She: Part 2 (35 page)

When we break apart I change my answer to, “I’m
definitely
free.”

“Oh? I convinced you with that kiss?” he plays along.

“It’s not the first time, nor dare I say, the last time that such tactics have worked on me,” I let him know. “Now come,” I take his hand. “Come and meet my friends.”

I turn around and find Lucie, Bianco, and Pedro watching us like they would a soap opera, totally engrossed. Trying hard to keep myself from laughing, I lead Logan over to them and one by one I introduce them.

“It’s wonderful to put faces to the names,” Logan tells them, adding to me, “And it’s great to see what you’ve created in here, baby.” He looks around, taking in every element of the salon, which I designed. “Very purple,” he notes, making me laugh.

“As per my mom’s request,” I tell him, throwing a look up the room to our mothers, who are nattering away and seem to be unaware of Logan’s arrival. “Ready to meet her?”

He nods confidently, and excuses himself from Lucie, Pedro, and Bianco’s company. I take his hand once more and as we walk towards our moms, I throw a quick glance backwards. Pedro is fanning himself, Lucie is quietly giggling, and Bianco gives me a wink and a thumbs up.
That was easy
, I think happily, as Logan enquires how my day has been. Here’s hoping that Logan can charm the pants of my mom just as effortlessly, I muse. I immediately blanch at my own thought.
No
,
Gem
,
not the pants off of her
!

Peering down at me, Logan says, “You look like you’ve just had an inappropriate thought.”

I laugh out loud. “I did,” I confess, and then answering his question, I say, “I’ve had the most distracted day of my life so far.”

“Me too,” he chuckles, leaning in to kiss me quickly. “So much so that I accidentally told someone else our news,” he confesses.

“Who?”

“Mercy,” he says. “I called to tell her that we’d love to give the puppy a home, and at the same time I was looking over my itinerary for Monday — my family and I are flying to Marseille in the morning, by the way, back on Monday night,” he interjects, reminding me of the business trip that he has to go on, “I was distracted and it just sort of slipped out.”

I grin at him, letting him know that it’s perfectly OK.
Everyone will know soon enough
, I think. “How happy was she?” I ask eagerly.

“Very, I think she cried more than you and I combined,” he laughs. “How did Amber respond?”

“Tears, screams, everything I expected from her and more,” I tell him happily. “Seamus noted the speed, but he’s thrilled for us too.”

“Will they be there tomorrow night?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“What’s tomorrow night?” my mother asks us loudly, she and Mary-Gene now watching us approach them.

“Uh, nothing,” I say hastily. “Mom, this is Logan. Logan, this is mom,” I introduce them and hold my breath.
Be nice
, I plead with my mother in my mind.

“Barbara-Anne,” my mother corrects me, holding out her hand to my secret-fiancé.

“It’s so good to meet you,” Logan smiles at her. I can tell that he’s totally thrilled to be here.

My mother on the other hand, doesn’t exudes the same amount of eagerness, though mercifully she’s already being more polite to him than she is to most other men. “Likewise,” she nods. I see her eyes roving his face, taking in all of his gorgeous features. “You’re just as pretty as Gem said you were.”

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t say
pretty
,” I’m quick to amend as Logan chuckles beside me, his hand giving mine a squeeze.

“Remind me, what
was
it you said to me over the weekend?” she says, winding me up. I narrow my eyes at her and she grins cheekily. Then, completely ignoring my threatening gaze, she blurts out, “What’s this I hear about you two having a sex-a-thon?” She looks from Logan to me and back again.

I stare at her in disbelief.
No
,
just no
!

“What’s a
sex-a-thon
?” Mary-Gene enquires, and I feel like I might burst into flames on the spot.

“Doesn’t matter, mom,” Logan says quickly.

But my mom steps in and informs her, “I believe it’s some sort of sexual marathon.”

Oh,
fuck
! I’m reminded of two nights ago when Mary-Gene commented on Logan’s father’s stamina, and I cross my fingers that she doesn’t add fuel to the fire by mentioning it again right now.

“Where did you hear that?” I ask my mom, trying my best to sound as if it’s the most preposterous thing that I’ve ever heard.

“I had a phone call from Seamus and—”

Immediately I blow my cover by saying, “I’m going to
kill
Amber!”

“We should really get new friends,” Logan jokes quietly, and when I look at him he stares back at me in a way that tells me that he finds this moment really rather funny. The humour in his eyes distracts me entirely. He is so,
so
good looking.

“Are you pregnant as well as Amber?” my mom then asks me out of the blue, evidently still trying to identify that
something different
in me.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath.

Mary-Gene gasps and spins around in her chair to face us. She looks a little too hopeful for my liking.

“No,” Logan confirms quickly, before laughing. “She’s not pregnant.”

If my mom suspects I’m pregnant
without
knowing we’re engaged, then I’m going to be hard-pressed to convince her once she
does
know, I realise. In an attempt to help out my future self, I let her know, “We don’t want babies.”

Mom’s eyes widen, and then she and Mary-Gene exchange a weighted look.

“They’ve talked about babies,” my mom says to her.

“They already live together,” Mary-Gene tells her in response.

Dammit
, we hadn’t reached that point in our mother-daughter chat yet!

“We’re getting a puppy, too,” Logan tells them both for good measure.

“Really?” my mom says, sounding surprised. She then looks at Logan and I once more, and I don’t know whether it’s because of these revelations, or because of what I told her earlier, or because she just wants the chance to feel him up a bit, but she does something that she
never
did with Jerry, not in eight years of knowing him. She steps forward and gives Logan a hug. “Welcome to the family,” she mumbles over his shoulder.

I stare at them as they embrace, a little taken aback, almost suspicious.

Once they break apart and my mother spots the look on my face, she snaps, “Don’t look so surprised, I
can
be nice, you know.” She pulls out the two chairs next to Mary-Gene. “Take a seat, both of you.”

Over the next hour, while my mom goes up and down the lineup, giving each of us a fresher look, she, Mary-Gene, and Logan talk up a storm. I stay mostly quiet, letting my mom take full advantage of getting to know him and his mother. Lucie, Pedro, and Bianco joins us for a bit, but eventually they clear out. It’s Friday night, and I suspect they’ve got better things to do than eavesdrop on us.

By the time the four of us leave the salon, it’s very dark outside. I drive with my mom back to Logan’s apartment, following him and his mom in the car in front. Mary-Gene made it abundantly clear that she wants to spend the evening with us, even though one look from Logan confirms that his desires to be alone are a match for mine own. We try to worm our way out of spending the evening with her, but we fail. Miserably, as is evident because now
my
mom is somehow invited to join us as well.

I keep my annoyance under wraps as we drive. Instead I pester her to tell me what her first impression of Logan is. Halfway through our drive, she finally reveals, “He’s very dashing.”

“
Dashing
?” I can’t remember the last time I heard that word.

“Yes,” she nods. “He looks like a cartoon,” she adds. He…
what
? “Is there something wrong with him?” she then inquires. “Does he have a small penis?”

“
Mom
!” I blanch. “What the fuck would possess you to ask that?”

“Nobody is
that
perfect, sweetheart, he has to have a fault somewhere.”

I can’t stop myself — I roll my eyes at her. “Why can’t you just accept his nice qualities rather than trying to work out
what
’
s wrong with him
,” I say, mimicking her voice. “Do you
like
him?” I ask her.

“Oh, absolutely,” she says quickly. “He’s dignified and respectable. Most men aren’t respectable, they’re pigs,” she tells me, but I fail to care. I won’t stand in the way of her man-bashing, so long as she doesn’t include Logan.

Time to push the mother-daughter chat a little further, I think. “I’m glad you think that,” I say slowly, “because Logan is the one for me.”

We stop at a red light, allowing her to rest back in the driver’s seat and take a long look at me, gauging my sincerity. I do not waver under her scrutiny.

“That’s all well and good, Gemima,” she begins — oh,
shit
! She only uses my full name when I’m in trouble — and continues, “but you
live
together already?”

“We don’t really call it that, but,” I nod, “essentially, yes. If I was to go home in the evening instead of sleeping at his, I would be miserable,” I say honestly. “I’d just be thinking about him the whole time, and wishing we were together, so…” I shrug, “why not just
be
together? I’m sure about him, mom. He’s the one,” I tell her again.

She’s silent for a long moment, before saying, “Then I believe you.”

I nod, feeling satisfied. We begin driving again, and I start considering telling her more, but what? Saying that he’s
the one
is a big revelation, and other than telling her that we’re engaged, I feel like she’s pretty much up to speed. We don’t say another word until we’re following Logan down into the underground garage, when my mom starts quietly laughing to herself.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, wondering if I missed something.

“Oh, I’m just so glad that your taste has improved,” she laughs.

I grin at her.
Yeah
,
mom
,
so am I
.

* * *

Before going up to the apartment, we cross the road to find Rupert lounging in the hotel bar, where the introductions begin anew. I’m a little cautious as to how mom will behave around a man closer to her age. Since her divorce she tends to treat all men over fifty with disdain, and I hover awkwardly to make sure that Rupert isn’t one of them. However, my mom puts a stop to my actions with one knowing look, after which I retreat into Logan’s arms. Instead I cross my fingers once more and hope that she behaves herself.

The five of us eat a light dinner at the bar, Logan and I sitting at the end quietly discussing how we think the evening has gone so far, and musing under our breaths about how and when we should tell them about our engagement. We contemplate telling Mary-Gene and Rupert before they leave next Wednesday night so that we can do it in person.

“And what about your mom?” Logan mutters, inaudible to our parents who are talking between themselves.

“She’s warming up to the idea of us,” I tell him.

“She likes me,” he says confidently, and I can’t help but smile.

“Oh, Logan,” I sigh, “what’s not to like?”

* * *

A short while later we hurry across to Logan’s apartment,
our
apartment, rushing to avoid the downpour outside. As soon as the elevator pings, I take my mom’s hand and eagerly pull her to the terrace to show her what I’ve created. She takes one long look around the space and agrees that I should change careers.

“This is gorgeous, sweetheart!” she gushes.

“Best birthday present that I’ve ever received,” Logan says, sliding his arm around my waist and kissing the side of my head.

“Second best, no?” I ask him coyly as we walk back inside, out of the rain.

He shakes his head, chuckling. He leans down and whispers in my ear, “I didn’t propose
on
my birthday, remember?”

“True,” I smile, reaching up to kiss him. It grows quickly into a passionate embrace, and time plays its tricks on us again. I’ve no idea how long we stand here kissing and I’m only vaguely aware of our parents voices dying down behind us.

“Don’t mind us,” my mom says loudly.

I groan a little, wishing once again that we could spend our evening alone. But, alas, we’re not.

Ever the gracious host, Logan pours us each a glass of wine and we take a seat in the living room, Logan and I sitting as close to one another as is socially acceptable while we have company. Mercifully, the evening flies by and I actually revel in how nice it is. The five of us being together seems so normal, like we’ve been hanging out like this for years. The ebbs and flows of our conversations are easy and effortless, and sometimes include all of us, like when we’re all sitting in the living room, or sometimes we break off into smaller groups, the women over here, and the men over there.

I love how relaxed my mom is around Logan and his father. Men usually do little more than irritate her and in turn cause her to be irritable. But she’s not with them, she’s open and funny, happily regaling them with several embarrassing stories from my youth, like Logan’s parents did with him two nights ago.

When she, Mary-Gene, and Rupert start talking about American political history, Logan and I lose interest. Seeing as we can’t do what we’d usually do on a Friday evening, each other, we instead indulge in old habits. Sitting at the dining table, Logan immerses himself into work, of sorts, reading through the speech he’s preparing for tomorrow night, and I make a start on those landscape design sketches, first carefully reading through the design briefs that Amélie gave me. I smile at the sight of us doing something so normal on our Friday night, and I marvel at how much I love it. It’s these regular, little, everyday things that will, overtime, make up a marriage, I think happily.

Over the next half an hour I power through two of the six sketches, while simultaneously listening to Logan’s father talk us through his prominent political career. He name-drops several popular political figures (I judge them to be popular only because
I
have heard of them and my knowledge is limited at best) who he still calls his friends, even fifteen years after retiring. However when they start debating an upcoming election, they lose my attention, and my sketches soon follow. I’ll do more next week, I tell myself, as I rest back in my chair watching Logan.