Page 65 of Sleeping with Her Enemy (49th Floor 2)

He watched his mom observe a group of old men playing cards on a patio outside a tea shop. She didn’t say anything. They peered into store windows and stopped for an iced coffee. Nothing. Took a stroll around the green, where a jazz trio was playing. Still nothing. Passed a gelato place. No verbalization, but his mother’s eyes widened ever so slightly.

Amy was looking increasingly worried, furrowing her brow and gnawing at her lip. She didn’t yet know the ways of the Matriarch. It was actually kind of adorable how invested she was in this little project.

Finally, when they’d meandered all the way down to the far southern corner, his mom shrugged and said, “This place is okay.” Victory! But of course Amy didn’t know that. “It needs a grocery store,” she added.

“It has one!” Amy exclaimed. “There’s a Metro just around the corner!”

His mom made a dismissive-sounding sigh. “Metro is too expensive. I shop at Food Basics.”

Nothing more was said. But the seed was planted. They walked back to the parking garage in silence. He held the car door for his mom, then seized on the fact that Amy, who was standing behind the car digging for her keys, had not yet gotten in the car. Coming up behind her, he bent down to whisper in her ear, “You can’t tell, but that was actually a spectacular triumph.” He was glad there was no time for a reply, and that he’d only had to whisper, because about two words in, he got a noseful of that goddamned strawberry perfume and every intention he’d had to play it cool, to respect her need for distance, melted like a blob of gelato in the summer sun.

“You two come in for dinner,” his mother said when Amy pulled into the driveway.

“Can’t,” he said, before Amy could open her mouth. “We’re going to a movie.”

Amy shot him a quizzical look in the rearview mirror. He didn’t care. He was done respecting her space. He needed this girl underneath him again. Or on top of him. Or whatever.

His mom turned around in her seat, took off her sunglasses, and stared at him for what felt like an extremely long moment. Jesus. Enough with the feminine scrutiny from the front seat.

“Okay,” his mom said, opening her door. He hopped out, too. That was it? No arguing? He’d expected to have to make a federal case for why they needed to go to a movie and not come in to dinner. Or at least name the movie and theater so she could cross-check it against the newspaper listings later and bust his ass when she learned she’d been conned.

But no. She just leaned in, offering her cheek for him to kiss. Amy had gotten out of the car, too, and she stuck out her hand for his mother to shake. He bit back a laugh as his mother looked at her hand like it was a poisonous snake. “See you next week, same time. We’ll go look at another place.”

Amy nodded warily, but his mother had already turned and made for the front door. So he just got into the Fiat, folding himself into the little toy car’s front seat, which was only marginally more comfortable than the back. After a moment’s hesitation, she followed. He didn’t say anything as she started the car and backed out of the driveway.

Once she was cruising along Kingston Road back toward the city, she shot him a sideways glance. “I’m not sure in what universe that was a spectacular success, but I’m taking your word for it.”

“I think it was the gelato that did it. My mother has the world’s biggest sweet tooth. I can guarantee that right now she’s rehearsing a version of her life where she only has to walk two minutes outside her door to procure gelato. With her, the lack of negative comment is akin to a glowing review. The wheels are turning.” Thanks to you. The woman really was a freaking genius. But he didn’t say that. He was already playing it not-cool with the whole “we’re going to a movie, but we’re really going to have sex” thing, so he’d take it easy on the expressions of gratitude and amazement.

“So what movie are we seeing?”

Oh, come on. She had to have recognized that for the ploy it was. He took a deep breath, trying to think how to delicately broach the subject, but all that did was fill his head with more strawberries. And since she wasn’t in this to be wooed, he defaulted to the direct route. “We’re not going to a movie. You’ve been driving me insane all evening with that strawberry perfume and your cute little matchbox car, so we’re going to the condo for more fucking.”

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