Page 28 of Can't Take Moore

“Andyouknow that I’ll be in a great mood when I leave because I’ll have just chowed down on all of my favorites,” I quipped.

“Fine,” she huffed, moving to the stove to nudge my dad out of the way. “Keep whatever it’s bothering to yourself.”

My mom wasn’t one to let a subject drop when her children’s happiness was involved. So I had a sneaking suspicion she had an ulterior motive for letting me get away with not talking about why I’d been so angry when I got here. I was proven right after I demolished two heaping portions and helped my dad clear the table.

“Do you think Vienna would like a sandwich and some green beans?” my mom asked as she was putting the leftovers into containers. “Or does she only eat the healthy stuff because she’s an Olympian?”

“The next Olympics aren’t for almost four more years. She has plenty of time to eat all the healthy stuff and get back into tip-top shape.” My mom didn’t appreciate my response and turned to glare at me. Flashing her an apologetic smile, I added, “I’m sure she’d love one.”

My mom pursed her lips as she considered the leftover breaded tenderloin. “Are you going to see her soon? Because they don’t hold well for days on end.”

I knew this was a fishing expedition, but there was no way to get out of answering her question without being rude. “Yes, Mom. I’m going to stop over there tonight, so you don’t need to worry about the food going bad before she has a chance to try it.”

“You might as well tell her all about the girl,” my dad suggested, leaning back in his chair to pat his full belly. “She’s going to get it out of you sooner or later. She always does.”

I wished he wasn’t right, but he made an excellent point. Holding up two fingers, I offered, “You can ask me two questions about Vienna. That’s it.”

“For now,” my dad muttered.

My mom rubbed her hands together with a triumphant smile. “It’s a good thing I just had my hair dyed the other day, so I’ve already heard all the gossip about the two of you. I won’t have to waste one of my questions on something basic.”

Dropping my head forward to stare at the floor, I groaned, wondering what I’d gotten myself into by suggesting this.

“Now you’re just taking the fun out of it by being a spoilsport,” she complained. “I thought I taught you better than that.”

“You did, Mom. It’s just that things between Vienna and me are…new.”

“Okay, then. I’ll take it easy on you.” Moving closer, she patted my cheek. “My two questions are…is she good to you and has she mentioned if she wants babies?”

“That’s taking it easy on me?” I sputtered.

“Fine,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “Just answer the first one, and we’ll call it even.”

“Yes, she’s very good to me.”

My mom nodded. “That’s all I need to know for now, sweetie.”

The “for now" part of her statement worried me because I could easily picture her asking Vienna about babies the first time they met. Although, it was an answer I wouldn’t mind knowing since I’d always expected that I’d be a dad at some point in my life, and I wasn’t getting any younger.

11

Vienna

Over the past week, Dean and I had already gotten into the habit of having dinner together whenever we could. He usually showed up on my doorstep with carry-out after he was done with work for the day, and I’d adjusted my workout schedule to ensure I had my evenings free for him. But tonight, I had something different in mind, so I’d texted him not to pick anything up on his way over.

When he got to my house a little after five, I had everything just about ready for my plan. I just needed his agreement. “How about I cook for us?”

Dean did a double take. “You want to make me dinner?”

I wasn’t sure why he seemed so surprised by my suggestion. “You keep feeding me. It only seems fair for me to take a turn every once in a while.”

“I'm not one to turn down a home-cooked meal,” he agreed.

“I'm not as good in the kitchen as your mom,” I warned, thinking about the delicious leftovers he had brought over the other night. I’d never seen such a big pork cutlet before, but Dean had explained that huge tenderloin sandwiches were an Indiana tradition. It had only taken me one bite to understand why they were so popular.

“I'm sure I'll love whatever you make me.” He flashed me a mischievous grin. “It's bound to be better than anything I can make. I'm not much of a cook.”

“Is that your way of telling me that there aren't any basic supplies in your kitchen?” I asked.

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