Love Out of Order (Indigo Love Spectrum) (16 page)

“Well, John, it’s really nice to have you over for
dinner. And for the weekend. Denise hardly ever brings
friends home,” my dad said.

“Thanks, Mr. Rich,” John said. I could hear the grin
in his voice.

“Barry. Please. I already told you about that, John.”

“Okay, Barry, thanks. And thank you guys both for
having me. You have a really wonderful home,” John said.

“Thanks. Lisa’s always bringing home some new
gadget or decoration of some kind,” my dad said. Mom
finally looked up with a tense smile.

“Yeah, I really love this uh—centerpiece thing. It
looks like something from one of those home-decorating
shows my mom watches,” John said, quickly picking up
on my dad’s words. He was rambling a little, but my
mom ate it up, which made me very happy.

“Thank you. I put it together last week.” Mom’s tone
still had a little edge to it, but it was definitely much
more relaxed. I heard relief in John’s voice as he asked her
more about her centerpiece. I was glad his charm worked
on parents, too.

That night, as I was getting ready to go to my room,
John grabbed me by the elbow, stopping me. I turned to
him, surprised. He was already set up for the night. My
mom had given him way too many blankets and pillows.
I didn’t really want to talk to him. My parents had already
g
iven me enough crap that night, most of it without
saying a word to me. And the looks they’d exchanged all
night. I knew they had started tearing me apart as soon
as they went into their room for the night. And if they
came out and found me still in the living room with
John, it wouldn’t make them happy.

“What?” I asked, looking at his navy blue T-shirt and
thinking about the very nice chest that had to be under
it. I didn’t want to look at his face.

“Denise, I hope I didn’t get you into trouble by
coming here,” he said.

I looked up at his face and smiled. “It’s okay. I’d much
rather you be here and me have to take a little heat from
them than you be in Boston or at your parents’ with Sasha,” I said, sinking into the couch with relief. He
smiled. He had me transfixed every time he looked at me.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think
they
would. I think they
pretty much hate me. I made a horrible first impression,
huh?” John pulled one of the pillows into his lap.

I grinned, hugging him. “No. I think they’re pretty
pissed at me, but it’s whatever. They’ll get over it. I think
it’s just really a shock to them. I’ve only brought one
other guy home, and he never even spent the night.”

“Really? I’ve had plenty of girls stay at our house. I
mean, my parents think we sleep in separate rooms, but—”

“Okay, okay, that’s about all I want to hear about
your sexcapades. I’m sure you have way more than I can
handle hearing about,” I said, laughing and pulling back
from the hug. But I wasn’t laughing on the inside. The
last thing I needed was visuals.

“
All right. I’m just a little shocked by that. One guy?
Really?”

I had to change the subject. We were too close to
talking about Joe. “You really want to be with me, huh?”

“Yes.” John put his finger under my chin and tipped
my face up toward his. “Do you know how beautiful you
are, Denise? And the most important thing is that it’s
inside and out. Wait. Why are you looking at me like
that?”

“I’m sorry. But a deep frat boy? I can’t believe there’s
such a thing.”

“Yeah. Okay, Denise,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“That’s enough of your lame frat boy insults. I might
start taking you seriously one day.”

“Hm,” I said, staring at him.

“What?”

“I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Me, too,” he said, moving closer to me. I put my
head on his shoulder and he put his arm around my
waist.

“So have you talked to your parents since you’ve been
here?” I asked. He tensed under me.

“No. I called ’em Monday to tell ’em I wasn’t coming home for Thanksgiving. I haven’t talked to them since.”
Something had changed in his tone. The change was
almost imperceptible, but I thought his voice might have
become a little icy around the edges.

“Were they upset about you not coming home?”

“I think they were more upset that I broke up with
Sasha.”

“Did you tell them about us?”

“Not yet,” John said. His answers were getting
smaller and smaller. He didn’t talk about his parents
much. I began to wonder what the story was there. I
looked up at him, my head still on his chest. He looked down at me with those emerald eyes. How I loved those
eyes . . .

“You plan on telling them any time soon?” I asked,
trying to make my tone come off light and teasing.

“Yeah. When I call them tomorrow for Thanksgiving,
I’ll tell them,” he said. He lowered his head and kissed
my nose. “Don’t worry. I can’t wait to tell them about
you.”

“Okay. But why don’t you talk more about them? I
just realized that I really don’t know much more about
them other than they’re lawyers who live in
Connecticut.”

“There’s really not much more to know,” John said.

I had the feeling his smile was forced. But I didn’t get
the opportunity to press him further at that moment.

We looked up as my parents’ bedroom door opened.

“Denise, I think it’s time you went to bed and let
John do the same,” Mom said, her patient, polite smile
worn the thinnest I’d seen it all evening.

“Yeah, Mom, I was just going,” I said, jumping up
and heading to my room without looking back at John. And I didn’t dare look at my mother.

T
hanksgiving Day was interesting, to say the least.
Things were tense, but better than at dinner the day
before. My dad, uncle and John watched football all day.
My uncle was cool with John. He had started laughing
and joking with John as soon as they’d awakened that
morning. I was glad at least one person didn’t make me or John feel like criminals.

I spent most of the day in the kitchen with my
mother. She wasn’t mean and insulting anymore. She was
really quiet and polite, which was even worse. That was
the way she treated people she didn’t like very much. And
she had never acted like that with me before. She was
only talking to me to ask me to pass her ingredients,
check things in the oven, or stir something more briskly.

“Mom, what is the deal?” I finally asked, throwing
down the oven mitts and putting my hands on my hips.
I had just told her the turkey was on fire and she had
replied, “That’s fine. Thanks, dear. ”

For a minute, she just stared at me. Then she sat
down at the kitchen table. “Denise, it’s never been like
this between us,” she said, placing an elbow on the table
and holding her forehead in her hand.

“Got that right,” I muttered, leaning against the
kitchen counter and looking down at her, feeling as tired
and confused as she seemed to.

“Denise, this isn’t you. I feel like I don’t know my
own baby. You’re bringing home strange men. You hardly call home anymore. You’re distant when you do.” She still
had her head in her hand. Her voice sounded strained,
but I couldn’t tell if she was crying or not.

I
pushed a breath through my closed lips. “So, it’s not
just John that bothers you.”

“Well, most of it—a large part of it—some of it; I
don’t know. I just want my Denise back.”

I went over to the table and sat in the chair next to
her. I put my hand on her back. “Mom, this year’s just
been difficult. I mean, the second year of law school is
insanity. And I’ve been going through some things with
Astoria and Suse. I know I could do better. And I will.
But you need to tell me these things are bothering you.”

“I know, Denise, I know. I just don’t want to bother
you. But I miss you so much. And it’s just—I’ve never
had to before. I don’t like how our relationship’s
changing. And I especially feel left out of your life when
you bring some man home,” she said. I handed her a
napkin. No tissues were handy. She took it and thanked
me.

“I’m always going to be the same crazy, corny Denise.
I’m always going to be my mother’s daughter,” I said with
a grin, patting her back. “I know you didn’t expect this
John thing. To tell you the truth, neither did I. But he’s
amazing. I adore him. I’m sure you will, too. Once you get to know him.”

“He does seem nice,” Mom said somewhat grudgingly.

“He is, Mom. And I promise. We’ll catch up on all
the mundane things in my life that you probably tune
out on when I tell you about anyway. And our relation
ship’s not really changing. Whatever little change there
may be is for the better. You’ll see.”

“
Oh, Denise. I don’t mean it that way—I don’t know what I mean. I just miss you is all. You’re my only baby.
You’re my baby girl, Denise.”

“Well, you can’t miss me right now. I’m all yours until
Sunday.”

“Sure.” She rolled her eyes.

“I mean it. You know I don’t really talk to any of the
friends I had around here anymore. And John will prob
ably be in there watching whatever game with dad and Uncle Jay most of the time.”

“And we’re still going shopping tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“You should bring John.”

“I will,” I said with a smile.

Thanksgiving dinner was nice. I was pleasantly sur
prised to see John treated like a member of the family. So
was John. By dessert, the conversation had turned to
embarrassing Denise-as-a-little-kid stories. John was in.
Though I grimaced a little at the tales, I was able to relax
for the first time since I had walked through the front
door with John.

John and I went to see a movie Friday night after an
exhausting day of Black Friday shopping with my mom.
My dad and uncle and stayed home, but I dragged John
along. I hadn’t been about to suffer alone. Plus, I was
excited that Mom had asked me to bring him. Mom made
us get up at four that morning. So even though it was early
in the evening, we were about to head home and to bed.

The movie had not been nearly as good as the pre
views had hyped it up to be. But somehow we’d managed
to stay entertained throughout. I was enjoying finally having him to myself.

As we came out of the theater, I was laughing over some of his ridiculous spring break stories.

John took his vibrating BlackBerry out of his coat
pocket.

“Who is it?” I asked, putting my arm around his waist.

“Sasha,” he said with a little frown. “She’s called like
a million times since I’ve been here. I’m gonna answer it
because if I don’t, she’ll just keep calling.”

“Okay,” I said, a little wary, but feeling reassured in that if he were being shady, he wouldn’t have answered the phone right in front of me.

“Hello,” he said in a cold, blank tone. I shuddered.
John pulled me closer, probably thinking I was shud
dering from the cold. I smiled. That was better.

“. . . .o. I haven’t been answering the phone because I don’t want to talk to you . . . we broke up . . . yeah, so why would I call to wish you a happy Thanksgiving? . . .
No, I don’t want to talk to Cindy. You put her on the
phone and I’ll hang up. I promise you . . . that has
nothing to do with us . . . hey, you leave her out of it . . .
It’s no one’s fault, Sasha. There’s no controlling these
things . . . I’m serious . . . you say—would you listen? You
say her name one more time, and I’ll hang up . . . because I don’t want to be with you anymore . . . I’m sorry, but
that’s the way I feel . . . we’ve already talked about this. A
lot . . . yes, I am . . . Okay. That’s it. I warned you. I’m
going now. If you call back one more time tonight, I’m
cutting off my phone.”