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I head to the giant six burner stove, doing as I am told, waiting for Ma to return. Seconds later, she comes back wielding a giant Canon camera.
"Ma, no," I say, shaking my head in disbelief but a grin rests on my lips. I really should have expected this.
"It's a cold day in hell when my baby tells me no. Now go stand next to her," she insists, her tone leaving no room for argument.
"Lord, it's like prom all over again," I grumble, but there's a theatrical roll in my voice.
Tilly stands, smoothing out her dress. I wrap an arm around her hip, hoping I'm not being too affectionate. But after everything tonight, I want to keep her close. "She gets a bit excited about these things. Best just to go along with it," I say in her ear, trying to lighten the mood with a laugh. Tilly gives a shy smile, playing along.
Ma snaps a few photos before finally setting the camera aside. "Now, tell me everything about your night. How was it?" She asks with a cautious tone. I know she remembers it was a memorial, but I don't know if I mentioned it was for Tilly's father. Appreciation rushes through me. Ma is being careful. She was always good with social cues.
I tell her a little about the ballroom, and tell her there was some dancing, stealing a glance at Tilly. Dancing with her, holding her close as music filled the air around us, has quickly climbed to the top of my favorite memories. And that kiss—the real, fiery one on the dance floor—was the best moment of my life. Just thinking about it makes my legs feel wobbly all over again.
"Is this at Michael's resort? No wonder you’re starving. Those dolts, they always oversalt their sauces," Mom says as she plates the pasta and slides it across the counter. It's a single plate but with two forks, hinting at her not-so-subtle attempt to get me and Tilly closer.
"Ma, you're not sneaky," I shake my head, though I still reach for a fork. Turning down any of Ma's cooking is stupid. Like driving drunk stupid.
"If I was really being pushy, I'd tell you to close your eyes and let her feed you. It really enhances the flavors," Ma teases.
I chuckle at that, but then Tilly catches me off guard, grabbing my forearm before I can take a bite.
"Play along, baby. Can't hurt," she says, wiggling her eyebrows at the nickname Ma always uses for me. She twirls some pasta onto the fork and holds it out.
Looking between Ma and Tilly, I know I can't win this one. So, I close my eyes and open my mouth, surrendering to their playful setup.
But the wait for the food to hit my lips feels eternal, and when it finally does, it's horribly wrong. Bitter, salty, completely unexpected. I spit it out, baffled, and look for an explanation.
Both of them burst into giggles, Ma holding up a bottle of soy sauce as the culprit of the prank.
"Well, that's a dirty trick," I complain, trying to get rid of the taste with a nearby towel.
"You're still being punished for saying I can't cook," Tilly says before she takes her own bite. When she does, her eyebrows shoot up. "Henrietta, this is amazing!"
"Just a little quick Alfredo," Ma says nonchalantly, already cleaning up her small mess. Tilly and I eat our food, as Ma asks more questions, mostly about Tilly. Where she works, how long she's known me, what her favorite coffee is. The entire time, Tilly beams. She's glowing at the attention, but I think it's at my mom too. I don't blame her. Compared to her family, my mom is an angel. Of course, I've always thought—no, wait, known—that.
Once we’re done, my mom leans against the fridge, her gaze lingering on us. "So, Tilly. Are you staying tonight?" Ma asks, blunt as ever.
"If that's okay ma, yeah," I chime in quickly, really hoping she says yes and also hoping Tilly doesn’t disagree. I want her in my bed. To wake up next to her, see her in the early morning light. Its sappy and probably inappropriate for what Tilly has been through, but I can’t help it. Now that I’ve had a taste, I can’t be expected to let go.
"Of course, it's okay. There're guest rooms down the hall where you can bunk with Tommy," Ma suggests casually.
"Ma, you really gotta stop doing that," I say, feeling my cheeks heat up. Yeah its what I want, but I really don’t need my mother to be involved in it.
Ma raises her hands in surrender. "Sorry. Boundaries, I know. There’s also a second room if you’re shy. Did you bring anything with you?"
Tilly admits she hasn’t, but Ma is already on the move. She disappears down the hall only to return a moment later. "Here are pajamas, a new toothbrush, and some makeup remover," she says, handing them to Tilly.
Ma leans back, giving us that knowing look. I’m silently begging her not to do something embarrassing, but deep down I know its futile. She sighs through a smile, like she’s watching a fawn learn to walk right in front of her. "The night is for the young. I have my shows and wine waiting."
"Ma, we don’t want to put you out," I try to say, but she's already dismissing my concerns, heading to her room.
"Nonsense. If I miss tonight's episode, I'll be wondering all week what happened. I'll see you two in the morning."
Once alone, I get up to rinse our plate. It only takes a few seconds and I turn around. To my surprise, Tilly hasn't moved. She's just staring at the items in her arms that my mom gave her.
“Til?” My concern comes through in my voice. I have no idea what’s going on in her head, but its clear she’s upset. Her eyes are full of unshed tears, her lip quivering as she looks at the stuff.
Finally, her chin raises, and she looks at me. “She’s so…nice!” The word unleashes a flood of sobs. I’m at her side in an instant, so entirely confused about why she’s crying. Regardless of the reason, I pull her to me, a sense of protectiveness in my firm grip around her.
