Page 62 of How We Loved

“Hey there,” he says, pulling me into his arms and giving me a kiss.

“Hi,” I respond hesitantly as I hug him.

“Slight change of plans,” he says, reaching for my hand. “My dad got called into work, and my mom wants to meet you, so we’re making brunch for us. Come on in.”

A genuine smile grows across my face for the first time since he dropped me off yesterday. “I’d love to meet your mom.”

He seems almost giddy when he says, “I’d never want you in my house if my dad was here, but it’s fun when it’s just my mom and me.”

His statement breaks my heart, especially with how happy he is saying it. I can’t imagine feeling that way about my dad.

I enter his home, truly seeing into his life for the first time. I’ve seen the difference between our vehicles, but I’ve never really thought how different our home lives would be, too, just by our surroundings.

My mom designed our home to be as cozy as it could be with how big it is. We have an entryway and a grand kitchen, which was her favorite part of the house because it goes straight into the living room, and she could entertain and people could move more freely.

His place is walled off, keeping everything compartmentalized, so the rooms don’t flow very nicely. When you walk in, you’re greeted with a wall eight feet in front of you. You can turn left to enter the kitchen, or go straight and diagonal to the left to enter what looks like a living room, or turn right to go down a hallway, which I presume leads to the bedrooms.

He guides me through the doorway that leads to their kitchen. “Mom, I’d like for you to meet Maya. Maya, this is my mom, Lisa.”

She sets down what she was doing, wipes her hands, and comes over to give me a hug. “Hello, Maya. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Her genuine nature is obvious and puts me right at ease while meeting her for the first time.

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

She pulls back and grins at me. “Here, come in. We’re making biscuits and gravy.”

“Seriously?” I say, surprised she’d go through all the trouble.

“It’s my mom’s specialty. Wait until you try it,” Trevor says, giving me a kiss on the head.

“How can I help?” I ask.

“No need to help at all. Just have a seat”—she motions for me to sit on the high-backed stools that sit on the opposite side of where she is cooking—“and we can get to know each other while I finish up.”

I slide out a seat, and Trevor does the same to sit next to me.

We spend the next hour talking and laughing while his mom makes biscuits and gravy from scratch.

Once it’s ready, we all plate up and sit together at the small dining room table we walked by as I entered the kitchen.

I take one bite and sigh with delight when I taste just how amazing it is. “This is so good!”

She smiles proudly. “I’m glad you like it.”

The gravy is unlike anything I’ve had in a restaurant. It’s thick and filled with tiny bits of sausage, making it so much more flavorful.

We all eat together as she tells me stories of Trevor growing up. When she brings out baby pictures, I die, seeing just how cute he was as a child.

Everything about our conversation is heartfelt, but what I love the most is, she never asks me about TimeLand. It’s like she wants to get to know me and not the company. It’s refreshing, to say the least. Anytime I’ve ever met someone, they always bring it up and ask questions. I love that she doesn’t.

After we’re done eating, we get up, and I take my plate to the sink.

“Thank you again. That was amazing.” I look around for a scrub brush. “Let me help you clean up.”

She shoos me away. “I got it. You two go hang out.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Trevor teases at the thought of getting out of doing the dishes.

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