Page 59 of Pretty Broken Promises

My mom sets her mug down and jumps up from the table. “Honey, have a seat. Let me get you something to eat.”

“Just coffee,” I tell her.

“I’ll grab some granola and yogurt too. You should both eat. That was a long drive and you probably don’t even realize you’re hungry yet,” she says, moving around the kitchen as if I hadn’t answered her.

There’s a long silence when she returns to the table. Ford and I concentrate on our breakfasts she insisted we eat. There’s a lengthy silence while she idly traces a design on top of the table with her finger. I can tell there’s something on her mind, and over the last year I’ve learned if I just give her time she’ll speak up eventually.

“I was planning on telling you that the apartment wasn't going to be ready because you came early, but that's not true. So rather than start out lying to you I'm just going to ask you if you wouldn't mind staying here for a few days so we can spend more time together?”

“Considering the fact we don't have any furniture yet, I don’t see any harm in us spending a few days here. What do you think, Tess?” Ford asks me.

I know he's doing this for me. I can't imagine he wants to spend our first days living together at my mom's house, but it’s so thoughtful I swoon a little. Although my mom is very charming, and it's quite possible Ford is also enjoying the novelty of a mother’s affection. Something neither of us really experienced growing up.

She cocks her head to the side and focuses on Ford. “I’m going to have to keep my eye on you. You're a real charmer, I can tell.”

Then she nudges me with her elbow. “Not that anyone would want to take their eyes off of him, right.” And of course, she winks. As if I didn't know she was joking.

At least I hope she's joking. “Mom, oh my God, you did not just say that.”

I can feel my cheeks heat, probably with fifty percent of my body's blood rushing to them. I'm sure my pale complexion is now beet red.

Ford, the asshole, chuckles and winks back at her. “Your daughter can never take her eyes off me. I feel like a piece of meat,” he says, feigning outrage.

I roll my eyes at the both of them. “You are both so funny. Really. You should take your act on the road. As in go away.”

“Oh now, have a sense of humor. If you're going to date a walking sex god you better be prepared for women to hit on him. I mean if I were twenty years younger?—”

I put my hand up in front of me to make her stop, although I have learned that my mother has very little filter. “First, don't ever use the words sex god when talking about my boyfriend again. Second, it's weird to call him my boyfriend. And third, if you were twenty years younger and you said any of that, I'd kick your ass.”

Ford raises his hand, and I grab it and pull it down. “This isn't school. You don't need to raise your hand.”

He shrugs. “I just want to make it known that I have zero problems with being referred to as a sex god, but I do agree that being called that by my future mother-in-law is a little uncomfortable. I'm also wondering why it's weird to call me your boyfriend. So can you explain that one to me?”

I give him a look that says it should be obvious. Clearly it isn’t, so I say, “You just referred to my mother as your future mother-in-law. That's a little more than boyfriend territory don't you think?”

The look of irritation and fear disappears from his face and is replaced by a contemplative expression. “What do you suggest we call each other then? I'm not calling you my partner. That makes us sound like old hippies who refuse to get married because they don't want to let the government into their relationship and refer to their tiny dog as their child.”

My mom gets up from the table, and kisses me on the side of the head as she starts to walk by. “I'm going to go because this conversation is getting weird.”

“Thanks for breakfast, Jo,” Ford says, and he also gets a kiss on the side of his head.

I shake my head at her as she walks out of the room, and then turn back to Ford. “My mom is a little odd isn't she?”

“Josephine is amazing. You're very lucky,” he answers me. “Now don't change the subject. If I'm not your boyfriend, what am I?”

“Ugh,” I sigh. “I guess there aren't any words that fit. Boyfriend will have to do, but for the record, I think it's a weak term.”

“Fiancé would've been a much, much better. I should've proposed,” he teases.

I narrow my eyes. “I think everything is moving fast enough, thank you. We're already moving in together after being back together for just weeks. We don't need to jump straight into marriage before we've even been back together for six months.”

He leans forward with his forearm on the table. “Is that how long I should wait? You know hypothetically speaking. Would six months be an adequate amount of time?”

“I don't think that there is a magic number. Some people can know each other their whole lives and not be ready because they don't fit. Other people can know each other for days and immediately know they are going to spend the rest of their lives together,” I say.

He grabs my chair, and it squeaks across the hardwood floor as he drags it closer to his. “Then what are we doing, Tess? Because I have known since the night of your birthday when I showed up at your house that I never wanted to leave. And I fucked up and spent enough time away from you, so what are we waiting for?”

I look down at my hands and study the lines and grooves of my palms. Anything to keep from seeing the imploring look on his face. I take a deep breath, and muster up the courage to tell him honestly, “I'm waiting until I can trust again.”

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