Page 116 of Practice Makes Perfect
“Linc and I,” I confirm, sidestepping a puddle that gleams like black glass in the darkness. “We’re officially together.”
“Details,ma chérie! How did it happen? Was it romantic? Did he sweep you off your feet? Did you finally tell him how you feel, like I suggested?”
I laugh, remembering exactlyhowour relationship status changed—which involved considerably less clothing than I’m willing to describe to my grandmother. “Let’s just say we both realized we wanted more than our… arrangement.”
“And now you’re together. Is he living up to his reputation?”
My face burns so hot I’m surprised it doesn’t illuminate the path. “Grandma!”
“What? I’m old, not dead. Besides, you’re the one who told me about it.”
“I did no such thing!” I sputter, then remember that, actually, I might have. My ADHD has a special talent for launching my mouth into motion before my brain can catch up, especially around people I’m comfortable with. “I mean, if I did, I was just repeating campus gossip.”
“Gossip that is accurate, from the sound of your voice.” Her laughter is wicked and knowing. “Good for you,ma petite. Life is too short for mediocre men.”
I nearly trip over a crack in the sidewalk. “Can we please talk about literally anything else?”
“Fine, fine. When do I get to meet this boy who has you too distracted for our shows?”
I pause at the entrance to my dorm building, digging through my dance bag for my key card. “Well, he has a big game this weekend against Brown.”
“Ah, so you’re one of those hockey girlfriends now? Sitting in the cold, screaming while men hit each other with sticks?”
“It’s an indoor rink,” I correct her, smiling at the mental image of my elegant grandmother bundled up in the stands. “But yeah, I guess I am.”
“Your mother will be horrified.” Grandma laughs, then continues. “It will be wonderful to see the look of disapproval on her face…”
Not sharing her enthusiasm, I finally locate my key card beneath a half-empty water bottle, and my color-coded planner. “Mom’s going to have to deal. But maybe next weekend? I could switch shifts at the diner, and we could come for dinner. Louis could join too—I think he’s free that weekend.”
The excited squeal that erupts is so uncharacteristic of my usually composed grandmother. “Magnifique!I’ll make coq au vin—no, ratatouille—no, both!”
I swipe my card and push through the heavy door into the warmth of the building. “Don’t go overboard, Grandma. It’s just dinner.”
“Just dinner?Ma chérie, this is the first boy you’ve ever brought home to meet me. This is not ‘just’ anything.”
Her words create a sudden lump in my throat. She’s right. “Yeah,” I manage, my voice a little rough. “I guess it isn’t.”
“Good. Now tell me, does he like French cuisine? Because if he’s one of those boys who only eats chicken tenders and pizza, I need to know…”
I laugh, the moment of emotion passing. “He actually cooks and appreciates good food in general.”
“A man who cooks? Keep him!” She makes a satisfied noise. “Now, about Louis joining us—did he still break up with that awful girl?”
“Macey,” I supply, heading up the stairs rather than waiting for the ancient elevator. “And yes, they broke up months ago. Why?”
“Because I’m inviting Juliette’s granddaughter to dinner as well. She’s studying at Columbia, but she’ll be visiting next weekend. She’s very pretty, very smart.”
I stop mid-step. “Are you trying to set Louis up?”
“Of course not,” she scoffs unconvincingly. “I’m simply having my grandson over for dinner along with a lovely young woman who happens to be single.”
“You’re incorrigible,” I announce.
“I’m happy for you. Truly.” Her voice softens. “Your Linc, he treats you well? He respects you?”
“He does.” I reach my floor, pausing in the stairwell doorway. “Better than I expected, honestly.”
“Good. Because if he doesn’t, I still have that carving knife your grandfather gave me for our fortieth anniversary. Very sharp. Excellent balance.”
