Page 61 of The Riley Effect

“Never have I ever hooked up with a girl and her cousin on the same night.” His face goes ghostly white. His hands go rigidaround the steering wheel. Jalen’s eyes hold every little hope when they meet mine.

“Oh my god! It’s true,” I say with humorous shock. He eases when he realizes I’m not mad at the confession.

I squeeze Jalen’s forearm that’s resting on the center console. “I’m never going to get mad at you for things that happened before we got together. Neither of us can change our pasts. All I care about is what you do while we’re together.”

“Ivy, when I met you, I realized why I’ve never been in a relationship. It’s because nobody has ever made me feel the way you do.”

I’m speechless.

After a few seconds of silence, I lean over and kiss his cheek.

“I trust you, Jalen.”

Trust is something I don’t give out freely and Jalen knows that. It’s earned. At every turn of our relationship Jalen has shown me why he deserves my trust.

I’m woken up an hour later by honking horns and police sirens. When the sounds of New York City fade, I hear Jalen mumbling to himself about the loss he took in Never Have I Ever. It was closer than I initially thought it would be, but it happens to be that most of the rumors about Jalen that run around campus are true. I meant what I said. I don’t hold anything that happened before us against him. It wouldn’t be fair.

“Welcome to my city, Babe,” Jalen drawls when he notices I’m up. “Do you mind if we make a stop? My mom’s favorite bakery is around the corner.”

I stretch out my arms and hmm out that little sound that happens when you arch your back. “If it gets your mom to like me, I’ll buy her the whole bakery.”

That earns me a chuckle. “She’s going to love you, I promise.”

The trip to the bakery added twenty minutes to our travel time, but if the cookies taste as good as the bakery smelled, it will definitely be worth the stop.

Jalen’s childhood home is in a five-story walk-up in Brooklyn. He won’t let me carry my suitcase because “his mother raised a gentleman.” So I am carrying a box of Italian cookies while Jalen is lugging our bags up five flights of stairs to his front door.

“Mom left the door open, apartment 5D,” He reminds me through staggered breaths.

The nerves I’ve been harboring for the past few hours disappear when I see a familiar shade of blue eyes.

“You guys are here!” she squeals with pure joy spread across her face.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Holloway.”

She scoffs at the formal greeting, “Please, call me Mae. Andre should be home in a couple of hours. He couldn’t take today off work.”

A thud comes from just beyond the doorway, stopping our conversation. “What did you pack in these damn bags, Ivy?” Jalen flops on the floor in a dramatic display of exhaustion.

“You didn’t tell me what we were doing, so I didn’t know what to pack.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t raise him better,” Mae’s sweet southern drawl makes the joke seem like words of endearment.

“If he is going to carry my bags, he can complain all he wants.” Mae’s warm laugh takes any remaining nerves I have and throws them out the window.

“Why do I feel I’m going to regret introducing you guys,” Jalen murmurs.

While I laugh at Jalen’s disdain for my new alliance with his Mom, she has some choice words for her son. “It’s been you and your father ganging up on me for the last fifteen years. Excuse me if I have no sympathy for you.” Jalen’s mouth drops. A grin plasters mine. I think Mae is going to be my new best friend.

Jalen’s dad comes home an hour later, freshly baked Italian bread in hand. It only takes a passing look at Andre for me to realize it’ll be perfectly okay if Jalen looks half as good as his dad in twenty years.

He greets me just as warmly as his wife with a smile that looks like the one I often see on his son’s face. I’ve only been here a few hours, but I feel like I’m at Sunday dinner at home with my sister and her kids.

After eating enough food to fuel a month-long hibernation and helping Mae with the dishes, Jalen gives me a tour of the apartment he grew up in. The cozy apartment’s walls are lined with pictures timelining the Holloway Family’s history. It starts with his dad in his college basketball uniform and his parents the first year they met. It also includes all of Jalen’s school and hockey photos, including his time at Westvale.

“Your parents have always really loved each other,” I point out to Jalen with a tinge of jealousy. Jalen wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me back into his chest.

“You know they’re already obsessed with you,” he sighs before continuing. “I know it’s not the same, but my Mom is a great listener if you ever need to talk to someone.”

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