The Boyfriend (The Boss 7)

“I don’t foresee her going for that.” It wasn’t pessimistic of me. It was realistic. “She’s got an excuse not to. ‘We just moved, we haven’t gotten settled in,’ blah blah blah. Do you think she won’t deploy that as a counter strike?”

“You could invite your stepfather-to-be,” El-Mudad suggested. “He already knows about all of this.”

“That could be part of the problem.” I should never have told Mom that Tony already knew about the relationship. Though neither of them had mentioned it, there was no way that remark hadn’t caused a fight. “She hates feeling like she’s the last one to know about something.”

“Would it help if you told her she isn’t the last to know?” For a moment, it seemed like Neil was making a very badly timed joke. Then he went on. “Be honest with her. Tell her that she’s one of a very few people who know anything about this at all. That you trust her. Speaking as a parent, that would probably go much further than you expect.”

“But I didn’t trust her enough to tell her. She had to bust in and find out on her own,” I reminded him.

“Yes, and she was very protective of me, which I appreciate,” he pointed out with some amusement.

“I think Neil’s right,” El-Mudad said. “You can’t change how she feels about our relationship, but you can reframe it.”

I made a face. “You know ‘reframe’ but not ‘spit roasted’?”

“English is difficult!” he protested.

“Fine.” I sat up and wiped my eyes. “Fine. I’ll try to invite her to family dinner. But what then? What happens when they actually get here and we have to sit before her in the judgment of the Lord?”

“I’m an atheist,” El-Mudad said, shrugging one shoulder. “I’m fucked, anyway.”

“And I haven’t spoken to God in quite a long time, but I’m fairly certain he wouldn’t be a fan of your mother’s judgment,” Neil put in. “That’s supposed to be his job.”

Neither of those things would convince her to show up for an uncomfortable meal, but I’d already promised I would try.

“Sophie, we just moved. We haven’t even had time to settle in yet,” Mom said as we pulled up outside of the bridal boutique. I’d so dreaded asking her, I’d held onto the question for the whole, long ride. Now, she’d answered as though she were reading from a script. “Are you mouthing along with what I’m saying?”

“Yes,” I admitted freely. “Because I knew exactly what you were going to say. I knew you were going to use moving as an excuse when Neil told me to invite you.”

Her mouth dropped open. “It’s not an excuse! It’s a reason. We did just move. I’ve still got stuff in the garage.”

“And you can pick it up when you come to dinner. It’ll be super convenient,” I argued.

She made a face and pushed the door open before Andrea could get it for her.

I slid out after her and followed wordlessly into the building. The lobby of Belle Rose was as light and minimalist as an Instagram photo. The bare wood floors were an ash-gray, unpolished neutral. The walls were baby pink. Succulents hung in gold hexagonal pots on chains at perfectly measured intervals in the front window. The whole place smelled like lavender.

In the seating area, Holli and Deja waited for us, glasses of ice water garnished with freshly crushed mint in their hands. Deja spotted us first and waved. “Hi! Are you going to be late for your own wedding?”

Mom laughed like we hadn’t just had a super uncomfortable ride from Queens. “The traffic! I don’t know why you bother to have speed limits here if nobody ever moves faster than ten miles an hour.”

Holli got up and came to her for a hug, saying, “What’s this ‘you’? You’re a New Yorker now, baby!”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Mom said, moving on to embrace Deja. While they were preoccupied, Holli shot me a look that, while silent, clearly asked what the fuck was going on with us and expressed her support for me.

I’d already briefed Holli and Deja on the disastrous events, so they knew what was up. And, damn them, they were going to try to help.

“How’s Neil? How’s El-Mudad?” Deja asked casually, loud enough that Mom would have to overhear. And maybe that was good. Maybe it would help for her to hear people she respected talk about it as though it were totally normal.

So, I answered. “Fine. I think they’re taking Olivia to the aquarium today.”

“I wish I was going to the aquarium,” Holli blurted then looked at Mom. “I mean, you know. After this. I want to be here for you, Becky. But you don’t have a touch tank.”

“You should take Piett to the aquarium. Zie’s not too young.” If there was one thing I could say for my mom, she respected pronouns, even if she thought the gender-neutral baby raising was silly.