Page 125 of A Perfect Fit

I give him a teasing grin and nudge in the ribs. “Who’s secretly obsessed with who now?”

A laugh comes out of Jackson’s mouth. “Touché.”

Jen’s laughing so hard that I think tears might stream from her eyes. “I can’t believe you just crashed his call with his mom like that.”

It’s late afternoon now, and I’m at home, chatting with Jen—who’s been staying at her parents’ place for the weekend—over FaceTime.

Jackson and I spent the rest of the morning and afternoon lounging around at his apartment. We showered together, watched TV while cuddling, and ordered takeout for lunch. It was the perfect cozy Sunday.

“What was I supposed to do? Let my man be set up with another girl? Not happening.”

“Your man,” Jen gushes. “I can’t believe you two are official now. It feels like yesterday, when it was high school and you two were bickering with each other. But I’m happy for you, Belle. You deserve this so much.”

I smile. “Thank you. You deserve happiness, too, Jen.”

A blush paints her cheeks. “I know.”

The intercom buzzes.

“Crap. I have to go,” I say. “Someone’s here.”

Jen clasps her hands together. “Maybe it’s Jackson paying you a surprise visit.”

“Maybe.” Though I don’t think it’s him since we already spent most of the day together. “Anyway, say hi to your parents for me!”

“Will do!”

After ending the call, I get up to answer the intercom.

“Hi, Isabelle.” It’s my mom’s voice. “Are you free?”

I freeze, unsure what to expect or why she’s here. I emailed Mom some of my designs for her to consider as gift options for her friend’s daughter, but we haven’t spoken in person since that night at my parents’ house.

She never shows up unannounced, nor does she do spontaneous plans.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “Yeah. I am.”

I buzz her up and stand at the door, taking quick breaths.

When I open the door a few minutes later, Mom’s standing there, holding a container, a tentative smile on her face. “I made dumplings.” She lifts the container. “Have you eaten yet? I thought we could have dinner together. Is Jen here, too?”

“Jen’s staying at her parents’ place this weekend,” I respond. “But dinner sounds great.”

“Great,” Mom says. There’s something in her eyes I don’t catch. “I’ll heat them up.”

She walks to my kitchen, and I reach for a pan and set the table while she heats the dumplings. I can’t remember the last time we had lunch or dinner together where it was just the two of us.

Once the food is ready, we settle into our seats.

Mom clears her throat. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had dinner together as mother and daughter.”

“Yeah.” I place a pork dumpling inside my mouth, the rich and savory taste wrapping around my tongue. “This is really delicious.”

When I was growing up, Mom didn’t cook much, and it was usually Dad who made our meals.

“It’s your grandmother’s recipe,” she says.

I nod, unsure what else to say, which probably says a lot about our relationship. I’m not used to making small conversation with her, and there’s still an uneasy feeling in my stomach. There has to be another reason why she’s here, aside from bringing food. Maybe she’s here to talk about what happened at dinner last time.