Page 67 of The Write Off

“With the triple letter and double word score, that makes seventy-two points.”

I add the number to his score which was already almost twice mine.

“When are you going to introduce me to your girl?” He asks, replacing his letters. “Or are you afraid I might steal her away from you?”

“Soon, I hope. Let’s see if my parents scare her off first.”

Travis or Anna must have alerted their grandparents to my new relationship status. After the four of us spent the day together, my mother, whom I had not spoken to since she refused to take the kids when they were sick, called insisting that we join her and my father for dinner at their club.

“You don’t think they’ll like her?”

“I know for a fact that they won’t like her. They will refuse to see her for anything that she is, only all the things she’s not.” My parents have very specific qualities that they look for in a daughter-in-law. They have never let Shannon forget that she did not possess those qualities and I don’t want Rilla to be subjected to their elitist snobbery.

They had actually approved of my last girlfriend, Piper. Her parents were considered influential in their circle of friends. My mother had been especially distraught when we broke up.

“From what you’ve told me, Rilla is more than capable of handling herself.”

It was Rilla who told me to accept my mother’s invitation, and there is no doubt in my mind that she can take whatever my parents choose to dish out. But she shouldn’t have to. Furthermore, what if meeting them changes how she feels about me? Seeing where I come from and witnessing the kind of people that raised me could be the red flag she’s been waiting for to end things.

Deep down, I don’t really believe that will happen, but fear is a powerful thing. What I do know is that Rilla is the brightest star in my universe, spreading light and warmth to everything she touches. My parents are an ominous black hole that will attempt to take her away from me.

“I just don’t want them to poison things. Like they always do.”

“Your parents can only offer her the Kool-Aid, Logan. They can’t make her drink it.” He rearranges the letters in front of him, preparing his next word. “While I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her, which I will once again remind you is entirely your fault, I feel like I know you. And if Rilla is half the person you say she is, she’ll see your parents for what they are. She’ll likely even be amazed at the human you’ve become in spite of the people that raised you. I know I am.”

***

I crack my knuckles on the way up to apartment 2C. It’s an old nervous habit, as if relieving the tension in my joints will help purge the anxiety in my head. Traffic was heavier than anticipated and I’m already running late. At this rate, we won’t make it to the restaurant on time.

I exit the elevator and take long strides to Rilla’s door. I knock loudly, grateful for the opportunity to hit something with my fist.

Rilla opens the door with an exaggerated scowl. “You’re late,” she booms in an apparent impersonation of me from the first time we met.

I feel instantly lighter. The mere sight of her makes me release the boulders of worry I’ve been carrying all day. My eyes take her in greedily. She’s wearing more makeup than usual, her smokey eyes twinkling mischievously. Her chestnut curls are styled back in a low bun, with those few rebellious curls sticking out, refusing to be tamed.

Finally tearing my eyes away from her glowing face, I take in what she’s wearing. Christ. Her dress, while modest, fits her like a second skin. I want to pick her up and carry her into the apartment. Lock the door and turn off my phone. Forget that I even have parents.

“Hey, my eyes are up here, Pretty Boy Stalker.” She smirks.

“They are,” I say, stepping forward and leaning down. She tilts her face up, waiting. My lips hover above hers. “And they are as lovely as the rest of you.”

I drink her in. Her lips taste like wine and I wonder if she’s had a glass already. Is she nervous to meet my parents?

“We could just not go,” I say in between kisses. “Stay here.” Kiss. “Order in.” Kiss. “We could even watch the second Bridget Jones movie.”

Rilla grew tired of me never understanding her Mark Darcy references and made me watch the movie last weekend. I enjoyed it more than I expected to. It was well acted and amusing at times.

She wanted to watch the sequel immediately after and while the first one wasn’t terrible, one early 2000s comedy based on a beloved Jane Austen novel was all that I could tolerate.

“Wow. You really don’t want to go.”

I really don’t. I would much prefer to stand here kissing her all night, far away from the people who raised me. I use the term “raised” lightly.

A cough sounds behind her and I pull back, spotting Betty in the background. “Hi! I’m going to get going, and you two should, too. Rilla, you need to reapply your lipstick. Logan, while it’s a great color on you, you should probably wipe yours off.”

Rilla takes my hand and I hold it tightly, only letting it go when I’m forced to as we reach my car.

The restaurant isn’t far, but the drive goes by painfully slowly. My knee bounces as we sit in traffic so much that Rilla puts her hand on it to still it. I squeeze her hand, gratefully, then bring it up to my mouth to kiss it.

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