Page 33 of Accidental Orc Daddy

I can feel my own anxiety rising as I watch my mother and Elora engage in small talk about their children's accomplishments. My mother mentions my recent promotion at work and the research project I'm working on.

"So, Meiko, tell us more about this promotion of yours," my mother says, her eyes never leaving Elora’s face.

"Well, it's really not that big of a deal," I reply, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. "I just took on some additional responsibilities at work, that's all."

“How generous of you,” Elora muses, though her tone doesn’t match her words.

"Nonsense," my mother interrupts, her voice rising. "You were chosen for this position out of hundreds of applicants. That's quite an accomplishment."

The undercurrent of competitive maternal pride is unmistakable. Both women seem to think that their children deserve something better than the other family can provide. As the conversation continues, it becomes increasingly clear that they are both determined to prove that their child is the superior one.

Elora smiles politely, but I can see the competitive gleam in her eye. "Mustaf has been doing quite well for himself too, you know. He recently secured a major contract with a Fortune 500 company." She takes a sip of her wine, never breaking eye contact with my mom.

“Well,” my mom responds stiffly, adjusting the napkin on her lap. “I hope that his work doesn’t prevent him from being present in my daughter’s life. Meiko deserves someone who can be there for her both emotionally and physically.”

I stare at her, willing her to look in my direction so that I can tell her to knock it off. This isn’t about whose kid is more successful. We’re supposed to be merging our families, not pitting them against each other.

Omar, Mustaf's younger brother, sits forward with a wicked grin that reminds me so much of Mustaf that I immediately smile in response. He leans his elbows on the table. “Well, I think that Meiko is way too good-looking for Mustaf.”

Mustaf barks out a loud, hearty laugh that makes my heart leap. It’s so pure and infectious that I can’t help joining him. He playfully nudges his brother. “Watch it, little brother. You don’t want to get on my bad side.”

“What, like you could stand a chance with a woman like her?” Amina counters through her giggles. She rolls her eyes at Omar and takes a sip of her drink.

He starts flexing his arms. “Who could resist a hunk like me?” He winks at me, and I can't help but laugh. It's nice to see the siblings joking around and lightening the mood.

“Ugh,” Amina scoffs, leaning away from him. “You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking.” She shakes her head and smiles, clearly enjoying the banter between her brothers.

Amidst the escalating noise and his sibling’s banter, Mustaf catches my eye, a shared look of amused resignation passing between us. It's as if we're both silently acknowledging the absurdity of the situation and finding humor in it.

He gives me a small smile, and I can't help but return it. Despite the competitive tension between our mothers, I feel grateful to have Mustaf by my side. He's truly become a calming presence in my life, and his unwavering support means the world to me.

Having our families together feels… right. Although the label Mustaf and I share is a facade, you can’t feign this level of connection. As I think this, I chuckle when I hear my and Mustaf’s mother still passively going at it.

As the banter continues, I watch Mustaf interact with his family, noticing how easily he slips into the role of the protective older brother. He playfully teases his siblings, but there's a tenderness underlying his words that speaks volumes about his love for them.

Omar scoffs, flexing his biceps. "Please, I'm way more impressive than Mustaf ever was."

Mustaf rolls his eyes, chuckling. "You wish, little brother."

Amina playfully nudges Mustaf's arm. "Oh, please. You were a total nerd in high school. Remember when you used to wear those thick-rimmed glasses and tuck your shirt into your pants?"

Mustaf groans, shaking his head. "How could I forget? Thanks for bringing that up, Amina."

Their banter continues, filling the room with laughter and warmth. As dinner progresses, the initial tension between our families begins to dissipate, replaced by a series of comedic misunderstandings. My father attempts to bond with Mustaf's father over their shared love of golf.

"So, Seger," Dad starts, leaning back in his chair with a glass of scotch in hand. "I hear you're quite the golfer. What's your handicap?"

Mustaf's father chuckles, taking a sip of his wine. "Well, I wouldn't say I'm quite the golfer, but I do enjoy a round or two. My handicap is around 18, I'd say."

My dad's eyes widen in surprise. "18? That's impressive! I'm a 12 myself."

Mustaf's father nods, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Ah, but you see, in my culture, the courses are quite different. They're much more challenging."

My dad looks taken aback. "Really? We prefer wide-open fairways. It's a much more relaxed game, in my opinion."

Mustaf's father laughs heartily. "Where's the fun in that? Golf is a test of skill and precision. It's all about making the most of a difficult situation."

My dad chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. "We'll have to agree to disagree on that one."

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