Page 39 of Pucked Up Plans
Before she answers, she hands me a loaf of bread, a knife, and some butter. “Garlic bread while we chat.” My ass finds a seat in the chair at the dinette, just like old times. “Probably around six. But you know your sister.”
I chuckle. “So more like seven. Got it.”
Juliet was a week past her due date and has been late ever since.
As I spread the softened butter on the two halves of the bread, my mind ponders what to do about Tate. Would she open the door if I showed up unannounced? Do I text her and invite myself over? It’s worked previously, but in this case, I have to step up my game. Definitely a surprise.
Waiting for Aubrey to go to bed seems like my best bet. However, I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.
Or maybe I do.
Apologizing for your misgivings does not result in rewarding your dick.
“Well, that’s one way to make sure no one eats the garlic bread.”
My mother’s deep laugh breaks me out of thoughts of Tate.
“Huh?” I look down to where she points. Garlic powder covers both halves of the loaf. “Oh. Oops. I’ll shake some off.”
Mom grabs it out of my hands. “It’s fine. I’ll throw some shredded mozzarella and parmesan on it and no one will be the wiser.” She makes cooking seem so easy, so effortless, even though the reality is not. “Want to talk about whatever’s on your mind?”
“No.” The word isn’t even out of my mouth before I launch into my dilemma. Mom listens as I tell her about how I treated Tate on the phone, my ideas for tonight, all while she corrects for my overabundance of garlic. “What do you think? How should I approach it?”
“Lasagna,” she suggests with a shrug. As if the answer’s that simple.
“That’s a stretch, Ma. I can barely make mac and cheese for Lennon and the directions are on the box.”
If I have my way, Lennon and I are never leaving the comfort of my parents’ house. I’m not one of those guys needing his independence or caring if I’m living at “Mommy and Daddy’s.” College food sucks. Millie Keeley’s food is out of this world. Andshe does most of our laundry, and I don’t have to pay any bills. Why would I ever want to leave?
Her hand covers mine with a shake of her head. “My dear boy. Where did we go wrong with you?”
“I wish I could tell you.”
“That was rhetorical.” She steps away from the table, checking the food in the oven. “Is it for the two of you? I’ve got two cooking in the oven now, but there’s plenty if you want half of one.”
Is she suggesting I bring lasagna to Tate?
“Thanks for the offer, but I can’t march over there with lasagna and force it on her. What about her daughter?”
“She’s Lennon’s age?” I agree with a nod. “So she’s in bed fairly early.”
“Earlier than Lennon, if I had to guess. Because you know my kid likes to drag out bedtime for an hour.”
“No different from when you were her age.” I go to argue with her—I couldn’t possibly have been as bad as Lennon—but she shoots me a glare warding off any rebuttal.
Instead, I ask, “Do I just show up with dinner? You heard what I said to her, right? What if she slams the door in my face?”
“She’d earn my respect if she does. Even more so if she first takes the lasagna.” She smiles wide, the fine lines around her eyes creasing. “But you won’t know unless you try.” She gets back to cooking, leaving me to ruminate how to proceed.
“I should bring flowers.” I don’t mean to speak the words aloud but am glad I do when Ma agrees with a hum. My decision made, I leap out of my chair and head out of the kitchen, but not before I give her another kiss on her cheek. “Thanks, Ma. I’ll accept the lasagna. Be back in a jiff.”
Since I don’t know her favorites, I grab a variety of different ones at the local florist. Based on the brief conversation we had about her loving the fall, I choose vibrant colors, hoping to emulate the autumn hues surrounding us.
With lasagna and flowers in tow, I pull up to Tate’s condo at 7:45. I didn’t send a text to warn her or to give her the opportunity to shoot me down. Hopefully, she’s a surprise kinda girl. At least I come bearing gifts.
My heart’s in my throat as I approach, the feeling similar to the first step out on the ice for the first game of the season. Nervous yet excited. Tonight the emphasis is on nervous. She could open the door, take one look at me, and send me away. Hell, she may not even open the door. The thought makes me cringe.
My first mistake was assuming she could go on a date with me. The second and more egregious was when I hung up on her with little to no reason about my behavior. I’m fully prepared to grovel and endure my punishment like a man.
