Page 63 of Take It Till You Make It
When I glance at Mom, I find a sly little smile teasing the corners of her mouth. “You’re nervous.”
“Terrified. I don’t understand his interest in me. So, I don’t trust it.”
Different emotions skitter through her expression, but she steps forward until she can rest a hand on my arm. “It’s just dinner and a movie. I don’t think he’s trying to steal your fortune.”
I snort. Since he’s the one with the fortune. I look around our simple apartment. It looks more like we’re temporary college roommates than making a new home for ourselves, but he’s been here before. He knows my life isn’t much. Yet, he invited himself back. His motivation seems genuine. Like it really is about me. Even if I don’t get it.
“You’re right.” I nod. As I step toward the door, I add, “There’s still a good chance I’ll hurl on his shoes.”
Which he isn’t even wearing. Well, he’s wearing flip-flops. And board shorts. And an old V-neck that seems to really enjoy its job covering his chest. His hair – did he style it to look that disheveled, or has he not brushed it today? This is a new look for Crispin, and I’m all about it. This is…this is…unexpectedly casual. This is everyday Crispin. The Crispin I would know if he wasn’t a star and we went to school together. Not that we’d ever have gone to school together.
“Hi,” I breathe. My voice is airy, and I think I might swoon right here in my doorway. Swooning is real. Did anyone know that?
“Hey, Ari. Thanks for having me.” He steps forward and kisses me on the cheek while giving me a light hug. Now I’m going to melt into a puddle. A very different feeling from swooning, but you end up on the floor either way. He hands me a four-pack of the fanciest root beer I’ve ever seen.
“Thanks, this looks yummy.”
“It’s natural. Brewed the old-fashioned way.” His nose bobs upward. “Wow, it smells good in here. I thought we were having pizza.”
“Oh, I changed the menu. I hope you don’t mind. Tacos.”
“I love tacos.”
“Well, I cooked, so you might have to amend that sentiment later.” I spin to take the root beer into the kitchen, and Crispin follows.
“Hello, Mrs. Quill.” Crispin pulls something from his pocket and hands it to her. “I hope this isn’t inappropriate. I just thought it might be nice to always have them close to your heart.”
Mom looks warily up at Crispin as she takes the tissue-wrapped gift from him. She slowly unfolds the wrapping and makes a strangled gasping noise. Crispin takes the paper from her as she lifts an old-fashioned-looking antique bronze locket on a long chain. “It’s beautiful.”
She drapes the chain over her head and lets it rest on her neck while she takes the locket in both hands. She looks up at me before opening the locket and pressing a hand to her mouth. “Crispin…” she says.
He’s hovering, looking worried that maybe he’s made the wrong choice. I set the root beer on the dining table and walk over to Mom to look at what’s inside.
“Oh!” I say. My grin is quivery with emotion as I stare at the picture of Dad and me from my video channel. It’s one of my favorite pictures of us. He’s holding me like a groom about to carry me over the threshold, though you can’t tell that in the locket since most of our bodies are cut off. We’re both grinning. I bite my lip and look up at Crispin. “That’s really sweet.”
He still looks worried. I glance at Mom, who still holds her hand against her mouth and stares at the photo. Just when I’m about to ask if she’s okay, she speaks.
“I took this picture.” She looks at me. “Remember, Ari? It was right after your channel became monetized and you’d made your first one hundred dollars.”
I nod. It was such a big deal. Seriously, it still is.
“Eric was so proud of you,” Mom says. She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “He’d still be so proud of you.”
I blink.
Finally, Mom looks at Crispin. “This was incredibly thoughtful of you. Thank you. I will wear it close to my heart. Just like you said. The two people I love most in this world. And beyond.”
I blink again. And swallow. To break the mood, I spin on my heel, grab the soda, and grumble, “All I get is root beer.”
I hear nervous chuckles behind me as I stick the soda in the fridge.
Crispin is incredibly charming during dinner, asking Mom all sorts of questions about her family, where she grew up, and what she wanted to be when she grew up. It gingerly eases into her years with Dad, and I hear stories about their dating years that I’ve never heard before. He keeps Mom talking about me, Dad, and our hometown all through dinner. It’s fun to learn how laughter bounces off the walls of our little apartment, making it seem richer and lusher. Queen Brie settles onto Crispin’s lap right there at the dinner table when we push back to continue our conversation after finishing our meal. I rush over to sweep her away, but he rests a hand on her purring body.
“It’s okay. Soon I’ll be sneezing too much for her to be comfortable anyway, and I like how she feels.”
Mom and I make eye contact, and I can see her thought like it’s a neon sign. “You are so screwed, kid.”
When I finally start to clear the dishes, Crispin jumps up to help, which is next-level awkward in our tiny kitchen.
