FOURTEEN
Elijah
I can hearmy mom and Hartley laughing in the kitchen and I start to relax. Things seem to be going alright, although that doesn’t stop me from leaning forward in my seat on the couch to watch them in the kitchen.
My dad is busy watching some documentary on the History Channel and ignoring me spying on my mom and girlfriend. He and I already caught up on what’s going on at the Trading Post and in town. He asked me a few questions about Hartley, but I’m sure that he knows that he’ll hear all of it from Mom later tonight.
I had been uncertain about leaving my mom and Hartley alone together. I know how my mom can be and it feels wrong to subject someone who is just doing you a favor to all of her excitement.
When I had first left them alone in the kitchen to cook, the tense silence had me struggling not to pace around the living room or dart back into the kitchen and insist that I help them make dinner.
What if they hated each other? What if my mom said something over the top and freaked Hartley out? What if my mom somehow knew that we were lying to her?
I was about two seconds from sprinting back into the kitchen to try to defuse the situation or to just confess to everything or to make up some excuse that Hartley had to leave right now when my mom had spoken.
“So, what are your intentions with my son?”
I think that my heart stopped when she asked Hartley that and I had been moving forward to rescue her when my mom had laughed, breaking the tension.
That had been far from the last of the questions though.
With each new one that my mom had asked, I had another moment of true panic. This was a terrible idea. There was no way we were going to be able to pull this off. I was lying to my parents and they were going to find out and never trust me or let me hear the end of it. Poor Hartley.
I swear my whole body relaxed up at the sound and I almost sagged with relief onto the couch. They’ve been chatting and giggling in there ever since. I hate to admit it, but hearing them have fun together has a weird ache forming in my chest. I almost like it.
My dad probably thinks that I’m losing it. I’ve gone from pacing and staring eagle-eyed at the kitchen to practically passing out on the couch. He’s been ignoring me though, watching the TV, although I’m sure that he’s been listening to the noises coming from the kitchen as well.
“Dinner’s done!” my mom calls and my dad grabs the remote, turning the TV off before he climbs to his feet and makes his way into the kitchen.
I hurry to follow him. It smells delicious and I smile at Hartley, studying her face and checking to see that she’s comfortable before I take the bowl of roasted potatoes from my mom and carry it over to the kitchen table.
“It looks amazing,” my dad tells them, and my mom beams as she places a basket of rolls on the table in front of him.
“Hartley showed me so many new tips and tricks. She promised to send me some recipes too.”
Hartley nods as she carries over some kind of green beans. I pull a chair out for her and she smiles at me as she sits down. I take the one next to her and try to ignore the way her leg brushes against mine.
Dinner goes surprisingly well. Maybe it’s because the food is so delicious, or maybe it’s because my mom is finally getting her wish. Me with a girlfriend.
My mom is on her best behavior, the food is delectable, and Hartley seems to be having a good time. Hartley tells us about growing up in Atlanta with her grams and about opening the bakery in town. My mom promises to come back and visit once the bakery is up and running.
We help her brainstorm names and my dad is all too happy to offer suggestions for which baked goods she should make and sell. Hartley promises to make some of them and bring them over for the next dinner. I think she wins my dad over right then and there.
My parents tell us stories about Florida and my mom spends at least an hour telling Hartley stories from when I was younger. I send up a silent prayer of thanks that all of the photo albums are at their place in Florida.
“Well, it’s getting pretty late,” I say, standing from the couch.
Hartley joins me and my mom shoots to her feet as well. For one brief second, it looks like she’s going to try to convince Hartley to stay. I place my hand on Hartley’s lower back and usher her closer to the door.
“I’m sure Hartley has a big day at the bakery tomorrow. We should let her go home and get some sleep,” I say as I nudge her closer to the door.
My mom follows us all the way to the front door and gives Hartley a hug as she pulls on her parka and hat and mittens. When she doesn’t let her go right away, I have a moment of panic that I’m going to have to drag them apart, but then my mom lets go. She beams at Hartley as I tug my own jacket on and grab my keys.
“We’ll see you soon, honey!” my mom calls after us as I help Hartley up into my truck.
“Bye, Mrs. Grove,” she calls back and I hurry to get into the truck and back out of the drive.
“That wasn’t so bad.”