So I tough it out, and we get our nails done, have a picnic at the park, and go to the La Brea Tar Pits together. It’s not a bad visit overall, but the apartment is small and stuffy, and doesn’t feel like home. For some reason, it just makes me miss Adamson all that much more.
“That’s a lovely dress,” Mom says when I come out of the bathroom in a pink cocktail dress with nude pumps, and a sparkly little purse that Ranger picked out. I swear, the guy’s addicted to cute things. His cheeks turn pink when he sees something he likes, and then if you try to call him out on it, he gets pissy as hell.
“Thank you,” I say, putting my hand over my belly to quiet down the butterflies. Dinner with the parents is never easy, especially not when you’ve got more than boyfriend to worry about. “Do I look okay?”
“You’re my daughter, aren’t you?” she says, and I smile.
There’s a knock on the door, and I find myself sucking in a sharp breath to calm the nerves before I go to open it.
The door swings wide, and there they are, standing in a group, all dressed in sharp suits and ties. My mouth drops open, and I’m left staring dumbstruck as Spencer puts a huge bouquet of roses in my arms. Well hello, Adamson Student Council.
“Good to see you, too,” he says, flashing a grin.
“Good evening, Chuck,” the twins say in unison.
Ranger offers up a single pink tulip, while Church gives me an appreciative once-over.
“I have to say, our last assistant was nowhere near as attractive.”
My cheeks flush, and I sputter for a moment, but Church is just … well, flirty like that. Sometimes. I mean, when he’s not acting like a stone-cold sociopath or psychopath or whatever. “He’s probably in love with you.” Micah’s words flicker in my mind for a moment, but I brush them aside.
“Thank you guys for coming,” I say as I glance over and find a limo waiting for us.
Ah, yes, the perks of dating rich dudes.
You won’t find me complaining.
“Mom, you remember the boys?” I say, taking her arm as she comes to the door.
“Right. Three of them are your boyfriends, and the other two are …”
“Just friends,” Ranger supplies, answering my mother’s question before I get a chance to. He turns and heads down the stairs, and the rest of us follow.
“He’s been cranky since the Mr. Dave thing,” Tobias whispers, taking my left hand and making Spencer scowl. “He’s so fucking worried about you. Told you he’d turn you into Jenica.”
“Into his sister, right,” I say, as we all crowd inside the limo and Church presents my mother with a bottle of what must be very expensive champagne. Her eyes light up and her cheeks flush.
“Thank you, I’d love a glass, but I can’t,” she says. “I’m still in recovery, and even though alcohol was never my vice, I’ll have to stick with lemon water tonight.”
“Completely understandable,” Church says, and then he pours himself a glass, which Mom doesn’t particularly appreciate considering he’s underage. But I suppose you can’t tell a seventeen-nearly-eighteen year old that he can’t drink the expensive champagne in the back of his own limo. Or, well, I’m just assuming this car belongs to the Montagues. But in reality, it could be any of the guys’.
“Mrs. Carson, is it? Or do you prefer to be called Eloise?” Church ask, and I narrow my eyes on him. He’s putting the whole parent-schmoozing act on again which, to be quite honest, my mother is twice as likely to fall for as my father. And considering he bought it hook, line, and sinker, Mom is doomed.
“Eloise is great, or even Ms. Reitman. I’m changing my name back. It’s about time, seeing as we’ve been divorced for four years and all.” Mom falls silent and glances over at me like she expects me to throw some sort of fit over that. I’ll admit, when my parents first got divorced, I was heartbroken, but I’ve come a long way since then. She’d know that, if she’d been around to see it. “Actually, I’ve got a new man in my life, so really, it’s only appropriate.”
“You’re not thinking of marrying that guy, are you?” I ask, because it’s one thing for my mother to be dating, and a whole other for her to be into a guy who could very well be a serial killer. Or wait, do you have to kill more than two people to be a serial killer? And then there are at least three accomplices involved in all this … Ugh. I rub my hand over my face.
“Not yet, Charlotte, but I like to keep an open mind.” Mom smiles and pushes some ringlets back from her face, her brown eyes scanning the boys fanned out across the seats. “Now, if you marry three boys, whose last name do you take?” she asks, and then laughs like she actually thinks it’s a funny joke.
