by Sara Ney
We each take turns handing our plates to my mother while she serves us lasagna, which is still piping hot from the oven and steaming. It’s cheesy and full of meat sauce—pure perfection. Also one of my favorites. Although, like Lilly, I don’t discriminate among food.
I will eat just about anything.
“Did Roman tell you he lived in London last semester?” Mom asks after she’s taken her seat again. “He’s very smart—practically a genius.”
I blush, knowing this isn’t true. I’m nowhere near genius level, although I do have a very high IQ and great cumulative grade point average.
“Mom, I don’t want to talk about school.”
She sets down her fork. “Well you did other things in England while you were there, didn’t you? Why don’t you tell her about those things? Tell her about playing squash.”
The last thing I need is my mother playing matchmaker in front of my entire immediate family. God, this is embarrassing the way she’s pimping me out and trying to make me look good in front of Lilly.
“I actually did know he studied in London.” Lilly sweetly smiles at me. “I also did know he’s very smart—I got to see his trophy.” She does a little flustered headshake. “I’m sorry, I mean his award—the award he received when he was granted the scholarship to study abroad? It’s so impressive. I think it looks like a Grammy.” She giggles.
“I dropped it,” I tell my parents. “It broke and Lilly fixed it.”
“It broke?” Dad pauses from taking a bite of food. “What do you mean it broke?”
I shrug, setting a bite of lasagna on my tongue. Chew. Swallow. “It was in a box when I moved, and that box fell.”
Mom gasps. Covers her mouth with her hands. “Roman, no! Oh no, honey, you worked so hard for that!”
I shrug. “I worked hard for the scholarship, not for the award.” Glancing over at Lilly seated next to me, I grin. “Besides, Lilly fixed it up for me.”
“She did?” Mom looks between Lilly and me. “How?”
I fish my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans, thumb through my photo gallery, and produce a snap of the now glitterati honor covered in crystals.
Offer it up so Mom can see.
She leans forward for a better look at my phone. Raises her brows. Furrows them.
Her mouth gapes.
I can see she’s appalled but is too polite to say anything rude in front of Lilly. “How…nice.”
I show Dad.
He isn’t as subtle.
“What in God’s name?”
I take my phone with a laugh and shove it back in my pocket.
“I wanna see,” Alex complains loudly with bread in his mouth.
“Too late.” I smirk at him, and suddenly we’re both acting twelve.
Lilly happily forks up her dinner, chewing, swallowing and explaining. “So I was there when he dropped the box, and we all heard it crash, his roommates and me. I’m best friends with his roomie Eliza—she and I were roommates last year. Anyway, we’re all sitting there when Roman walks in the room, and for whatever reason, the box falls out of his hands. I saw that it had FRAGILE written all over it on all four sides, and we could hear the pieces—literally hear the thing break.” Chew, chew. Swallow. “It was so sad, I wanted to die.”
My mother’s brows rise.
“I jumped up and looked inside the box, and ugh, poor Roman.” She hangs her head in mock sorrow. “I love crafting and don’t get to do it very often, so I figured if I couldn’t fix it, I could at least jazz it up, you know?”
My parents stare at her like an alien has taken over the dinner conversation.
“It looks so great.”
“It does look great,” I agree happily. “Different but great.”
Lilly laughs. “I used an entire bottle of glitter glue. I mean, they’re small bottles, but that just shows you how messed up the thing was.”
The thing.
My mother blanches.
Aunt Myrtle hoots like an old hen. “Loretta, you should see your face!”
“I wanna see!” my brother repeats, sounding like a parrot who only knows one phrase.
“Alex, eat your dinner and stop interrupting.” This from Dad.
“The award is splendid. I put it right in the center of my bookshelf.”
“Splendid,” Lilly says, glancing around the table at my family, her pert nose wrinkling all cute-like. “Don’t you love it when he uses those kinds of words to describe things?”
Mom gets a faraway look in her eye as if Lilly has just called her oldest son the most handsome guy in all the land.
She needs to stop.
“When did the two of you start dating?”
“Dating, ha!” Aunt Myrtle’s hot pink lipstick has migrated to her two front teeth, the rest of it virtually gone from the occasional blotting of the linen napkin against her mouth to remove pasta sauce—makes for an interesting sight. “What you kids do these days isn’t dating. You all get handsy with each other before you know the other person’s last name.”
“Aunt Myrtle, that’s not true.” Why am I defending my generation? It’s mostly true. People these days will have sex with someone and not even know their name—let alone last name.
“What’s the girl’s last name?”
“First of all, Auntie, her name is Lilly—not girl.”
The old woman rolls her eyes like a teenager. “What’s Lilly’s last name?” She primly takes a bite of lasagna, little lips pursed as she chews and judges me.
How the heck would I know what her last name is? I’ve only met her—uh…I mentally do a tally of the times Lilly and I have been in the same room together—three times!
“Aunt Myrtle, you’re being ridiculous.” Mom’s chuckle is a forced, nervous one.
“It’s Howard,” my friend supplies.
“You weren’t supposed to say it! He was!” My old aunt raises her arm, bangles jangling, sleeve billowing, her thin drawn-on eyebrow arched. It’s crooked and doesn’t match the other one, but Aunt Myrtle doesn’t give a shit.
She does just fine judging us without two symmetrical brows.
“Lilly Howard,” I tell her with a satisfied smile, giving Lilly a little nudge with my elbow where no one can see it. Beneath the table, she pats my thigh before returning her hand to her own lap.
The move does not escape my mother’s notice.
My dick—who also noticed the innocuous thigh pat—twitches a little.
“What’s your major, Lilly?” Dad wants to know. I know he’s making idle conversation and being polite, probably trying to change the topic, too.
“I’m an English major with a business minor.” She hesitates, pushing some food around on her plate before adding, “My parents wouldn’t let me major in art.”
I heard those exact words three years ago when we were incoming freshmen.
“Why not a business major with an English minor?” My brother chimes in, and I want to clock him for asking such a rude question.
“It’s not a major I want to study at all, so I didn’t think it mattered.”
“Of course it matters.” Alex is twelve, but he’s also a pompous little know-it-all, partly because he’s also brilliant, partly because he’s a spoiled brat.
“Hi, we’re not talking about school, remember?”
“Oh shit, sorry.” Dad apologizes for bringing up the subject, and I can see his brain searching for another one.
Lilly doesn’t wait for anyone to ask her questions. She moves on with one of her own. “Aunt Myrtle, Roman tells me you date a lot. Which apps are you on?”
Everyone around the table groans, including my brother.
“I’m glad someone finally asked the important questions.” Aunt Myrtle’s sparkly eyes narrow as she sets her fork down on the edge of the plate and refolds the napkin on her lap dramatically. She’s about to start a story, and I’m certain it won’t disappoint. “Yes, I do date a lot. It’s given me…” Dramatic pause. “My youth back.”
“You don’t say,” Mom deadpans.
Auntie ignores her niece. “There isn’t a lot to do when you’re my age—no one around here will give me back my driver’s license.” More narrowed stares around the dinner table. “You get pulled over twice for driving too fast and suddenly you’re unfit to drive.”
“You can barely see over the steering wheel.”
“I’m talking about my golf cart.” She rolls her eyes. It’s then that I notice her lids are covered in a thin hue of blue shadow, lashes brushed with black mascara. “I would date men from the retirement communities, but did you know they’re riddled with…” She lowers her voice. “The clap?”
Yes, I did know that. BECAUSE SHE BRINGS IT UP EVERY OPPORTUNITY SHE CAN.
Everyone groans. Again. Something we do often with Aunt Myrtle around and her wild stories.
Lilly giggles softly. “The clap?”
“You kids call it sexually transmitted venereal disease.” Lilly laughs again when Aunt Myrtle says, “I myself narrowly escaped the herp last year.”
“The herp?”
We all know what Auntie is about to say.
“You know—the herpes.” She dabs at her mouth with the napkin. “Similar to the ’rhea, but not as contagious.”
The fact that she uses the word ‘the’ in front of everything has me cracking up.
“The rhea?” Lilly asks it slowly. “Like…diarrhea?”
“No, the gonge-arrhea.”
“That’s not how it’s pronounced,” Alex announces. “Even I know that.”
“Can we please talk about something else?” Mom begs. “Anything else. Please.”
My brother vigorously shakes his head. “Rome already asked us to change the subject once—you can’t ask to do it again. House rules.”
“Those aren’t the house rules. Like, at all.” Dad laughs, sounding a lot like one of my peers. “Besides, I kind of want to hear her explain the ’rhea.”
“Honestly, Josh, could you not?” This from my mother.
“So what you’re saying is, dating apps are much safer for you?”
“Absolutely. Do you know how hard it is to get an old geezer to wrap it up?”
Mom gasps. “Oh god.”
“I assume she’s not talking about presents?” Lilly whispers. “Is she talking about—”
“Condoms? Yup.” Unfazed but still kind of embarrassed, I busy myself by shoveling food into my gullet, swallowing, sneaking a peek at the watch on my wrist for the time.
We’ve been here thirty-five minutes.
A half hour more seems fair, yeah? Then we can safely get the hell out of here.
I think my blood pressure just shot up a billion points, and I’m a considerably healthy dude.
“So here I am, swiping on Silver Fox Singles—I swipe a few minutes every night.” Aunt Myrtle is rambling on. “Do you know how many free steak dinners I’ve had in the past two months alone? Go ahead, guess.”
“Um…five?”
“Ha!” Auntie cackles. “Twenty-six! And I don’t have to put out.” She pauses. “Well, I do put out—but I don’t have to.”
8
LILLY
“Well. That was…” My sentence trails off as I fasten the seat belt across my body, testing it to make sure it’s nice and secure.
“Horrible? Painful? Torture?”
His tone makes me want to laugh, but I have a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate my humor at a time like this. I know without glancing over at him that Roman is embarrassed about the way his family acted at dinner, even though I found it perfectly charming and delightful.
They were exactly as I pictured them, down to his great aunt’s hot pink lipstick and muumuu. His mother was sweet and welcoming, albeit a bit stuffy, his dad the funniest one of the bunch. Roman’s little brother acted exactly like a little brother.
It was a fun night and a nice change from the norm, which is me eating anything I’ve managed to scrounge up in my dim little kitchen. A home-cooked meal is always appreciated, and Mrs. Whitaker is an amazing cook.
“I was going to say a blast.”
“Okay, now I know you’re lying.”
“I’m not lying. I swear! That was so much more fun than we would’ve had with my family—my mom doesn’t cook at all, and I don’t have any brothers or sisters. It’s quiet and boring.” Not to mention during meals, my mother uses the opportunity to lecture my father and me about all the things we do wrong.
It’s quite exhausting.
“Honest to God, I swear I thought they were going to ask us if we were dating,” he jokes with his eyes on the road as we make our way through town the way we came.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Um. About that…”
Roman glances over, regarding me in the dimly lit front seat of his car. “You look like you want to say something.”
Ugh. How do I put this…
“So you’re probably not going to like this.”
“What? Lilly, just say it.”
I squirm, adjusting the seat belt. Though it’s not pulling on my chest, it feels like it’s choking me. “When I walked through the kitchen after using the bathroom, your mom kind of cornered me.”
“Okay?”
“And asked point-blank if we’re dating. I mean…I didn’t know what to say. She looked so…” My hands do that thing where you wave them around here and there. “Hopeful. And I didn’t want to ruin her evening.”
“Ruin her evening?” Rome turns his body to look at me. “Wait. What does she think is happening between us? You obviously told her we’re just friends.”
“Not exactly?”
He glances over.
Glances at the road.
Glances back over at me. “Lilly. Did you tell my mother we’re dating?”
“No?” Did I? Um. “Not exactly—but I also didn’t deny it.” He looks appalled. Absolutely appalled. “What!? I was trying to make her happy! It’s harmless!”
Shit.
He does not look happy.
At all.
I mean, what’s he so mad about? It’s not like I committed a crime! All I did was make his mother happy. She looked so…excited.
And I’ve never had a guy’s mother fawn over me that way—I guess you could say I got caught up in the moment.
“Is it so bad that they think you’re seeing me? Are you that embarrassed about it?” My stomach drops as I cross my arms over my chest, affronted. “I know I’m not winning a Nobel Peace Prize for being smart, but I do okay. I made the dean’s list.” Two years ago, and for one semester only.
“You think I’d be embarrassed to be dating you?”
I look out the window at the little farms and houses in the distance. We’re on the highway now, not too far from school but still driving in the middle of nowhere. Not much to see. I turn back toward Roman.
“I don’t know. What other reason would make you so upset? The next time you go, all you have to do is say we’re not dating anymore, right? No big deal.”
They do that on television all the time and in those cute little holiday movies.
“Lilly. You met my mother—you’ve seen what she’s like, and you only spent two hours with her.” His hands grip the wheel, and if it were brighter in here, I bet I’d see white knuckles. “She’s going to hound me to know details about our relationship that don’t exist—and I’m going to have to tell her you lied just to save my ass because you thought you were helping.”
Well shit, when he puts it that way…
“I am so sorry, Roman. I hadn’t thought of it that way. I thought telling her we were dating would mean she would leave you alone about it and not bug you.”
“I want to make the buzzer sound and rest my head on the steering wheel, but that would only make you feel worse.”
“Huh?”
“Crap. Did I say that out loud?”
“Yes, you said that out loud.”
“Sorry.” He grunts, shifting in his seat, which is no
easy task given he’s strapped into it. “I get it—you were just trying to help. Which isn’t going to solve my problem.”
“What problem is that, exactly? You have an awesome family, you get stellar grades, you just moved into an amazing house.” I tick off his lack of problems on my fingers one by one.
“True. However”—he thrusts one finger into the air—“that’s not going to keep my mother from breathing down my neck in the worst possible way.”
“Is she that bad? She can’t be that bad.” Can she? I wouldn’t know as my mom has no interest in my dating life other than to discourage me from having one. It seems Roman and I have the opposite problem when it comes to our parents. “She fed me.”
Roman laughs, eyes on the road. “What are you, like a stray cat that gets fed once and becomes loyal for life?”
Basically. “Ha! No.” But I don’t mind a free meal now and again…and again.
Meow.
“Well, maybe it wouldn’t hurt for her to believe we’re dating for a while. Then maybe she would stop trying to set me up with the daughters of the women she volunteers with. She hasn’t done it in a while, but she was gearing up to.”
“It’s not as if she’s going to see me again.” I pause, considering this statement. “On second thought, I do want free food, so she probably will be seeing me again.” I laugh. “It wouldn’t be a hardship to gaze into your eyes and smile adoringly.”
I blink and flutter my eyes rapidly in his direction while clutching my chest, pantomiming an old cartoon where the girl skunk has heart eyes for the boy skunk.
“Lord, I wouldn’t even be able to take you seriously if you were making that face at me across the table.”
“But it might be fun!”
“Alright,” he says at last. “We’ll pretend to be dating so you can come for dinner, but I can’t promise that if she drives me crazy about it, I won’t just snap and tell her the truth. That would be the end of your meal plan.”
“Okay, we have a deal. I’ll be the most adoring fake girlfriend you’ve never not had.”
I purse my lips and try my hand at being adoring.
