Page 97 of Limbo

His lips twitch. “I might have said I wanted to marry her and knock her up.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because anytime my mother gets upset, her face does this pinching thing. It’s fucking hilarious. I’m sure you’ll see it tonight, considering I never told them you were coming.” With that bombshell, he braces for my reaction.

My boyfriend used another girl to torture his mother because the idea of him being in a relationship is so terrible, and then he invited me to dinner to meet them without telling them.

“No wonder they don’t like you,” I say.

He smiles, and I can’t help but return it. The ridiculous situation he’s created somehow makes me feel better. At this point, I can’t make a worst first impression, so no pressure.

His arm slides around me, and we head down the same hallway as Greta. The entire way to the sitting room, his finger taps against my hip. The speed increases, the deeper into the house we travel and hits a peak when we slow down by an open doorway. He gives me one last panicked look, and right before we walk in, he grabs my ass.

“Guess who I brought to dinner,” he says proudly.

Three stunned faces stare at us, Jordan beaming at my side. After a beat, his mother rises from the couch and floats across the room. All of her jewelry coordinates, her blonde hair pulled away from her face and fashioned with a clip to match. “Jordan, honey, please introduce us to your…” Her gaze flashes to me before she finishes, “…friend.”

Oh, this will be a disaster.

“Mom, Dad, Dustin, this is my girlfriend, Callie.”

His mother’s lips purse at the G-word, her eyes narrowing and nose twitching. The pinch. A look that no doubt displays her utter disapproval. He’s right. It’s rather entertaining.

“How lovely,” she forces out. Without another word, she returns to her seat.

Jordan’s father squeezes her knee on his way over. A tall man with dark hair and the same strong jaw as his son warmly smiles. “Callie,” he says, voice low and smooth, “please, join us for a drink.”

He ushers me to a stiff-looking couch situated straight across from the other. On the end closest to the lit fireplace sits a blond who must be Dustin. Eyes the same color as Jordan’s scan over me, his fingers steepled in front of his lips. Jordan quickly fills the cushion next to me. He slides his arm around me and sets a glare on his brother.

Mr. Waters settles back in next to his wife. He starts the conversation, right off the bat insisting I call him Ray. In the middle of him asking if I have any siblings, Mrs. Waters abruptly stands and excuses herself.

Jordan sighs next to me, and Ray’s gaze follows her out. Once she shuts the door, he returns his attention to me and finishes his question as if nothing happened.

We chat a few minutes before Dustin tells us about his trip to Tijuana. Unless Benji misled me on the planned activities, he gives a very watered-down version of the events. Jordan’s eye roll further confirms his brother’s full of shit when Dustin claims they went to bed at ten on their last night to be refreshed for their early morning flight.

A glass of wine later, Mrs. Waters slips back in. Greta comes in behind her to announce dinner. I follow Jordan to a dining room farther down the hall, which looks like it should stay roped off to keep tourists from breaking anything.

The conversation stays light through the salad and main course. Mostly, Ray informs his sons of people he’s talked to since the last time they saw each other. Both boys nod along, now and then interjecting comments.

Everyone falls silent when Mrs. Waters clears her throat. She pats her maroon cloth napkin against her mouth, tension building in the air. Her attention turns to me then. “Callie, is it?”

I tack on a polite smile. “Mmhmm.”

She tilts her head and studies me like she’s waiting for any sign of weakness to surface. “We should have your parents over for dinner sometime next week.”

“Thank you,” I say. “But my parents are divorced and best kept several miles apart.”

The rest of the table laughs, but her stare on me hardens.

“Separately then,” she insists.

“That won’t be necessary. But you and I should get lunch the next time you visit Jordan.”

She laughs at my offer. “Well, we aren’t planning on visiting for a while, so we’ll see where you two are by then.”

She either thinks I won’t catch her insinuation that my relationship with her son won’t last or she doesn’t think I’ll call her on it. Either way she underestimates me, and my tolerance for being patronized by a woman I just met hits its limit. Hell, we reached it when she said my name like it was beneath her.

“Of course,” I say, upping the wattage of my smile. “We’ll be sure to let you know when we plan our trip before school starts in the fall. I’d hate for us to miss you.”

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