Page 3 of Lillian

Halfway there, another few taps sound out, quieter this time. “Lincoln James, I know you’re in there. Let us in, it’s cold,” a female voice calls. I’m not sure why or how, but I can tell she comes from money. Maybe it’s the airy yet confident tone of her voice. But something sets her apart from me or any of my friends.

The door squeaks slightly as Lincoln pulls it open. “What are you guys doing here?” is his greeting. The tightness in his voice is barely noticeable, but I’ve spent almost every day talking to him for the past three months, so I’ve picked up on his mannerisms.

“I spent forty-six hours in labor with you. Do I need an excuse to come see my own son?”

An audible sigh, then Lincoln says, “Of course not. Come in, Mother.” Heels click against the tiled hallway floor before a stunning blonde woman who looks no older than thirty-five walks into the kitchen. Her eyes pop open when they land on me, and after looking me up and down quickly, I swear I see her mouth twist in a grimace of displeasure before she masks it with a sweet, saccharine smile.

“And who is this?” Her voice is just as sugary as her smile. Despite the feeling that I’m already not liked by this woman, it’s still Lincoln’s mom. And the towering mass of a man behind her is his dad. It’s clear Lincoln took after his dad genetically, too. Big in bulk and height with a mop of dark brown hair. The man dutifully ignores me, though, and heads for the fridge.

Nerves are shooting through me at this impromptu family introduction, and I want to make a good first impression.

Steeling my nerves, I take a few steps forward until I’m standing in front of his mom with my hand outstretched. “Hi, I’m Lillian. It’s great to meet you, Mrs. Walton. Lincoln has told me wonderful things about you.”

His dad guffaws at that, a hearty, mirthful laugh. Even Lincoln has paused his worrying to grace me with a small but amused twitch of his lips. Blonde strands of hair almost whip me in the face as Lincoln’s mom turns her head quickly to glare at his dad. When she turns back to me, she says, “My baby always has been a mama’s boy.” From the corner of my eye, I see Lincoln roll his own. “How did you two meet?”

It feels like the start of an inquisition, and I’m not keen on telling my boyfriend’s mom that we met on a dating app. There’s not the greatest stigma around it. I’d rather be able to say that we met in a church group, or both of us were volunteering at the cancer ward and fell madly in love, or something equally astouching a story. But such is life, and wedidmeet on a dating app. So, I look to Lincoln quickly for some sign of how he wants this conversation to go. What he wants them to know.

He ignores the question and my look altogether and says instead, “You never said why you stopped by.”

Lincoln’s dad makes himself right at home and answers with his whole head in the fridge. “Oh, we were just out to dinner, and your mom wanted to pop in on our way home.”

“You guys live on the other side of the city. This isn’t on your way if you eat downtown.” Lincoln’s tone is skeptical. Suspicious.

God, could this get any more awkward? His dad hasn’t even acknowledged my presence. I’m not sure if I should introduce myself or wait for him to see me and start introductions. His mom is still studying me. Suddenly, the cute sweater dress I’m wearing feels more like a throw blanket wrapped around me, barely covering the sexy lingerie I’m wearing under it for her son to peel off me later.

The only way I could feel more uncomfortable in this moment was if my dress flew up and flashed his parents.

“We were eating on this side of town,” Mrs. Walton replies smoothly. Those hawk-like eyes turn back to me. “I didn’t know you were dating someone. I wish I had, or I wouldn’t have given Stephanie your number yesterday.”

I open my mouth to say… I’m not sure what. So I stand there like a gaping fish, wondering who the hell Stephanie is.

“We’re not,” Lincoln says quickly, cutting me a look that implores me to stay silent. Maybe I’d be interested in listening if he didn’t just invalidate our relationship to his parents right after I told him I love him.

I was wrong.

Now,I’ve maxed out my discomfort. And no part of me wants to stick around to listen to Lincoln say even one more lie to his parents or feel the judgment pouring off his mother in droves.

“Well… I should be going. It was great meeting you.” I nod at his mom and dad, grab my keys from the island, and walk to the front door as their half-hearted murmured goodbyes trail after me. It’s not until I’m opening my car door that Lincoln comes jogging toward me.

“Lil. Stop, please.” He grabs hold of my car door as I’m about to get in, so I turn to him. The door acts as a barrier between our bodies. One I really need right now because even though I’m feeling all kinds of upset and hurt, I still want him to sweep me into his arms and hold me to him. To tell me he loves me too and is sorry. To give any explanation that makes sense, march back in there to his parents and acknowledge our relationship.

Ugh. I swear before I met him, I wasn’t this sappy. But, c’est la vie. “Hey. I’m sorry, okay. But you don’t understand. My parents… they’re…” he fights for the right words before shaking his head and then groans. “It’s just not the right time. You have to trust me on that.”

I stare up at him, looking between his pleading eyes, and feel myself breaking. I sigh. “Fine. Just… call me later, I guess?”

A breath shudders out of him, and the relief in his body and on his face is palpable. “I will.” A pause. He looks at me like he wants to say… “Text me when you’re home safe.” Then he walks away.

Disappointment lingers in his wake, but I tell myself it’s fine. He’s preoccupied with his parents, and everything will be back to normal tomorrow. But there’s been a palpable shift between us, and somehow, I know things aren’t going to be the same.

Then I close the door and drive all the way home in complete silence.

I love you.

It was on the tip of my fucking tongue. As I watch her car disappear down the road from behind my closed front door, I mentally scold myself.

I could have at least given her the fucking courtesy of saying it back before she left. Especially after she had to meet the demons who spawned me. It’s not easy keeping a brave face around them; they’ve perfected the art of subtly tearing someone down into little piles of self-deprecating dust.

But she did.

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