Chapter 25
Evangeline
I step into the kitchen of my childhood home ready to work.
"Should I chop up the vegetables?" I ask as I approach the counter, tying an apron around my waist.
My mother is at the sink scrubbing off a batch of potatoes. I can smell the meat going in the oven. It's the same menu as always. Each and every time a guest comes over, she breaks out the good, old mashed potatoes with meatloaf and steamed vegetables.
Fancy, I know.
My mother is an academic. The most respected Human Sexuality professor in the state, actually. She an intelligent, successful woman. But no one has ever mistaken her for Betty Homemaker. While Grandma Joyce’s recipe is pretty tasty, it definitely isn’t worthy of the special celebrations it’s been a part of. Prescott’s law school graduation. My first magazine cover. My parents’ 20th wedding anniversary.
Anyway, Raphael is coming over for dinner. As excited as I am to see him, I can't help the dread at the base of my spine. How the hell are we supposed to share a meal with my family, pretending that nothing is going on between us? That prospect is really freaking me out.
None the wiser, my mother turns to me and smiles. "Yes. Chop the vegetables but be sure to give the broccoli a good rinse." By now, she's armed with the peeler and is going in on those potatoes. "Honey, I'm so glad you're home. Feels like I haven't seen you in forever. And Raph, so nice to see him."
"Glad to be home, too," I say, trying to ignore the subtle tingle in my limbs when she mentions Raphael. My man, Raphael.
It's been a few days since our heart-to-heart at the hotel. And fuck – they've been a few wonderful days. Love-making, lazy time in bed, getting to know each other. I'm not ready for my parents to know about us yet. Our time together has been too good. I'm not ready for my family’s judgment and disapproval to taint that. Raph and I have discussed it. We'll have to tell my parents eventually. Just not now.
"So, how did you and Raph end up hooking up anyway?" At her question, the broccoli tumbles out of my hands, into the sink. She gives me a fleeting glance. “Still a klutz in the kitchen, huh?” she titters. “You take it from your momma.” She returns to the conversation. “How did you and Raph meet up? We were surprised that he brought you home.”
That’s when I realize that – thank god – she didn’t mean ‘hook up’ in the sexual sense ‘cause with my mom, you never know.
With my back to her, I shrug a shoulder, trying to look casual. "Ran into him at an event in New York and he offered a ride back here."
"New York?" she asks brightly. "I thought you were shooting for Vogue in Paris?"
"Got cancelled," I tell her simply.
I hear the disappointment in her voice. "Oh honey, I'm so sorry. You must have felt so let down."
"It happens," I say, continuing to give her curt answers.
My mother cuts the peeled potatoes into cubes and dumps them into a pot of boiling water. She turns to look at me, excitement in her blue eyes. "So, where are you off to next? Did you book that safari photo shoot in Ghana? Or will you go back to Australia? You said they love you down there."
Telling the truth is going to suck but I can't bear to heap another lie on the stack that I've been building over the past little while. I give my mother a measured smile. "I won't be modeling anymore, mom."
Her movements stall and her brows furrow with confusion. "What do you mean?"
"Apparently, I'm past my prime. I'm having a hard time booking jobs and all that traveling is really expensive."
“Oh honey…” Sympathy covers her features.
She’s so beautiful. Even with her new eccentric spiky red haircut. She has twinkling blue eyes and a genuine smile that could light up a whole building. She’s in her mid-forties and people still mistake us for sisters. In twenty years, I hope to look half as good as she does.
"Well maybe you can get into acting?” she suggests. “That would suit you."
Maybe it would but all I can think about these days is my dream of selling jewelry. Raph and I have been talking about it, throwing ideas around. He's serious about helping me and he’s full of good business advice. I'm so excited.
"I'm not ready to jump into acting at this point. Maybe sometime in the future. I need to take a breather right now."
"So you're just not going to do anything?" There's that judgmental stare I was trying to avoid. Of course my mother doesn’t understand. She’s so deeply committed to her career. She’s never understood people who don’t feel the same way about their work.
"The break is temporary, mom. In a few months, I'll be doing something new."
My overly-confident tone doesn't seem to reassure her. My parents have always seen me as a flake, a drifter. Someone who doesn't get shit done. Deep down, I feel the need to prove them wrong. Unfortunately, showing my mother that I can be a mature, responsible adult will have to wait because today, I’ve got to utter words I never thought I’d have to say.
"I was actually hoping I could move back here for a while." My beautiful condo overlooking the river, I have to give that up.
My mom looks at me with narrowed eyes. “What? Are you planning renovations on your condo?”
“I’m selling the condo. I can’t afford it anymore.” Admitting that splits my heart in two.
Her worried expression deepens. "Eva, are you all right?" She knows how much I love my freedom and my apartment. She knows that if I'm asking to move back home, something must be wrong.
I put my head down and focus on the vegetables sitting on the cutting board. "I just need to decompress a bit and save some money."
She plants a fist on her waist and props a hip against the sink. "I feel like there's something you're not telling me."
No shit!
"Look, mom – I'm not ready to talk about it yet, okay?” I shout much louder than I should. “If moving in here is a problem, I'll ask Prescott if I can stay with him and Annaleigh.”
She looks annoyed now. "Evangeline Brooks, watch your tone. And of course you can move in here if you need to."
“Sorry…” I drop my volume. "And thank you." Both relief and trepidation move through me. I'm glad that I have somewhere to stay but my parents can be hella overbearing. I guess that's the price I'll have to pay to keep a roof over my head for the foreseeable future. "Can we change the subject now?"
With a sigh, she turns back to her food prep. "Okay." She's silent for a while and then her mood seems to lift. "Oh I'm so happy that Raph is in town! He never takes a break from that business of his. Never comes to visit anymore."
Welp! The topic of discussion has just gotten even more awkward.
She sighs, looking over at me. "And isn't he handsome? He's like a fine wine. Better with time."
I pop a carrot slice into my mouth and crunch loudly as an excuse to not have to engage in this conversation.
My mother eyes me sharply. "Would you close your mouth while you chew?" she scolds.
I mumble an apology.
Looking out beyond the kitchen window to the flower garden outside, she muses happily. "Think I'm gonna try setting him up with Suzie from the Political Science department. You know the one?" Oh god...My mom’s playing matchmaker and my boyfriend is the unwilling victim. I watch as her lips curl to one side. "Only thing is she might be a bit young for him. She's only 32. Ten years difference. Do you think that's too big of an age gap?" She watches me expectantly.
No, mom - I don't think it's too big of an age gap but I do think you ought to keep your Suzie away from my man before I hurt her.
"I'm pretty sure that Mr. Silver can find his own dates, mom," I grunt.
She chuffs. "That man has notoriously bad taste in women. Do you remember Diane? She was a train wreck," she says then lowers her voice to a gossipy tone. "And she was so selfish. Do you know that she refused to suck his dick? A man like Raph deserves to get his dick sucked. Regularly."
With that, my mouthful of half-chewed carrot goes down the wrong way and I hunch forward, trying to hack it up out of my windpipe.
"Honey, you okay?" I hear the concern in her voice as her fist comes down firmly in the center of my back.
"Mom –" cough-cough. “– I really don't want to talk about Mr. Silver's sex life with you." Cough-cough. I straighten up, wiping water away from my eyes.
My mother smirks, amused by my discomfort. "A real woman knows it takes a mean blow job to keep her man." She tosses me a wink and I somehow, by the grace of god, manage not to imagine my parents engaged in fellatio.
At their goddamned tantric yoga retreat.
On the bright side, I guess I'm a real woman, at least by my mother's standards because my oral skills are on point! Raphael would attest to it. Take that, mom.
“Anyway, don’t tell anyone about that,” she laughs, “because your dad wasn’t supposed to tell me.”
Just then, the doorbell rings and when I glance out the side window, I see Prescott parking his car across the street.
Oh thank god!
I excuse myself and rush off to answer the front door. Annaleigh stands there with a smirk on her face. "Let me guess what we're having for dinner," she whispers.
I laugh. My sister-in-law isn't a fan of the meatloaf, either.
"I'm so fucking glad your here," I whisper back, gesturing with my eyes toward the kitchen.
She chuffs. "You and your secret lover having dinner with your parents? I wouldn't miss it!"
Rolling my eyes, I grab her by the arm and yank her into the house just as Prescott steps onto the walkway. "Shut up and come peel some carrots, you little whore." I drag her toward the kitchen.