Page 48 of Blueberry Cake
“I will.”
They were the first to arrive at Queenie’s new favourite Italian spot. Frances was eager to talk, showing them their secluded table. Before he walked off to grab their drinks, Boyd reminded him he was paying for the table and not to accept anyone else’s money. It earned him an eye roll from Queenie, but she didn’t say a word. She often let him spoil her, but when smaller things came up, she insisted on picking up the bill and he was more than happy to give her that. It actually made him feel rather cosy to know she wanted to take care of him.
His mother arrived next, giving them both a hug. Then she pulled Queenie to her side. “Before your parents get here, I need to ask if you still would prefer them not to know about Luka. It has been a while since we’ve seen each other.”
“I don’t want them to know.” With a stern look in his direction, Queenie added, “And it’s not up for discussion.”
It was the only thing they disagreed on. He’d asked her to let him come clean to her parents, but she was relentless, shutting down any conversation before it even got started. He hated the idea of keeping Camila and Christopher in the dark, but he would never go behind her back.
“Good. I don’t want to be the one spilling the beans.”
Frances chose that moment to return, falling into animated conversation with his mom. Boyd had brought her a few times and Frances was overjoyed to hear all the embarrassing stories from his best paying customer—at least, that’s what Frances kept calling him.
When Camila and Christopher finally arrived, introductions were made and they hit the ground running. Both mothers fell into easy conversation about everything under the sun, asking the others to periodically chime in.
Halfway through the main course, Christopher leaned over. “We might have trouble separating these two.”
“I drove myself here,” he chaffed in return. “Not my circus, not my monkeys.”
“I see I can’t expect any help from you here.” Christopher punctuated his thought with a teasing elbow to Boyd’s ribs.
But it was all in good faith, and Queenie clearly enjoyed seeing their mothers get along so well. Christopher was right, with every motion to leave thwarted by more conversation.
“I feel like a kid at the supermarket again, when Mom kept running into people and all I wanted was to go home and eat the candy she promised me,” Queenie whispered.
“You got candy after grocery shopping?” Christopher asked playfully, shocked. “I never got a treat!”
Queenie gave him a wink and stood. “So, my little chat birds, I’m going to the restroom and after that me and Boyd are out of here, with or without you.”
“Ah, that is the ‘work you’ speaking?” Camila teased. “Very well; we shall continue this another time.”
As promised, Queenie took his hand and tugged him to follow behind. It worked, the women following—though still chattering away. After saying their goodbyes, Boyd and Queenie left Christopher to separate the two mothers on his own.
Visibly happy for their parents to get along, Queenie sat next to him, his hand on her thigh. But he couldn’t feel but a fraud. Her parents would meet Luka someday, and they deserved to know the truth. He hated the thought of lying to them for even another second. What would happen if one day they found out and their secret was exposed? Hisfamily had brought great pain on their only daughter. If the tables were turned, Boyd knew he’d have strong feelings about the situation.
Boyd’s thoughts roiled all evening, even when Queenie asked him to stay the night. Once he was in her bed, holding her close from behind, he couldn’t stay silent any longer. “I’d like to tell your parents.” Boyd didn’t need to expound. Queenie tensed in his arms, and he tried to soothe her with loving nuzzles. “Please hear me out.”
She shook her head and twisted out of his embrace. “No.” Without another word, she got out of bed and left, leaving him with a heavy heart.
He knew the mere thought of her past brought waves of turmoil with it, but he needed to know he’d tried all he could to give Queenie his side of the story too. She had to realise that she could no longer bury the pain and that her past had become very present in her life again. But maybe that was it, maybe it truly was too painful to rehash those memories.
His first instinct was to go after her, but he had a feeling that chasing her would do the opposite of what he wanted. So he rolled on his back and stared up at the ceiling, listening as she rummaged around the kitchen. He laid still as she paced the living room, back and forth in front of the cracked bedroom door. This was their first tense situation, too brief to even be considered an argument, and Boyd was at a loss as to how to continue. Did she want him to take the first step? Should he apologise for bringing it up again? Would she expect him to drop the subject entirely?
Shit. They should’ve talked about these kinds of situations beforehand.
After he’d watched the hands on her clock tick by for apainstaking hour, Queenie stepped into the room. Her features were hardened, and she bit her cheek. “What good do you think it would do?” she finally asked.
He sat up, knowing that he needed to choose his words wisely. “I want them to know the whole truth, because they’re judging me based on only half of it.”
“You had no control over Luka back then. Not once have you made me feel that insignificant and worthless. Why do you want to potentially destroy the good relationship you have with them?”
“Because I know how I would feel in their shoes. How angry I would be not just about the bullying but at being left out of the loop. They’re only giving us their blessing because they think my family is a good fit for you.”
Queenie ground her teeth, hugging herself tightly. “I don’t want them upset. It’s in the past.”
“It was in the past until I decided to ask you out. Though Luka won’t be a significant part of your life, they might wonder why they’ve never met my son. The longer we keep this from them, the more upset they’ll be.”
She sighed and turned, her shoulders leaning against the wood frame and her gaze on the ceiling above. “They won’t like it.”
