CHAPTER 6
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Somewhere in the last few weeks, I’ve found myself a group of friends that have taken me in as one of their own. There hasn’t been any awkward conversation, there weren’t any conversations about it at all. It seems inevitable. Like it just is. I moved back home and got my childhood friends and their best friends in my corner. To talk in terms of Grey’s Anatomy: They were my person. I hadn’t seen it coming and I wasn’t aware I needed it. If I would have read about this in one of my books, I would’ve scoffed and said the author was nuts, because shit like this doesn’t happen to real people in real life. Creating friendships takes time if you ask me, it’s never instant. Except in this case, it is. Well, except for O and Jonah. They’ve been my closest friends once, right until they weren’t. Why is it so hard to believe there’s such a thing as instant friendship when I’ve no trouble believing that friendships can suddenly end?
I find myself in a precarious situation though, because my mom has cornered me. I told her about going out with O and she called O. She made him promise to come over for dinner so I won’t be lonely. Now, my mother can be very convincing when she wants to be and O, who has obvious mommy issues, agreed. I can’t blame him for having mommy issues. Having dead parents and losing them in such a traumatic way, gives you some leeway for having issues. Issues of any kind. But having my mother set up something that could potentially be fun, like having dinner together, gets the fun sucked out of it. I’m just too old for my mom to be setting me up on playdates, you know?
It’s the Tuesday after going to Tempest and my mother blatantly informed me over the weekend that I’m having dinner with O and Jonah. They all decided that Tuesday would suit everyone’s agenda best, so Gil and Dean could come over as well and before I know it, I’m standing right here in the kitchen, preparing a family style meal. I’ve had no influence on the setup of this dinner whatsoever, yet I seem to be hosting it anyway. What kind of sorcery is this?
I’m chopping vegetables at the moment to make the recipe for a dish my mother has sent me. She said it’d be perfect and I just went along with it, because hell if I knew what to make for four grown men who come over for dinner. I rely on my mother’s knowledge of feeding a man, because I don’t possess this information myself. Whenever I was in a relationship before we ate things that I could easily make or went out for dinner. Or I had a boyfriend who could actually cook.
Perhaps the best conclusion is that I’m not fifties housewives’ material. I’m never going to perfectly curl my hair and have a pristine dress as I wait for my husband to come home. It was probably going to have several stains from whatever over it. And I can’t see myself in all the possible futures being the patient mom that feeds her kids healthy crap. Little Tommy and Gina were going to have to do with boxed Mac ‘n Cheese and learn to love it.
I grab my phone and open the text conversation I’ve got going with my mother.
Me: Are you sure this dish is fail safe? Don’t underestimate my ability to royally screw up mundane tasks.
Mom: Don’t worry. I believe in you!
Me: Your belief in me doesn’t equal the actual ability to do this!
Mom: Just follow the recipe. It’s just like following instructions on Google Maps.
Me: You do realize I get lost using Google Maps, right?
Mom: That’s because you don’t know the difference between left and right. There’s no left or right in cooking.
Me: Maybe there’s no right, but there’s definitely a wrong.
Mom: Start cooking, brat. Dad and I are going to open a bottle of wine. Do not interrupt us!
I snort and put my phone down. Before I get back to cooking, I see a new message coming in from my mother demanding to see pictures of the finished dish. I giggle and turn back to the recipe. Best to just start at step one, right?
The back door opens and Jonah steps in, right as I put the dish in the preheated oven as I silently say a prayer to the Gods of Cuisine. My cheeks heat to about the same temperature as my oven. I haven’t seen him since Friday night, and while I had promised myself I won’t let things get weird, I act weird. Because well, it’s both my default mode and my comfort zone. Jonah grins as he sees my reaction to him.
He steps into the kitchen and walks over to me with big, confident strides. I don’t know how he does it, but he always looks good, no matter what he’s wearing. He’s dressed in jeans and a simple Nirvana shirt, and it still looks like he put in a lot of effort. His hair is a little messy, but it’s the messy that men put a lot of work into, you know? It probably looks like he just got out of bed, but then with a lot of product in it to make sure it keeps looking like that during the day. Which is like a snack. When he reaches me, he kisses me on my cheek while he puts a hand on my back. The touch of his lips is still burning on my skin even after they’re long gone.
“Hey Mor,”
This would be the point I react to him but I just stand there, acting like a total dork. I clear my throat and finally find my voice.
“Hey.”
I’m so proud of myself for coming up with such a wonderful response. It’s not like my profession is to produce words or something. Jonah stands with his back leaning against the kitchen island while he watches me make a fool out of myself. He looks quite pleased with the situation, like he went out with the sole purpose to cause mayhem, and it makes me want to punch him.
“Are you alone?” I ask, stating the obvious. What I actually mean to ask is where the others are, so they can come over, save me, and we can stop with this whole awkwardness.
“I wanted to come over a little early so we could talk and there wouldn’t be any awkwardness between us.”
This guy sees right through me. Damn, I must be so obvious. The only thing that would be more awkward than just the plain old awkwardness, is talking about said awkwardness.
“Yeah, you want to talk about the other night?”
“Not per se, I want to talk about how us kissing the other night is probably making you feel.”
I scoff. “Because you know exactly how I feel right now?”
He shrugs. “I’ve been friends with you since we were six and I’ve gotten to know you fairly well in the years that followed, so I have a pretty good grasp on how I can leave it up to you to overthink a situation.”