Page 96 of If Not for My Baby
“Hurry,” my mom whispers. She’s jumping from foot to foot. “What’s the deal? Is he a jerk? Why are you back early?”
“No, no—” And there’s no use lying. This version of my mom will mess with us all night long if I don’t come clean, and I can’t bear to inflict that on Tom or myself. “We’re friends, he’s great. He punched a guy to protect me, actually. We borrowed Ev’s car to get away from some photographers…We’re just going to stay here tonight to avoid shitty journalists looking for a story. We’ll be back on the road by morning.”
The bathroom door creaks open and I hear Tom’s heavy footfalls nearing.
My mom’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “Clementine B—”
“Fine, and we’re sleeping together,” I hiss. “Don’t be weird about it, okay? I’m begging you—”
“Begging for what?” Tom asks, hands plunged into hispockets. He’s cleaned the blood from his face, tied his hair back, and stuck a butterfly bandage across his nose to act as temporary stitches. He looks good—like a boxer at the end of the night or the love interest from the wrong side of the tracks. I make an A+ effort not to stare.
“Begging for me to…” My mom scrambles for a suitable answer. “Introduce you to our friends. Come, come.”
She hurries ahead of us and bounds up the stairs. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her move this easily.
“Your mam’s great,” Tom says under his breath. “Like you, but at once the very opposite?”
He’s right and I squeeze his hand briefly to tell him so.
In the kitchen, Beth and Mike are sitting on opposing sides of a Monopoly board. Vibrant dollars clutter the table, as well as a couple of antique glasses filled with wine. One bottle is already empty beside the banker’s stacks. Mike’s eyes flare with recognition at the sight of Tom, while Beth seems more disturbed by the threatening combo of his injury and stature.
“Are you Hollister?” Beth asks, eyes wide.
“Yes,” Tom says without missing a beat. “Nice to meet you.”
I stifle a laugh. “It’s Halloran, Beth.”
“But I’ll answer to anythin’.”
Mike stands quickly. “Hey, man, big fan. I’ve been playingKingfisheron repeat for weeks.”
“Thank you.” Tom presses a hand to his heart. “That’s kind.”
“Mike,” he says, sticking his hand out.
They shake heartily. “Tom.”
I give Beth a squeeze and explain that nobody is gravely injured, and then Mike scoops me into a cozy hug. It’s a little more intimate than I remember our hugs being—his hands low on my back, our cheeks touching. When he releases me, he looks a little embarrassed. I force myself not to look at Tom.
“I didn’t think we’d get to see you for another week,” he tells me.
“We got into a bit of trouble in Austin and decided to spend the night here.”
“As you should’ve. You can always come home.” My mom takes her seat. “Halloran, do you want to be the shoe or the top hat?”
“Oh no,” I say. “It’s been a long day and—”
“Tom, please.” Tom sits down beside her. “And the shoe’s grand.”
My mom nods to herself as if he passed some test, and hands him the token. “You can take two turns in a row to catch up.”
Before I can argue, the doorbell rings. Willow howls as if they intend to lay siege to us and I wonder who I wronged in my life to deserve this series of events.
Beth says cheerily, “That’ll be the pizza. Grab it for us, will you, darling? My wallet’s by the door.”
I try to keep my grumbles to myself, pay for the pizza with my stipend from the tour, and bring back the large pepperoni as instructed. When I return with napkins and paper plates, the game is back in full swing.
“I rolled for you,” Tom says as I take a seat beside him. “You’re in jail, I’m afraid.”
