Chapter 19 - Max
My heart skips a beat when Naomi appears at her apartment door. She looks incredible. Her red hair is falling in loose waves around her shoulders, and the way her navy dress is hugging every curve is doing crazy things to my body. Earrings are glittering next to her face as she tucks her hair behind her ear, clutching a small purse an making her way down the steps.
I jump to stretch my arm out to her, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
God, she smells incredible.
“Hey,” she says, smiling.
“Hey.”
I open the door for her, watching her move fluidly as she sits down in the passenger’s seat. She smiles at me as I close the door and jog to the driver’s side.
“You look beautiful,” I say when I get in.
“Is this okay for meeting the parents?”
“It’s okay for anything,” I answer. She could wear a paper bag and she’d look perfect. We drive in silence for a while, and then Naomi takes a deep breath. When she says nothing, I clear my throat.
“What’s up?” I ask, reaching over to touch her leg. She puts her hand over mine, forcing a smile on her lips as she glances at me.
“I’m nervous. I’ve never been a great actor. Or liar.”
“Just be yourself. We’ll keep the lying to a minimum, and I’ll do my best to keep the conversation neutral. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I squeeze my hand over her leg, and she takes another deep breath. By the time we make it to the restaurant, she’s still tense. She’s holding my hand though, and I’m not complaining about that. I drop the keys with the valet and lead her inside. We’re ushered to my parents, who are waiting with a bottle of wine already uncorked and ready for us.
My mother stands up and stretches her arms out in the type of exaggerated affection that she reserves for public appearances. She kisses both my cheeks and I turn to shake my dad’s hand. My mom turns to Naomi, who stumbles through the kissing charade and giggles nervously, leaning over to kiss my dad’s cheek.
Once we’re settled, I reach under the white tablecloth to squeeze Naomi’s hand. The waiter pours us some champagne and my mother raises her glass.
“A toast,” she proclaims. “To your happiness.”
“To your happiness,” my father grunts.
“And yours,” Naomi replies graciously. We all clink our delicate crystal flutes and take a sip. Frustration burns in the pit of my stomach as the fakeness of the whole interaction starts to bother me. I can’t even imagine how Naomi must feel.
None of this is real—not the engagement, not my parents pretending to take an interest in our happiness, not the forced affection in their relationship. And yet, it still sends warmth coursing through my veins when Naomi squeezes my hand under the table. My eyes soften when I look at her, and my heart jumps when she flicks her beautiful green eyes in my direction.
I want to kiss her.
I want to do a lot more than kiss her, but right now, I’d settle for a kiss. She’s wearing soft pink lipstick, and her lips look so incredibly kissable it’s making it hard to think about anything else.
“So, tell me about yourself, Naomi,” my mother says. Her voice is neutral and she has a smile on her lips, but I know this is the start of the test. She approves of the way Naomi looks, that much is clear, but now the real minefield begins.
Naomi smiles, folding her hands in her lap. “Well,” she starts, “I grew up about two hours from the city, with my mom. We grew up in the country growing our own vegetables. My mom’s a painter—I guess you could call her a hippie. I couldn’t have had a different upbringing than Max,” she laughs. “But maybe that’s why we get along so well.” She puts her hand on my forearm. “Don’t they say opposites attract?”
“They do say that,” my dad grunts.
“And now you’re a physical therapist?”
“I am. I went to college in Ithaca and moved to the city about oh—almost eight years ago. Our physical therapy practice is one of the best in the city. We get lots of professional athletes and high-level clients coming through. I’ve been lucky.”
“You’ve worked hard, I’m sure.”
“Of course.” Naomi smiles, taking a sip of wine. I squeeze her hand under the table again, clearing my throat.
“So, Mom, how’s that fundraiser going? Which charity are you working on now?”
My mother smiles, turning to Naomi. She talks about her charitable donations for the next fifteen minutes with minimal prodding and encouragement from the rest of us.
When all else fails, get her to talk about herself. I learned that a long time ago.
Finally, the meal draws to an end. We order coffees after dinner, and Naomi leans back in her chair. She sighs, and I can see the tiredness lining her face.
Maybe it’s having a dinner like this after a full day of work, or maybe it’s just the effort of pretending to be engaged when she isn’t. I put my arm around her chair, kissing her temple.
God, she smells good.
She leans into me. “We’ll go soon,” I whisper in her ear. She nods slightly, and smiles at me.
My father clears his throat, reaching into his jacket’s breast pocket. He pulls out a little black velvet box, putting it down in the center of the table.
“That’s for you, Naomi,” he grunts. My eyes widen and I look from him to my mother. She nods, her lips pressed into a thin, self-satisfied smile.
“Go ahead,” she says.
Naomi looks at me with wide eyes, and then reaches hesitantly towards the box. She opens it up as a lump forms in my throat.
I don’t need to look—I already know what it is. Still, when she opens it and I see the bright green emerald surrounded with dozens of brilliant diamonds. The gems sparkle in the restaurant’s low light, and my heart skips a beat.
“Oh my goodness,” Naomi breathes. Her eyes are shining and they’re as wide as dinner plates. She shakes her head, snapping the box closed. “I can’t accept this,” she says, pushing the box back towards my dad. He clears his throat, drawing his thick eyebrows closer together. My mother straightens in her chair, her mouth opening slightly.
“What do you mean, Naomi?”
“I just…” Naomi looks at me and I see the panic in her eyes. “It’s too much. I can’t…”
“Of course you can,” my mother says, pushing the box back towards her.
“That was my mother’s ring,” Dad explains. “It’s been in the family for almost a hundred years. I noticed you aren’t wearing an engagement ring yet, I thought Max would have explained.” He looks at me, nodding his chin down slightly.
I take the little box in my hand, feeling the smooth velvet under my fingertips as I flick it open. I take the delicate ring from it, remembering how my grandmother used to cherish it.
Turning to Naomi, I meet her gaze. Her eyes are still as wide as I’ve ever seen them, as if she’s trying to keep the panic from spilling out of her. I take her left hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. She’s trembling, and my chest squeezes.
I glance at my parents, who are staring at us expectantly. Tears are forming in Naomi’s eyes as I bring the ring towards her left hand.
It slides onto her finger as if it was made for her. My mother grunts appreciatively and my dad crosses his arms over his chest. I see him nod in my peripheral vision.
My eyes are glued on Naomi’s. Her mouth has dropped open. She glances at the ring on her finger, her eyes widening ever so slightly.
I put a finger on her chin, tilting it up towards me. I lay a soft kiss on her lips, running my fingers along her jaw and pulling away after only a second. She clears her throat, glancing at the ring, and then at me, and then at my parents.
“Thank you,” she finally says. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
“Welcome to the family,” my mother says with a benevolent smile.