“This is my…” Crap, what are we? We hadn’t discussed this, and Ryan hated labels. But Ryan did say he wanted to test out our options, and at this moment, I really wanted him to be mine. This boy had made me the happiest I’d been in years. “Boyfriend. Ryan, this is my mom, Vivian. Mom, this is Ryan.
Turning to me, she said, “You didn’t mention a boyfriend.” Then she pivoted to Ryan. “Nice to meet you, Ryan.”
He extended his hand and shook my mother’s. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Carmichael.”
She nodded and didn’t correct his formal use of her name. Apparently no Vivian for him.
The air turned stuffy, everyone standing around awkwardly. A muffled sound came from Mom’s purse and I inwardly rolled my eyes. No way had she the gall to bring her craptastic dog.
Just as I was sure Mom wouldn’t pull a stunt like that, she opened her purse and Caesar’s demon Pomeranian face popped through the opening. She yipped when we made eye contact. “Can Caesar stay in your room while we go to dinner?”
“You brought Caesar?” I glared at the dog. We’d been having a Hatfield and McCoy feud since Mom got her in high school. She was supposed to be my dog. My Christmas present. But she quickly became attached to my mom and had a special hatred toward me. She loved dragging my underwear around the house when dates came over, and there was always the fight over the prime spot on the couch. Et tu, Brute, much?
“With your dad working late, I didn’t know when he’d be home to feed her.”
I sighed. “Sure, why not? My bedroom sounds good.” Not like I’d let hell dog have free roam of the apartment—not if I wanted our deposit back.
“Where did you want to go for dinner?” I asked.
“What’s that one you took me to last time? The restaurant with the pepper wearing the sombrero.”
“Pepe’s?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
Turning to the group, I asked, “Is everyone cool with Mexican?”
They all murmured agreement. They were just along for the ride of this family shit show.
I took in a deep breath. Might as well get this over with. One dinner wouldn’t kill me. Probably. Maybe. “Sounds good.”
My mom filed out of my apartment, followed by Blake and Payton. As I was about to close the door, Ryan whispered, “After you, Juliette,” in my ear.
I backhanded his chest. “If you ever call me that, I will ream you.”
“Naughty.” He waggled his brows.
“You and that unicorn will be begging for mercy.”
He nudged my shoulder. “It’ll be okay. It’s just dinner.”
I nodded. He didn’t know my mom. Dinners could sometimes be a bloodbath.
He pulled me to him and laced his fingers with mine. “We’re in this together. I won’t let my girlfriend be hung out to dry.”
My cheeks heated. “I hope it’s okay I introduced you as that.”
“Definitely. I could get used to you saying it.”
I bumped my hip into him. “Let’s just survive dinner first, and then see how you feel.”
“Deal.” He looped his arm around my waist and pulled me in close.
Twenty minutes later we were seated at Pepe’s.
“Payton, I hear you’re already studying for your classes next term. I bet your dad is really proud.” Mom looked at me and raised one brow.
I looked at my phone and shifted in the uncomfortable vinyl seat. Two minutes. It took her exactly two minutes from when the waiter left to bring up school. A new record for my mother. Really, she should win an award for narrow-minded statements.
Payton shrugged. She always hated compliments, never was able to take them well. I could tell she wanted to deflect just by the crimson rising in her cheeks. “Actually, Dad told me to take a break, that I should enjoy the summer. Like I could ever take time off.” She laughed.
Ryan and Blake shook their heads. I crunched on a chip, chewing extra loud to block out my mom’s voice. My view of the conversation: chew, chew, chew, Payton is so amazing, chew, chew, chew. Wish I had a different daughter, chew, chew, chew.
My mother reached for my arm across the table and looked at Payton again. “I’ve been telling Juliette that she needs to take some pointers from you. Maybe you can help her out next year.”
Because my 4.0 GPA needed help. Right.
If I stabbed myself with my steak knife, I could end this quickly. The femoral artery would have me unconscious in about two minutes. Or maybe the carotid. Decisions, decisions. As I eyed the knife, Payton said, “Jules is the one who usually helps me with stuff I don’t understand.”
God bless Payton, but her rebuttals were falling on deaf ears. Well, more like selective hearing ears. Mom just mm-hmmed and continued to look at Payton the same way she regarded Eric. “Did you know Clint and I met when we were in medical school? We were something.” She smiled, getting this faraway look. I’d love to have a time machine to see what Mom was really like when she was my age. Did she always act like she had a stick up her ass? Or was that just because of Eric and me?
“That’s awesome, Dr. Carmichael.”