Even though she clearly heard me and there was nothing to misunderstand that time, she continues to stare at me for several seconds. Finally, she says, “This is your boyfriend?”
I nod, my eyes widened with adamancy. “Yes, Mom, this is Brant.”
It takes another moment for her to recover from her surprise. I probably should’ve mentioned he was older than me so she would’ve been more prepared, but it never crossed my mind she would mistake him for my age-appropriate boyfriend’s father. God, how embarrassing.
“Well, come in,” she says, glancing from me back to him, still looking like she hasn’t entirely digested the information.
I hold onto Brant’s arm a little tighter, hoping he’s not too embarrassed by my mom’s confusion. I look up at him as we turn the corner, but if he’s offended, I can’t tell. He looks slightly amused, actually.
Relief trickles through me as my sister comes into view. Amber looks beautiful, as always. Her long blonde hair has more volume than mine and she spends more time styling it, so even though it’s loose down her back and around her shoulders, it looks really pretty. She’s wearing neutral earth tones, a low cut top that shows off her ample cleavage and a skirt that showcases her long legs. My sister has great legs. On impulse, I look up at Brant as he spots her to see if he checks her out, but his gaze doesn’t drift below her face.
My sister rushes forward with a big, friendly smile. “Hi, you must be Brantley! I’m Alyssa’s sister, Amber.”
“Brant,” I say, watching closely as she gives him a hug in greeting. “He just goes by Brant.”
“Right, of course.” She pulls back and beams at him. “It’s so nice to meet you, Brant. I’ve heard almost nothing about you.”
“At least you haven’t heard bad things, I suppose,” he offers back lightly. “Good to meet you, too.”
Keeping up the hectic pace of this greeting parade, my nephew comes crawling over to see what all the fuss is about. I bend down to pick him up and settle him on my hip, planning to introduce him to Brant, but before I can, my sister’s eyes go wide and she grabs the left hand I have under Rudy’s leg to support him.
“Oh my god,” she says, staring at my engagement ring then looking up at me pointedly. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Not yet,” I whisper, before glancing around to make sure no one noticed her noticing. “Jeeze, how did you even notice that quickly?”
Grabbing my arm, she hisses, “Are you pregnant?”
“Amber, come on, we’re supposed to sit down to dinner first.”
We’re doing our best to communicate in hushed whispers, but I’m worried someone will overhear so I pull back and shift my hand so my ring is covered by my nephew’s beefy little leg.
Eyes still wide in shock, Amber looks from me to Brant. A little more subdued, she takes a step back toward the kitchen counter. “All right. Well, we ordered a couple of pizzas. Paper plates are on the counter. We’re out of paper towels but the pizza place sent napkins. Use them sparingly,” she half jokes.
My niece, Rianne, comes over to the counter, saying, “Pizza, pizza, pizza!”
“She likes pizza,” Amber tells Brant with a chuckle.
No one cleared off the table so anyone could sit down, so I ask, “Should I clear the table, or are we not sitting there?”
“Pappy’s in a mood,” Amber explains, rolling her eyes. “Insists he’s not sitting at the damn table. I’ll sit there with you if you don’t mind messy little ones.”
I glance up at Brant semi-apologetically, but his face is more or less impassive. If he’s unimpressed by this disorganized dinner, it’s impossible to tell.
I head back to the living room and begin clearing off the card table while Brant hangs back to keep my nephew company and chat with my sister. I don’t expect my mom to come and help, but she does, grabbing a fistful of old mail and shooting me a look.
“You could’ve warned me that your boyfriend is my age.”
“He’s not your age,” I murmur, glancing across the room to make sure Brant’s not in hearing range. “He’s a few years younger.”
“He’s basically my age,” she says more firmly. “Good-looking, too. You could’ve set me up with him. You’re way too young for a man like that, Alyssa. I don’t know what you’re thinking.”
I don’t bother answering her, just quickly finish putting away the stuff on top. My mom pulls the card table out away from the wall to make room for one more seat, then shakes her head, suddenly distressed by how unfit for company our house is.
“I wish you’d given me more notice than this,” she tells me. “Bernice at work just bought a new dining set, so I probably could’ve bought her old one cheap.”