by Rachel Auld
I groaned as I fought back each mouthwatering image that popped into my head and he laughed. “God, Trav, this is going to be great! Senior year would have sucked without you, bro.”
I wholeheartedly returned the sentiment. This dance might turn out to be a horrendous disaster, but at least none of us would be facing that alone. I’d been at enough awkward school functions to trust that one more wouldn’t kill me, and I had enough faith in Sara’s strength of character to know that she could survive what came her way as well.
When Nelson pulled into my driveway, he winked at me and said, “Good luck tonight, Romeo.”
I grabbed my camera bag from the back seat and grinned in spite of myself. “Let’s just hope Juliet doesn’t get the third degree from the parentals, eh? Thanks for playing chauffeur today!”
He laughed out the window as I walked up to the house and I waved one last time as I let myself into the house. I could hear my mom singing in the kitchen as she cooked—the house smelled delicious. I checked the time and forced myself to take deep, calming breaths. One more hour until Sara showed up; plenty of time to shower and gird my loins for what was to come.
She’ll love them and they will adore her, I told myself. Nothing to worry about. I had an hour to convince myself that that was true.
CHAPTER 15: Sunday Evening
The doorbell rang promptly at five o’clock and I smoothed down my hair one last time before opening the door with a smile. Sara smiled shyly back at me, her own hair pulled back in intricate braids that fell into thick curls down her back. She wore a shimmery black sweater that fell loose over one fair shoulder with a pair of dark jeans that hugged her slender legs like a second skin. My breath caught in my throat before I croaked out, “Hey.”
“Hi,” she murmured back, taking the hand I held out to her as we walked reluctantly toward the kitchen. I wanted time to kiss her, to reassure her—or rather, myself—that this was nothing to fear, but I didn’t want to start off the evening with an embarrassing interruption. I should have known better; we walked in on my dad squeezing my mom’s left butt cheek as he nuzzled her ear, making her giggle like a schoolgirl.
Sara and I stopped dead in the doorway. I cleared my throat and felt more than heard Sara stifle a laugh. My parents turned toward us with huge smiles and not a trace of embarrassment. I wondered if someday I would possess the same ability to deal with situations like this.
“Sara, honey! I’m just delighted to meet you,” my mom cried as she took Sara’s hands in hers and kissed her on both cheeks. I should have warned her about my mom’s European tendencies—too late.
To her credit, Sara smiled graciously. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Holmes,” she said politely. “I hope it’s not too much trouble.”
My mom beamed. “Oh please, sweetheart, call me Josette, and this is William,” she said, tugging my dad over. He smiled kindly at Sara and shook her hand.
“Nice to meet you, Sara,” he said, his calm tone a welcome contrast to my mom’s enthusiasm.
Sara’s expression remained friendly but I thought I caught a glimpse of sadness in her eyes as she returned his greeting. I set my hand on the small of her back and gently guided her toward the dining room. “As the guest of honor, you get first pick of seats,” I joked. “We don’t eat in this room enough to lay claim!”
She laughed and studied her options. The round table was covered in a blue and white checked tablecloth and set with pretty but mismatched vintage porcelain dishes my mom had lovingly picked up over the years at various thrift stores. Each of the wooden chairs was painted differently, courtesy of my mother during a random furniture phase. Sara selected the sunset one and I winked as I held the chair out for her before sitting in the ivy-covered seat beside her.
“Travis said you like Indian food?” my mom trilled as she followed my dad, laden with serving platters, out of the kitchen.
“Yes, I love it,” Sara answered with a smile.
My mother beamed back at her, sitting in the ocean waves chair that my father held out for her after setting the platters on the table. She spread her aqua cloth napkin across her lap and we all followed suit. I squeezed Sara’s hand under the table and my mom gave me a pointed look, inclining her head toward the serving spoon.
“Can I get you some chana masala, Sara?” I asked politely. She fought back a snort and nodded, struggling to keep a straight face as I scooped some onto her plate. After serving her some rice to go with it, I helped myself and passed the dish to my dad.
Once everyone was served, we dug in. My mom might not do a lot of cooking at home, but when she did, she was a phenomenal chef. Sara provided all the right compliments and for the most part, we made small talk between bites. I had just started thinking the night would go off without a hitch when my mom asked, “So Sara, what’s the Apple Festival like?”
Sara didn’t miss a beat but I cringed inwardly. “It’s really just an excuse for a town-wide party,” she said, taking a sip of water to compose her thoughts. “There are a ton of apple orchards around here so they say the Ladies Guild of Oakville started a bake-off way back when. Over the years it evolved into this big festival with a parade, school dance, a carnival. It sort of takes the place of Homecoming around here.”
My mom beamed at her. “That sounds lovely, doesn’t it, honey?” She gave my dad a pointed look when he blinked at her.
“Yes, of course,” he replied dutifully, smiling at us. I rolled my eyes and winked at Sara, who stifled a laugh.
“So are you two going to the dance?” my mom asked. Her innocent tone didn’t fool me for a second.
I nudged Sara with my knee under the table. “Yes, ma’am,” I replied smartly, ready to make her pull every bit of information out of me if it came to that. I had told them a very brief version of what had happened to Sara’s father, leaving out the teenage drama, but I had conveniently left out as much detail as possible when it came to our relationship. My mom was too observant for her own good—and mine—so I figured I’d let her deduce whatever she could after seeing us together.
My mom’s dark eyes studied the two of us, a smile pulling at her lips. “Well, you two will be the most adorable couple there!” she chirped.
I almost died right on the spot. Sara blushed brightly but managed to smile back at my mom and respond with a politeness that astounded me, “Thank you, Mrs—I mean, Josette.”
Mom clapped her hands together and stood, followed closely by my dad. “I hope you two have room for dessert!” she called over her shoulder as they cleared the table. I moved to help and was shoved gently back into my seat by my mother. They bustled around us, removing dishes from the table so quickly that I wondered if they had rehearsed this.
Sara cocked a brow at me and grinned, leaning her head against my shoulder for a quick moment while my parents were clanking dishes in the kitchen. I kissed her temple and whispered, “So far, so good?”
She grinned. “I’m waiting for the baby pictures,” she whispered back. “That would top the night off perfectly!”
I groaned under my breath. “Hopefully those haven’t been unpacked yet,” I murmured against her ear. The shiver that ran through her was intensely gratifying. I drew back just enough to wink at her and admire the blush spreading slowly across her cheeks.
Her eyes looked dark and fathomless against her fair skin; I wondered if my parents would be so obvious as to plan mood lighting for this dinner. They seemed to be taking an inordinately long time in the kitchen, after all. I debated whether I had enough time for a proper kiss, but my mom swanned back into the dining room with a tray of dessert plates and I regretfully leaned back in my seat.
My mom set the tray down with a flourish. “I haven’t had this much fun baking in years, Sara!” she exclaimed. “The internet was too full of dessert recipes for me to choose just one.”
Sara’s eyes widened. “Thank you so much for doing all of this!” she said earnestly, looking sincerely delighted that my mom would do this for her
. Our hands were still linked under the table and I thought I felt her tremble ever so slightly. I studied her face carefully and thought I saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes, but she blinked and a brilliant smile lit her face.
My mom’s expression was soft, glowing both with the pleasure that such gratitude inspired and with a sympathy that I knew ran much deeper. The tragic story of Mr. Matthews' death had awakened every motherly instinct she possessed and I had a feeling that had greatly influenced her desire to make tonight into a positive experience for Sara. I felt as though I’d spent nearly eighteen years taking my parents for granted; meeting Sara had opened my eyes to an intense gratitude for everything they did for me. The way they were welcoming Sara into their lives moved me almost to tears.
We settled in and devoured the desserts my mom had been working on all week, from cookies to mini tart things to some kind of cheesecake balls that made me elbow Sara and waggle my eyebrows suggestively when my mom wasn’t looking. I couldn’t remember the last time my mom had actually baked something, but my tastebuds were awfully pleased that she had deemed Sara worth the effort. Everything was delicious.
My parents managed not to embarrass me too much before the end of the evening, though I would gladly have done without the knowing smirks my mom threw my way. My dad was charming and drew Sara into conversation with ease. They both seemed to really like her and, more importantly, she seemed to really like them. I was ready to chalk this one up as a win.
When the conversation began to die down, Sara insisted that she and I would take care of the dishes. My mom readily agreed, excusing herself to her studio while my dad headed upstairs to edit photos. Sara quirked a brow at me, silently inquiring as to whether I’d broached the topic of my own photography with him yet, but I shook my head. She rolled her eyes at me as we cleared the table and brought the dishes to the sink.
I nudged her with my hip as we settled in to wash up, admiring the way her jeans hugged the long, slim line of her leg. “You look smokin’ hot, by the way,” I whispered.
She burst out laughing and flicked a bubble of dish soap toward me. “Watch it, mister.”
I stepped back and ran my gaze over her, lingering here and there. “Oh, I will,” I promised. This time, she snorted, drying her hands on a towel.
“Is that all you plan to do then?” she taunted softly.
Oh God, I told myself, now that’s a challenge if I’ve ever heard one. I slid my hand around her waist, tugging her close so I could nuzzle the delicate spot under her ear. She sucked in a breath and I grinned against her soft skin. Her hands tangled in my hair and I kissed my way to her lips.
The sound of my mom’s soft singing broke through the haze surrounding us and I gave her lips one last quick kiss before we went back to the dishes. There was something intimate about standing there together. I’d won her mom’s approval, we’d bridged the chasm between her and Nelson, and my parents clearly adored her; sure, we had a stupid school dance still standing in our way, but I was feeling pretty confident that we’d hurdled over the biggest obstacles that might stand in the way of this relationship. The unadulterated joy shining from Sara’s face made me think she felt the same.
When we’d finished with the dishes, I called a quick farewell to my mom and grabbed the car keys to drive her home. I snuck a kiss when I opened the car door for her, then another before shifting into reverse. She laughed, holding my face between her hands. “If I’m not home by ten, my mom will call out the National Guard to come looking,” she teased, rubbing her nose against mine.
“If I didn’t think that search would end with your mom pointing a shotgun at me, I might be tempted,” I joked. She settled back into her seat, laughing as she adjusted her seatbelt, and I pulled out of the driveway.
The drive to her house was too short for much conversation—and, truth be told, I was enveloped in a glow of contentment that made it hard for me to think straight. Sara sang along with the radio and I turned toward her when I stopped at a red light.
“You have a beautiful voice,” I said, meaning every word. I knew she had great taste in music but had never heard her sing before. I could only just see her responding blush in the light of the streetlamps outside the car; she shrugged off the compliment but smiled in a way that told me she was pleased by it. Her hand slipped into mine where it rested on the bench seat.
“Thank you for tonight,” she said softly, squeezing my hand.
“It was my pleasure,” I replied, smiling at her. The light turned green, but I left my hand entwined with hers on the seat. “I hope it wasn’t too torturous?”
She laughed, the sweet sound filling the air. “Only mildly awkward at times,” she said with a grin. “Your parents are great. I can’t believe your mom did all that cooking for me, though!”
“Oh, believe me,” I reassured her, “it was her pleasure. She’s not one for regular mealtimes, but when she puts her mind to creating a masterpiece, she enjoys every second of it!”
We turned onto Sara’s street and I slowed the car to a crawl, which made her laugh more. “You’re a goofball!” she accused.
I nodded solemnly but didn’t speed up. It was only quarter after nine; she was at no risk of being late for her mom’s suggested curfew. I might as well enjoy the remaining few minutes of my evening with her. We pulled into the driveway behind her mom’s little blue car and I unbuckled my seatbelt before turning to face her. She did the same, giving me a suspicious look.
I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her, a light, quick touch of my lips to hers. “You. Are. Stunning.” I punctuated each word with another kiss and she dissolved into giggles.
Her hand caught my chin and she leaned over, mimicking me. “You. Are. Incorrigible.”
I cocked my head. “Is it lame that the only thing that brings to mind is The Sound of Music?” I asked, and she laughed outright, collapsing against my chest.
“Oh, Travis,” she gasped. “I love that you not only feel secure enough to admit that you’ve seen the movie, you also remember enough minute details to make obscure references.”
I assumed an air of mock hurt. “I am a very cultured young man, Miss Matthews,” I protested. “Of course I’ve seen it. It’s a classic!”
She giggled again, leaning back to grin up at me. Her eyes twinkled in the dark, lit only by the gleaming dashboard and the porch light. The grin slowly faded into a tiny smile that danced across her lips, warming me to the core. She glanced quickly at the porch to be sure her mother was still inside, then slipped her hand around to the back of my neck and tugged me down for a proper kiss goodnight.
By the end of it, we were both breathless and I wondered, stupidly, if there was any oxygen left inside the car. The taste of her lips was intoxicating, that was the only excuse I could drum up. I was drunk on her kiss.
A soft hum escaped her throat as she nuzzled her nose against my jawline. “Thank you again,” she whispered, her breath tickling my throat. I think I responded but couldn’t for the life of me remember what words fell from my lips—whatever they were, her smile had broadened and she gave me one last quick kiss. “Tuesday?” she asked as she opened the car door.
Dimly, I remembered that she had her math class on Mondays and I nodded. “Tuesday,” I promised, my voice sounding a bit hoarse even to my own ears. She blew a kiss before closing the door and jogging up the front porch steps. With one last wave, she let herself into the house, that same little smile still on her lips.
I laid my head against the steering wheel for a moment, willing my breathing to return to normal before shifting into reverse and heading back toward home. The night had been, in my opinion, a success; my parents had behaved themselves, for the most part, and everyone had gotten along without any of the disasters I had imagined beforehand.
Now we just had to get through the next five days of worrying about what might happen at the dance, and then surely it would be smooth sailing from there on.
At least, I hoped so.
; CHAPTER 16: Monday & Tuesday Morning
Though Sara had scolded me about checking my phone during the school day, we managed to send a few texts back and forth during my free periods and lunch. We kept things light, little quips that brought a smile to my face throughout the day. I gave Nelson the rundown of the previous evening and he nodded in admiration.
The day passed quickly. We had finished painting decorations and were moving onto actually decorating the school gym for Friday’s dance, which meant Nelson and I did a lot of heavy lifting and climbing ladders, adjusting the angle of each ridiculous banner and string of apple-adorned crepe paper at the whim of the school’s cheerleading squad. Even their incessant chatter about dresses and flowers and limos wasn’t enough to put a damper on my lighthearted mood.
Sara had immediately shot down the idea of a limo—right up there with corsages in her book, I suspected. My mom had gladly offered up the car anyway. Nelson had, of course, begged a ride to the dance, but had not-so-subtly promised to find himself a ride home so I could be alone with Sara. If he thought either Sara or I would be satisfied with fumbling around in the backseat of my mom’s car, he greatly overestimated our desperation, I mused.
It wasn’t until just before lunch on Tuesday that I caught an uncurrent of tension rippling through the student body. I had been oblivious to it until the name “Jay” caught my ear. I sucked in a deep breath and listened carefully in the hallway on my way to the cafeteria. Standing in the lunch line, I finally overheard a whisper.
“Jay’s coming to the dance with Bianca,” it said in a shocked hiss. “I thought that ship had sailed but I guess not!”
Every muscle in my body tensed while the lunch lady scooped mashed potatoes onto my tray, but I forced myself to smile politely and thank her as the whispers moved on to names I didn’t recognize well enough to put faces to. Nelson would have the lowdown, I was sure. I didn’t really want to hear it, but I felt I owed it to Sara to prepare ourselves as much as possible. I had to quell a momentary panic as I wondered if Sara would change her mind about going; she had assured me she was well aware of the possible risks to this venture.
