“Grab a beer Ian. You drink sweetheart?” he asks Alana.
“Sometimes,” she laughs.
“I have wine, red and white. You want to grab some with me?” my mom asks her. She hesitates a moment before agreeing. Alana has picked up on it.
“Sure,” she says, nicer than I expect her to. They disappear into the house.
“Beautiful girl you got there son,” he says, flipping the meat on the grill.
“What do you think mom thinks of her?” I ask him, folding my arms.
“You know women and their boys.” He shrugs with a half-hearted laugh. I grab myself a beer and soon the ladies are back. We sit at the lawn table and Pete brings over a pan of meat. My mom already has a bowl of potato salad and baked beans waiting for us. The energy between my mom and Alana seems better but I can tell they’re both tense and I hope the wine loosens them up.
“Ian says you’re a teacher. That’s awesome,” Alana says, and I give her an encouraging smile for her opening up the conversation.
“Yup fifteen years and counting. You wouldn’t believe the type of things I’ve seen, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Are you in school?” she asks, and I tense. She knows Alana isn’t in school, but neither am I.
“Ugh. No, school’s never really been my thing,” Alana says before putting a half spoonful of baked beans in her mouth.
“Education is important, I keep telling this one that,” she follows up, her tone a little colder, glaring at me.
“It’s better they realize it before they go and rack up a bunch of debt figuring it out. John’s kid got him to cosign on a forty grand loan and he’s barely holding down a job at Target,” Pete interrupts. I’m thankful for it and give my mom a what the hell? look. Alana’s taken the comment in stride though, still wearing a friendly smile.
“So what do you do now?” my mom asks.
“I have a few jobs, but I mainly make my money singing at a gentleman’s club,” Alana says without an ounce of embarrassment. My mom’s eyebrows shoot up, and Pete clears his throat with a laugh.
“I’m sorry, is that a strip club?” my mom asks, condescension reverberating through her tone.
“Mom, what the hell?”
“No, it’s okay Ian. I guess that’s what your generation would call it,” Alana says sweetly but there’s a bite in her tone.
“My generation?” My mom laughs.
“You know, these days everything is different. If anyone should know that it’s you, hun,” Pete says, trying to douse the fire that’s about to start between the two most important women in my life.
“I think the biggest problem with your generation is that they want everything fast, quick, in a hurry. No one wants to put in the time or work to find the right career or the right person.”
I can’t believe she just said that! Alana’s entire body stiffens. I can count down until she explodes.
“Diane, let me talk to you inside,” Pete says, his voice firm.
“No, she doesn’t have to. We’re leaving.”
“Ian, you should stay,” Alana says, standing.
“No, we’re leaving together,” I tell her firmly.
“Everyone calm down. No one’s leaving. You two stay put. Diane—in the house now,” Pete says, standing from the table. My mom glares at him defiantly but relents and they disappear into the house.
“I don’t know what the hell her problem is but I’m sorry. We can leave right now if you want.” She looks at me, not with fury in her eyes how I expect, but almost a sadness.
“No. Your mom may have been a bi--- but she’s your mom. I’d never come between that,” she says firmly, but her eyes are glassy with tears. Fuck. I pull her into a hug and kiss her, letting her know I don’t give a shit what my mom says or thinks. I hate that my mom has acted like this when Alana was really trying, and how the one person who she may for a millisecond have been able to look at as a mother figure has ruined it in less than a half hour.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell her, standing, anger coursing through me. I head in the house and my mom looks at me innocently.
“What the hell was that Mom!”
“I don’t like her,” she says matter-of-factly.
“You don’t even know the girl,” Pete interjects.
“Do you know she’s been on her own since she was a kid? That she doesn’t know who her parents are? That she’s had to fight more in life than all of us combined? And that’s saying a fucking lot. She’s not perfect—hell, she may be damaged—but you don’t get to treat her like trash and that’s exactly what you did. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let you do it in front of me again. You need to apologize to her,” I demand. Her expression softens, but just a bit.
“I know she’s beautiful son, breathtaking even, but behind all that I’m telling you—she’s damaged goods. I’ve worked with enough kids to know.”
“I can’t believe you’re being so judgmental. God, Mom!”
“I’m not here to disrespect anyone or hurt their feelings, but you’re my son and I don’t want to see you hurt, and that girl has destruction written all over her.”
The sincerity in my mom’s eyes sends a chill down my spine.
“Well, I’m hers to destroy,” I say before leaving.
“Hey.” She’s says with a half a smile. She’s waiting on the hood of my car, a regular degular Chevrolet Impala, not the expensive foreign cars she’s used to riding in. She’s let her hair down, her blazer off, sitting on the car as if she has nowhere else to be.
“I thought you had left,” I tell her, wearing a goofy smile.
“How could I leave when I don’t have the keys?” she says with half a smile. I walk to her and spread her legs so I’m between them. I kiss her neck, then her lips, and coax her tongue out. If it weren’t four in the afternoon on this residential street I’d have her right here on this car.
“I missed you,” I say, squeezing her ass.
“It’s only been ten minutes,” she says wryly.
“But I thought you were gone, I had this feeling,” I say, sounding like a lunatic to myself.
“I wouldn’t make your mom right about me,” she replies, leaning her head on mine. My lips go back to her neck and I pull her close to me, hugging her tightly. The thought of losing her felt like I was drowning. I’m tired of the games, walking the tightrope of holding on to this feeling I have with her. She makes me want to be a better man, to prove every asshole wrong, to love her how she should be loved every day. I feel high, electricity coursing through me. I lean back and take in the woman who has driven me insane since the first day I met her. She eyes me suspiciously with a curious grin on her face.
“What?” she asks, amused.
“Marry me.” Her face goes blank, her eyes wide.
“Don’t joke like that,” she scolds me.
“I’m not—I swear to God.” I see her swallow hard.
“You’re crazy,” she says, her face in a grimace. But I can’t fight my smile. When she’s around I’m always fighting my smile, my feelings, emotions I’ve never felt…and I’m tired of it.