Page 37 of Don't Leave
When dinner is ready, Thomas hands us the dishes along with four sets of silverware so we can set the dining room table. We’re all just settling in, passing the food around, when the front door opens before getting slammed shut. The easy camaraderie of moments ago disappears.
“Hello,” a woman calls out cheerfully from the foyer.
Everything has been going so well with Thomas, I’m almost afraid to meet his mother. She’s the one I need to impress, right?
Aren’t mothers supposed to be overprotective and overbearing when it comes to their sons?
Especially since this is her only son.
And let’s not forget that she was just out to lunch with Cole’s ex who she probably adored.
Fresh nerves ignite within me as all the food I heaped onto my plate loses its appeal.
“We’re in the dining room, just sitting down to dinner. You’ll be delighted to know that I haven’t run Cassidy off just yet.” Thomas smiles before winking at me from the far end of the table.
I give him a weak smile in return.
“Wonderful!”
As she steps into the formally appointed room, she pauses, almost as if she’s in the midst of catching her breath. The friendly smile gracing her lips freezes in place as her gaze collides with mine.
Oh shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
That’s the only thought racing through my head as my attention stays locked on hers. Everything in the room grinds to a screeching halt. In that moment, it feels as if a trapdoor springs open beneath my feet and I’m in free fall. I clench the edges of the table with my fingers as I gape at her.
This can’t be happening.
There’s a flurry of activity as Thomas rises to his feet and places a kiss against his wife’s cheek. Cole also gets up, greeting his mother with a warm hug. Instead of doing the same, I remain seated. It feels as if my feet are cemented to the floor. Unsure what to do, I blink as Cole drags his mother over to where I’m still sitting. My legs shake as I force myself to rise. Any moment, my knees will give out and I’ll fall to the wood floor.
This has turned into a nightmare.
Except, in the far recesses of my brain, I know it’s real.
Unaware of the suffocating undercurrents that have sucked all of the oxygen from the room, Cole introduces us. “Mom, this is Cassidy.” Even when he flashes the lopsided smile I love so much, my heart remains frozen. “Cassidy, this is my mother, Allison.”
Dr. Thompson’s lips curve before she thrusts out her hand. “Hello, Cassidy. It’s so wonderful to finally meet you. I’m glad you were able to join us for dinner.”
Holding my gaze expectantly, she waits for me to respond.
But I can’t. I’m too stunned.
After a few silent seconds tick by, I release the breath clogged in my throat and force myself to reach for her hand. My voice sounds like is traveling through a tunnel as if there is nothing odd about the farce playing out. “Thank you for having me, it’s great to meet you, too.”
My mind continues to whirl, and I can’t make it stop.
After introductions are made, we all sit down. Thomas peppers his wife with a few questions about the emergency that called her away on a Sunday afternoon. Cole keeps glancing at me with concern, but I pretend not to notice as I pick at the baked chicken and roasted vegetables on my plate.
Unconsciously, my gaze flickers to Dr. Thompson. Every so often, they’ll catch before I quickly lower my eyes to the plate. My belly pitches and roils with nausea, making me feel sick.
Now that Cole and his mother are sitting next to one another, I’m able to see the resemblance between them. Although, it’s certainly not enough for me to suspect they are mother and son. Where Cole has artfully messy, dark brown hair and golden-brown eyes, his mother has chin length, perfectly styled blonde hair and deep brown eyes. She’s smaller, more petite where Cole is at least six foot two and broad in the shoulders.
I’m going with the assumption that Cole resembles his father.
Laughter gurgles up in my throat. I suppose we have that in common. In the looks department, I resemble my father but have my mother’s smaller build. Where my dad is strapping—built for defense—I’m smaller and sleeker, better suited to play a forward position.
Cole snags my distracted attention before giving me yet another reassuring smile. I return it but even I realize that it’s a feeble attempt. He knows me well enough by now to understand that something isn’t right.
