Page 85 of Forget Me

She shut the apartment door behind her.

“Mimi, I—what’s wrong?” He clasped both of my hands gently, like he did when we danced. He rubbed circles on the backs with his thumbs.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just…I didn’t expect you to meet my parents. I wasn’t prepared to give a narrative.”

“A narrative?” He grinned, showing one dimple. “That sounds more complicated than this is. We’re dating. We’re sleeping together. I’m not seeing anyone else. So you’re my girlfriend.”

“Thatsoundssimple. But—”

“No but. Turn off that big brain of yours for a minute and go with it. This feels good, yes?” He tugged me closer and put our joined hands behind his back so I embraced him. No, it was more like I draped over him. Like butter on hot corn.

“Y-yes.”

“We’re simple, you and I. I like you. A lot.” He kissed my lips, light and sweet. “And you like me.” He raised his eyebrows.

I hesitated for only a moment. I’d already admitted it. To him and to myself. I nodded.

His shoulders lowered. “Good. Then no more fake. You’re my girlfriend. And I’m your man.”

Before I could answer, Mom opened the door and walked in with a pair of coffees and a pastry sack. “Breakfast is here.”

“Ah.” He kissed my cheek before releasing my hands. He took the food and drinks from my mother. “I’ll turn breakfast for two into breakfast for three while you ladies relax.”

Mom arched her eyebrows and settled back onto my couch. She watched Mateo walk into my kitchen, then patted the cushion beside her.

I sank onto it.

“So?” she asked.

“So?”

“Tell me about yourboyfriend.”

“Let’s not use that term. Like I told you, it’s new.” Measured-in-minutes new.

“And?”

“It’s good? I guess? We’re going to the gala together. He’s teaching me to dance.”

“That’s what they’re calling it now?”

“Mom!” I glanced at the kitchen. My coffee maker hissed. Was he hearing this humiliating conversation?

“I like him. And not only because he’s got an enormous, baby-making schlong. I guess it’s too much to hope that he’s Jewish?”

“Mom! No! It’s not like that. We’re not going to be making any babies together. Besides, you’re always telling me to focus on my career. Not men.”

“Where are my grandchildren going to come from? Ben gave me a grand-dog. I can’t take a grand-dog to the zoo. There will be no bris, no bar mitzvah for Coco. I’m counting on you, Mimi.”

“But what about my career? What about proving myself? What about smarts, drive, and confidence?” When had my mother come down with grandchild fever?

“With the right partner, you can do all that. Take your father and me, for example. I have the career I do because he helped me. He spent time with you kids while I put in the hours at the office. Maybe I was slow to realize it, but seeing Ben be Cooper’s support reminded me. I think Mateo could be like that for you.”

As if to prove her point, he emerged from the kitchen with a plate and a mug of coffee. He set the plate on my coffee table.

He handed the mug to Mom. “Do you take milk? Splenda? Mimi is out of sugar and cream.”

If he’d sniffed the milk, he’d probably have reported I was out of that, too.

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