I could feel the tension in her body.
“Well just look at you,” Celestine gestured to her. “I haven’t seen you put this much care into your appearance in my entire life. Earrings? And you’re wearing more than just eyeliner for once. It’s nice to see you try, dear.”