Page 97 of The Puck Contract

"I'd like that too," I say, meaning it.

The conversation shifts then, moving to safer topics—Elena's summer internship plans, Mom's ongoing battle with the neighborhood association over her garden gnomes, Dad's fishing trip with his buddies. But something has changed, a tension I didn't fully recognize until it was gone.

By the time we say goodbye, with promises to call again soon, I feel like I'm floating. I close my laptop and lean back in my chair, exhaling a breath I feel like I've been holding for months.

Carlos appears in the doorway with two beers. "Judging by the lack of crying or shouting, I'm guessing it went okay?"

I accept the beer, clinking the bottle against his. "Better than okay. They were... amazing."

"Told you." He drops onto my bed, kicking his feet up. "Turns out the people who love you still love you when they know more about you. Shocking concept."

I throw a pillow at his head, which he dodges easily. "When did you get so wise?"

"I've always been wise. You've just been too busy having sexual epiphanies to notice."

My phone buzzes before I can respond with an appropriately devastating comeback. Groover's name lights upthe screen, and just seeing it sends a wave of warmth through me.

"Speaking of sexual epiphanies," Carlos says, waggling his eyebrows. "I'll leave you to it."

I wait until he's gone before answering. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," Groover says, his voice sending another ripple of warmth through me. "How'd it go?"

"Good. Really good, actually." I take a pull from my beer. "They want to meet you."

"Yeah?" I can hear the smile in his voice. "I'd like that."

"How was practice?"

"Brutal. Coach is freaking out about playoffs." There's a pause, the sound of a door closing. "But speaking of parents. My mom just called."

"Oh?" I sit up straighter, suddenly alert.

"She wants us to come to dinner. Tonight."

My stomach drops. "Tonight? As in, hours from now tonight?"

"Yeah." He sounds apologetic. "I told her we might have plans, but she insisted. Something about having already bought ingredients for her famous lasagna, which is actually just regular lasagna with extra cheese."

"Your mom wants to meet me." The words feel surreal coming out of my mouth.

"If it's too much pressure—"

"No, no, I want to," I interrupt, surprised to find I mean it. "I'm just... nervous."

"Don't be.” His voice softens. “She already kind of loves you."

The simple statement hits me square in the chest. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." There's a smile in his voice. "So, dinner’s at seven. I'll pick you up at six-thirty?"

"I'll be ready."

After we hang up, I stare at my closet with mounting panic. What the hell do you wear to meet your fake-turned-maybe-real boyfriend's mother for the first time?

***

MRS. WILLIAMS' HOUSE is exactly what I expected and nothing like I imagined all at once.

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