Page 17 of Absolutely Not in Love
“It’s my favorite of his,” I say, heading toward the living room. “You’re welcome to borrow it if you don’t finish it while you’re here.”
I generally don’t mind loaning out books, though I’ve been known to grumble if people don’t return them. But I never mind sharing my collection with Mom. My mother is even more meticulous about her book collection than I am. If she borrows a book and likes it, she’ll almost definitely order me a new copy from her local bookstore, have them ship it to me, and keep the borrowed copy for herself. Unless she sees that I’ve made notes in the margins, then she’ll mail it back to me with her own notes written next to mine.
We might not see eye to eye about Dad, but wealwayshave books.
“Vivie did a lovely job with this place,” Mom says. She’s at the window now, standing next to the potted money tree my older sister picked out. She isn’t an interior designer by trade—she’s much too busy being the very rich wife of my father’s very well-paid CFO—but she has a good eye, and she was thrilled when I called her and told her she could treat my apartment like her blank canvas. I ended up having more opinions than I thought I would—enough that the place feels like mine, like home—but I couldn’t have done near this well on my own.
“How is Vivie?” I ask as I follow Mom to the living room.
“Oh, you know Vivie,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Perfect, as always. Did you know she and Henry are trying for a baby?”
“Yeah, she mentioned it last time we talked.” With way too much detail, but I don’t bring that up to Mom. My sister is a chronic over-sharer, which is hilarious to me but has always been incredibly irritating to Mom.
Before I can say anything else or mention how much I love the idea of becoming an uncle, a knock sounds on my apartment door, and I backtrack, heading toward the kitchen.
I glance at my watch, my gut tightening as I near the door. It’s almost ten p.m. which means it’s probably one of my teammates—no one else would show up at my place so late—but I’m not particularly in the mood to hang out with the guys while my mom is around.
Not that she would be anything but gracious.
Mom has always been supportive of my career, but it’s only because she’s supportive ofme.It’s definitelynotbecause she has any particular affinity for the sport or even thought it was the wisest course of action when I signed on to play in the AHL. The majors probably would have been slightly easier to swallow, but minor league hockey? I know she didn’t understand. Maybe still doesn’t.
Which is why it’s such a big deal that she’s here. The whole point of her coming to visit is so she can watch me play in our first official game of the season. It should be a great game. Last week’s pre-season matchup was awesome, and it got us all fired up.
But good game or not, Mom is still married to my father. And his opinions about hockey are about as nuanced as his opinions about menotgoing into business with him.
That is to say—not nuanced at all.
If there’s any chance Friday-night antics with my team might reflect poorly on me and then get back to Dad, I’d rather avoid them, no matter how supportive my mother claims to be.
Fortunately, it isn’t an Appie on the other side of my door. It’s the exact opposite.
“Gracie,” I say, not even trying to hide my surprise. My skin prickles with awareness as my heart ticks faster in my chest. “Hi.”
I glance over my shoulder at Mom, who has looked up from her book, her eyebrows raised. I’ve mentioned that I have a neighbor generally, but I’ve never called Gracie by name. I definitely haven’t mentioned that Gracie is talented and beautiful and basically everything I’ve ever desired in a woman.
It’s hard to guess how Mom would play meeting Gracie. She isn’t the matchmaking type, but I can easily imagine her raising an eyebrow. Then, as soon as we’re alone, following up with a lecture about condoms and safe sex and the importance of accepting responsibility should I ever get a woman pregnant. She’s always been more practical than she has been emotional about things like relationships.
“Hi,” Gracie says. Her cello is strapped to her back, and her cheeks are flushed. “Hello.”
My eyes lift, distracted by movement over Gracie’s shoulder, and another woman with dark brown hair crests the top of the stairs.
Gracie follows my gaze, motioning the woman forward. “This is my best friend, Summer.Shewanted to meet you,” she says pointedly.
“Oh. Okay, cool,” I say, though the look on Summer’s face says this isn’t entirely the truth. “Um, are you a hockey fan?”
She smiles politely. “Not really. Just keeping an eye on Gracie. Since you’re her only neighbor, I thought it important to get a read on you.” She levels me with a serious look.
I hold her gaze, recognizing immediately that this is more than just a friendly greeting. It feels like some sort of test. I have no idea what it’s for or why, but if it has anything to do with Gracie, I definitely want to pass.
“Summer is a defense attorney,” Gracie says, and suddenly her friend’s scrutiny makes a little more sense.
I extend my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Summer. Any friend of Gracie’s is a friend of mine.”
Gracie wobbles on her feet the slightest bit, and she grabs the door frame to steady herself. “She came all the way from Silver Creek to see my symphony concert tonight,” she says. “Wasn’t that so nice of her?” There’s a looseness to Gracie’s demeanor that I’ve never noticed before, and I wonder if she’s had something to drink.
My eyes dart to Summer, who is standing just behind Gracie, and she makes a motion with her hands, miming taking a drink, then holds up her finger and thumb a few inches apart from each other, confirming that Gracie has at least had enough that Summer feels like she needs to warn me.
I’m torn between wanting to smile because Gracie looks pretty cute with her flushed cheeks and wide eyes, and pulling her into my apartment, settling her on my couch, and making her drink a bottle of water and eat a few crackers so tomorrow morning is as painless as possible.
