Page 63 of Play Along With Me
"It was meant to be 'sir' but panic took over halfway through."
Jake laughs, his hand finding the small of my back in a gesture that feels practiced despite being completely new. "Just be yourself. You're already vastly overqualified for dinner with my parents."
"Audrey!" Patricia calls out as we approach, her voice carrying through the elegant restaurant. Several diners glance our way, and I resist the urge to check if there's still nacho cheese in my hair. "We ordered champagne to celebrate!"
"Celebrate what, exactly?" I ask Jake under my breath.
"Existing," he mutters. "My mom celebrates everything. Last time they visited, she ordered champagne because my apartment had 'such lovely natural light.'"
We reach the table, and Jake pulls out my chair—a move so unexpectedly chivalrous that I almost sit on the floor beside it. I recover with only minimal awkwardness, settling in across from Jessica, who is studying me with detached scientific interest.
"So," Patricia begins the moment we're seated, "tell us everything. How did this happen?" She gestures between Jake and me like we're a particularly interesting museum exhibit.
Jake and I exchange a look. We've barely had time to coordinate our backstory beyond the basics.
"Well," I begin, deciding to stick as close to the truth as possible, "we met at a party at his friend Collin's place. I'm Collin's neighbor."
"She knocked me off my feet immediately," Jake adds with a smile that seems almost genuine. "Literally. She was coming out of her apartment as I was walking by."
This is... not what we discussed, but I can work with it. "I have a history of physical comedy in place of actual social skills," I explain, reaching for my water glass. "Nothing says 'relationship potential' like nearly concussing someone."
Patricia laughs delightedly. "That's adorable! Isn't that adorable, Robert?"
Robert nods, his expression warm if slightly bemused. He seems like the type of father who has spent decades happily letting his wife drive all social interactions.
"Jessica, you remember how shy Jake was in college?" Patricia continues, seemingly oblivious to the tension rippling across the table. "It took him three months to ask you for coffee!"
Jessica smiles tightly. "Jake's always been... deliberate in his decisions."
"Not with Audrey, apparently!" Patricia says with a wink that makes me choke on my water.
"When you know, you know," Jake says, his hand finding mine on the table in full view of everyone. His palm is slightly sweaty, the only indication that he's as uncomfortable as I am. "Sometimes the right person just... appears in your life."
I stare at him, momentarily taken aback by the convincing sincerity in his voice. If I didn't know better, I'd think he actually meant it.
"Exactly," I agree, recovering. "One minute you're trying to explain why your cat has a fictional metabolic disorder, and the next you're... here." I gesture vaguely at our surroundings.
"The same diabetic cat?" Robert asks, looking confused.
"Long story," Jake and I say simultaneously, then look at each other and laugh—a genuine moment amid the charade.
"See, Robert? They're already finishing each other's sentences!" Patricia looks positively giddy. "I knew Jake would find someone special once he finally made it to the NHL. Such an accomplishment deserves matching personal happiness."
The waiter arrives to take our orders, providing a brief reprieve from Patricia's enthusiasm. I panic-order the first pasta dish I see, having barely glanced at the menu.
"So, Audrey," Jessica says once the waiter leaves, "Jake mentioned you're a writer? What do you write?"
Her tone is politely interested, but there's an edge underneath—the same tone I've heard doctors use when asking nurses about their weekend plans. Professional but with a hint of "I'm just being polite because social norms require it."
"I'm working on a novel," I explain. "About a woman who can see people's deepest regrets floating above their heads."
"Fascinating premise," she says, sounding unexpectedly genuine. "Have you been published before?"
"Not unless you count my college literary magazine, which published my short story about a sentient houseplant contemplating murder."
"It was a revolutionary take on the psychological thriller genre," Jake adds seriously. "The twist ending involving the watering can? Brilliant."
I blink at him in surprise. That was... a pretty good improvisational detail for someone who knows nothing about my writing.
