Chapter Twenty-Four
Jonathan
Putting the car in park in my parents’ driveway and killing the engine, I look over at Gabby. She’s staring out the window, a pan of brownies on her lap that she insisted on making. She’s still chewing on her lower lip, which she’s been doing the whole drive over from my apartment.
“Hey,” I say softly, taking her hand in mine. She turns to look at me, her eyes wide and apprehensive. “Why are you so nervous? It’s not like this is the first time you’ve met my family. We were here for a barbecue just a few weeks ago.”
“Cookout,” she corrects automatically.
I can’t help smiling. We’ve had this debate before. According to her, barbecue is a specific type of dish, usually made with brisket. Since there is a lack of good barbecue in Spokane, she was excited at first when I’d told her my parents were having us over for a barbecue. She hadn’t noticed the “a” preceding barbecue, and had been disappointed to find out my dad was grilling chicken and burgers. Grilling on the back patio is a cookout in Texas.
“That’s not the point. What’s wrong?”
She blinks and shakes her head, letting out a sigh. “I don’t think your family likes me very much.”
I frown, thinking back over her interactions with them. “What do you mean? It looked like you had a good conversation with my dad the last time we were here. And my brothers were friendly too.”
Another sigh, this one more exasperated and paired with a pointed look. “And your mom?”
I shift in my seat. “Yeah, well. That has nothing to do with you. She’s worried I’m not focused enough on the new album and everything that goes with it.”
“She thinks I’m a distraction.” Her voice is flat, not allowing me to tell if she’s more angry or hurt or something else altogether.
I open my mouth to say something, but she shakes her head, cutting me off.
“Your manager thinks so too.”
That surprises me. Well, that Angela might feel that way doesn’t surprise me, but that Gabby thinks so does. “What? What are you talking about?”
She looks away again. “At the photo shoot for your album cover. She came in.”
“I remember.”
“Yeah, well, we talked.” Her head turns my way again. “Or, more precisely, she talked to me. She asked if I was coming on the tour. And when I said no, she said good, she wouldn’t have to worry about me being more of a distraction, or something to that effect.”
She watches me as I sit with that, not sure what to say. “Look—“
“It’s fine, Jonathan. I know you want me here, and that’s enough. But that doesn’t make it enjoyable to have to sit and pretend that I don’t notice your mother is insulting me with every sweet-sounding barb she throws my way. I’m quite practiced in the ways of sugar-coated venom myself. I’m from Dallas, or near enough. It’s practically an art form there.” She stops and shakes her head, her eyes landing on the pan of brownies in her lap. “But she’s your mother, and mine raised me to have good manners and be respectful. So I smile and bite my tongue and pretend not to notice.”
“Gabby, look at me.” I wait for her to raise her eyes to mine before I continue. “I know my mom hasn’t been the greatest since she met you. But coming over for dinner tonight was her idea. She suggested it. She even said she was planning on inviting you out to lunch before the summer’s over.”
Her eyes widen as she takes this in. “Really?” Her brows draw together, and she chews on her lip again.
I reach out and smooth my thumb over her lip. “Really. I promise. She’s making an effort. She knows how important you are to me and is realizing this isn’t some short-term fling. That we’re the real deal. Give her a chance, too. Please?”
Gabby’s expression softens, and she nods. “Okay. I can do that.” I press a kiss to her lips, and she gives me a soft smile before we get out of the car and head to the door, hand in hand.
I knock twice and open the door, announcing, “We’re here.”
My dad comes around from the kitchen, my mom close behind him. Their faces are all smiles as they greet us, my dad slapping me on the back and ready to give Gabby a hug.
She holds out the pan in front of her. “I made brownies. For dessert. My mom’s recipe. They’ve won prizes.”
My mom’s eyebrows lift, and I know what she’s thinking. I shoot her a quelling look, hoping that she won’t make any comments about calories or sugar or fat content. Hoping she’ll just say thank you, eat at least a small piece for dessert, and recognize it as the attempted peace offering that it is.
Dad takes the pan from Gabby, staring down at it, his smile so big his cheeks look like they might burst. “You made brownies? Prize-winning brownies? I haven’t had brownies in … well, never mind that.” He looks at Gabby. “You’re my new favorite person.”
She laughs as he pulls her into a one-armed hug. “My pleasure.”
Mom takes the dish from Dad, a small smile on her lips. “Yes, thank you. That was very thoughtful of you. We weren’t expecting you to bring anything.”
With an arch look in my direction, as if to say, “See? I’m being nice,” she takes the brownies into the kitchen. I know my brothers will have the same reaction as my dad when they find out Gabby brought brownies. My mom’s the one who’s religious about low sugar/low carb foods. The only kinds of sugar she allows is limited amounts of fresh, seasonal fruits.
That’s one thing I didn’t miss while living in Spokane. There was a lot less obsession with the latest and greatest diet fads there. The only reason I’m paying attention now is because I have to. Once the promotional photos are done, I’ll keep training regularly, because performing is demanding and staying in shape is smart. But I won’t keep up the diet I have to be on to keep my body fat percentage low enough that you can see all my musculature like a real-life version of an anatomy and physiology textbook illustration. It’s too oppressive. And boring. I like pizza and brownies and ice cream too much. I don’t care if I have a six pack. Even though she hasn’t actually said anything, I know Gabby doesn’t care that much either.
The first time she saw me shirtless when she got here, her eyes widened in shock and appreciation, but she has a harder time getting comfortable when we cuddle these days. And cuddling is her favorite thing. Well, one of her favorite things.
My brothers must’ve heard Dad exclaiming about brownies, because they emerge from wherever they were hiding, eyes sharp as they look around.
“Brownies?” Colt asks. “Where are the brownies?”
Brendan pins Gabby with a look. “You made brownies?”
Dad ushers her past both of them and into the living room. “Now, boys. You know you can’t have any until after dinner. But yes.” He squeezes Gabby’s shoulders with the arm he still has wrapped around her. “Your older brother’s lovely girlfriend here made brownies for us. Isn’t she wonderful?”
Following the crowd into the living room, I think I hear Brendan muttering something about needing to find himself a girlfriend who can bake. Colt smacks him in the chest with the back of his hand. “Yeah, right, dude. Like you could even get a girlfriend.”
“Says the guy who couldn’t get a date to prom.”
“I had a date! But she—“
“Boys. Enough.” Dad’s voice cuts into their incipient bickering. “We have a guest. And she’s brought us brownies. If you don’t cut it out, she might not want to come back. And then we’ll never get to eat her award-winning brownies again.”
Gabby casts a glance at me, a combination of a plea for help and amusement at my dad and brothers. I just grin back at her. But I join her on the couch when Dad settles her next to him, taking the seat on her other side. Leaning in close, I whisper in her ear, “You wanted them to like you. Mission accomplished.”
She bites her lip to stifle her grin, and Dad starts asking her about what she’s been up to the last few weeks, listening intently as she fills him in on the gigs she’s been playing.
Sliding my arm behind her along the back of the couch, I’m happy when she settles against me, her hand resting on my leg. Every so often, I interject something into her conversation with my dad, either adding in things she left out, or asking questions when I find out something new, but mostly let her do the talking. My attention is divided between their conversation and the one between my brothers, and I’m enjoying the sense of comfort and familiarity. Even if Mom and my manager think Gabby’s a distraction (she’s not), at least Dad and my brothers make her feel welcome. That has to count for something.
Filing into the kitchen when Mom calls us in for dinner, Gabby’s seated between Dad and me once again. Which suits Gabby fine, but isn’t exactly the perfect setup for Mom to get to know her better. But I hold my tongue, not wanting to start anything when everyone is getting along for now.
Gabby tells stories about growing up in Texas. My brothers reciprocate by trying to tell embarrassing stories about me, but the problem is that I’m not embarrassed by the video of me in my underwear rocking out on air guitar to “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Queen is awesome. And I was an awesome ten year old. Besides, the two of them were playing backup, also in their Spiderman and Batman Underoos, so if anyone decides to dig out old home videos, they’ll be as embarrassed (or not) as me.
When it’s time for dessert, I’m pleased to see that Mom has given us each a small piece of brownie—hers is only a tiny square that she could eat in one bite, but at least she took some—and her usual berries with a dollop of whipped cream piled on the side.
“Oh, fresh berries,” Gabby gushes. “These will be great with the brownies. This looks so good.” My mom freezes in the process of passing a dish to Colt, surprised by the compliment, but she recovers quickly.
Mom looks over at Gabby after Colt takes his dish, giving Gabby the first genuine smile I think I’ve seen from her. “Thank you. I was worried you might not like me adding to your brownies, but I already had the berries and whipped cream prepared, so I didn’t want them to go to waste.”
Shaking her head, Gabby scoops up a little of each thing in her dish. “Of course not. I was raised that it’s polite to bring something when invited over for a meal, and since I haven’t the last two times we were here, I wanted to this time at least. You have a beautiful home, but I don’t know your decorating sense. I can’t get a bottle of wine yet. But my mom taught me how to make a good pan of brownies, so I settled on that.”
Once again, Mom seems taken aback by Gabby. Settling back in her chair, she picks up her fork. “Well, thank you. Brownies are a rare treat around here.”
As my dad and brothers make sounds of agreement, Mom meets my eyes, her expression seeming to convey some kind of apology for not giving Gabby a chance sooner. I give her a small smile in return, happy that the lingering tension between my family and my girlfriend seems to have resolved. They’re both important to me, and I want them all to get along. My mom was the last holdout, but even she’s coming around.
Which is confirmed when I hear her ask Gabby, “So do you have a busy week next week?”
Gabby glances at me, eyes wide, then turns back to my mom. “Pretty busy. My last recording session is this week on Monday and Tuesday, then I have a lesson on Wednesday. And Jonathan mentioned that he got us tickets to see Charlotte James.”
At my nod, Mom says, “My, that does sound busy. And after that?”
“Just practicing and lessons. Spending time with Jonathan when he’s free before I go back to Texas for a couple of weeks before school starts. Why do you ask?”
Mom’s eyes flicker to me then back to Gabby as she shifts in her seat. “I was thinking we should get lunch together one day before you have to leave. Maybe the week after next? Would that work for you?”
“Yes. Sure. That sounds great. I could do lunch pretty much any day. Would you want me to come here? Or I could make us something at the apartment …”
Mom’s tinkling laugh interrupts Gabby, and she shakes her head. “No, no. I’ll take you out somewhere. Let’s do it that Monday. Sound good?”
“Perfect.”
Conversation moves on to new topics, but not before Mom gives me a quick smile. Gabby’s not as quick to recover, giving me a wide-eyed look, but trying not to broadcast her surprise. I guess she didn’t believe me that my mom would be inviting her to lunch. Given Mom’s attitude before now, I can’t really blame her.
I lean in close and whisper, “It’s a good thing, Gabby. I told you she was trying.”
She gives me a quick smile before turning to answer a question from Brendan. Finished with my dessert, I push the dish away from me and relax back at the table, resting my arm on the back of Gabby’s chair and letting my fingers stroke the bare skin of her shoulder in her sleeveless top.
Contentment settles in my chest, and I let out a sigh. Gabby glances at me, her fingers settling on my thigh, giving it a quick squeeze.
Yes. This is how things should be. If they stayed like this forever, I’d live and die a happy man.