Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
"What can I get you to drink, Ivy?" Mom asks. "We have anything. Everything."
Including a bottle of scotch that costs more than my mortgage. But, hey, it was a gift. A gift that outlived my great aunt and her late husband. Neither of them drank scotch. That's why it's here.
I try to push the thought away. I try to channel the sort of thoughts Daniel would have in this situation.
The thoughts of a man who's happily committed to a woman he intends to marry. Or at least a man who's feeling good about his new relationship.
What would he say?
"Mama, don't play coy. Offer your limoncello." So, I go for flattery. So what? It works, dammit.
Mom smiles. "I don't want to be an Italian mother cliche."
"Who doesn't like limoncello?" I ask.
Mom looks to Ivy. "Are you a fan?"
"I'm not sure if I've had it," Ivy admits.
The gasp that falls from Mom's lips is loud enough to cross the Pacific. She brings her hand to her heart as she shakes her head. "Oh my, that won't do. Yes, sweetheart, three glasses. You know where it is?"
"Of course, Mama." I nod.
"What do you usually drink?" Mom asks.
"I'm afraid I'm not the most sophisticated drinker," Ivy says. "I always order a gin and tonic."
"Nonsense." Mom waves her hand in a gesture of friendly objection. "A classic is always in style. What could be more sophisticated than a little black dress?"
"When have you ever worn a black dress" I ask.
She shrugs. "I do enjoy color. Just like my Romeo. Isn't his apartment adorable?"
"You're not supposed to mention that," I say. "Daniel thinks I'm waiting for marriage."
Ivy lets out a full-throated chuckle.
Mom laughs too. "Is your girlfriend laughing because she knows your past habits? Or are you that attentive?”
"What habits?" I shrug, taking my turn playing coy. "Ivy knows there was no one before her who mattered."
"That, I do believe." Mom smiles and pats my cheek, in that maternal sort of way. Like she's about to say I'm her special guy. "Don't take him too seriously, darling. Not all experiences are important."
"I don't," Ivy says. "Well, I do, sometimes, but I like that he has a sense of humor about himself."
"That's how I know I won't lose her to Daniel," I say.
In Italian, Mom tells me not to be so stupid, that I've always beat Daniel for dates, that Daniel is madly in love and would never look at another woman. But she appreciates my concern. Because it means I know I have something valuable. A doctor. Smart and beautiful.
Not an MD , I correct, but she doesn't care. A doctor all the same.
And how much of this is about Daniel, huh? Mom presses. How did I find someone so quickly, with such convenient timing? What luck.
Ivy watches, not following, as far as I can tell. Though I never did ask if she spoke Italian.
Maybe she understands every single work.
"Romeo, drinks, sweetheart. Thank you." Mom switches back to English and motions to the dining table, inviting Ivy to sit. "Or the couch if you prefer."
I don't need another hint. I find the liqueur in the fridge, pour three small glasses, and return to Mom making Ivy laugh.
My first instinct kicks in. The defensiveness I typically feel with my family. But there's no need for that now. This is how it was with Daniel and Cynthia too.
Wasn't it?
I didn't pay enough attention.
I bring the drinks to the table and take a seat next to my fake girlfriend.
What does a boyfriend do in this scenario? I try to recall the last time I was in an actual relationship. There was a girl in college. We dated for a few months. But it wasn't the sort of relationship Mom would consider important. It was mostly physical.
Daniel.
What the hell does he do?
Nothing. He barely touches his fiancée. He barely touches anyone. Another way he adopted American culture. But he's always been that way. I've always been different.
Concern fills Mom's eyes as she glances at me. She's worried about something. Maybe that fact I'm still sitting here, wondering if I should touch my girlfriend.
I place my hand on Ivy's wrist. "Don't tell Mama if you don't like it. Her ego won't be able to take it." I play it off as a perfectionist streak.
"It wouldn't mean anything if I didn't. I'm not a foodie." Ivy smiles softly.
"I know, mi reigna, but I want to protect you," I say.
Mom looks between us with curiosity. I suppose it is a strange sight, the prodigal playboy in love.
Or maybe she's well aware this is bullshit.
I try to pretend I don't notice.
"My parents always toast to health." Ivy raises her glass. "If you have that, what else do you need?"
"Wise." Mom raises her glass as well. "Salud." She takes a long sip and smiles. "Perfect."
"Your compliments to the chef," I add.