Page 49 of My Big Fat Shifter Wedding

“My Henleys?”

“Superhero lumberjack.”

She was altering my perception of the world. “What about my turtlenecks?”

She stopped in her tracks and turned, reaching up to run her fingers through my oiled beard. “International lumberjack of mystery,” she said with an undeniable hunger in her eyes. “Trust me, it’s hot.”

“Is this where I make a joke about Pussy Galore or Xenia Onatopp?”

“Not unless you wanna pay for the cosplay.”

My eyes went wide, because what man wouldn’t? “Wait, that’s an option?”

She laughed and continued her march to the front door, but I was still stuck on the idea of my partner dressing up like a Bond girl, specifically in the bedroom.

“Olivia, is that an option!?”

“Now that I think about it, I’ve always been much more partial to the fembots from Austin Powers.”

She dropped it on me like she was merely telling me the weather, and by then, she had made it to the front doors, which she opened without waiting for me to do so, cutting off any salacious response I might have had. Thankfully, after more than half a year of dating, my lower half had learned to behave itself, so I didn’t have to worry about popping a boner at the thought of her in the frilly pink negligee from the movie.

God, she really made me feel so young again. Every time I got too into my head about all the years I’d wasted being directionless or struggling to survive through bills, I could think of so many amazing times I had with her that would bring me back to center and remind me that the most important time was now.

That’s why they call it the present, she had told me once during a particularly bad funk. Because it’s a gift.

Still, it wasn’t like I was about to let her get away with it, so I hurried to grab the door behind her, putting my free hand on the small of her back and murmuring, “Don’t think I’m going to forget about this.”

She shot me a mischievous look that reminded me my partner was a bit of a freak.

And I fucking loved it.

“I know you won’t. That’s why I said it.”

I should have known better than to try to get the last word, because God, her confidence was as hot as ever to me, and I had to school my features into a pleasant expression appropriate for greeting the attendant who asked us who we were visiting and to present our IDs.

Yeah, I needed to get myself straight and not thinking about any bedroom activities right before we were going to see my mom. While my mother and I were very open with each other, there were definitely limits to it. Sex was one of those limits.

I asked the attendant how her daughter’s middle-school graduation went. She was flattered that I remembered, and apparently it went awesome. I made a point of remembering a few personal details about the workers who cared for my mother every single day. And, the added benefit was that the extra conversation made the rather intensive process of checking in fly by. Perhaps it wouldn’t take so long if the place didn’t have a computer system that ran exclusively on what had to be the original Internet Explorer, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. I would happily be patient with their slow-ass internet if it meant they could afford another jazzercise instructor or archery teacher to enrich the seniors’ lives. After all, my mother had told me many times how the place was so great because she was finally getting to try all the hobbies she hadn’t been able to as a single mother, whether due to budget or even time.

Soon enough, we were walking into one of the day rooms. There she was. My mother. Angela Insrym. She looked adorable, sitting at the table where she was waiting for us, coke-bottle glasses all shiny, dress freshly pressed. A lot of emotions hit me all at once, from fondness to the sharp realization that my mother was getting older, to pride in both her and Olivia. Two of the most amazing women I knew were about to meet.

“There you are!” my mother said, throwing her arms into the air before grabbing onto the handles of her walker beside her so she could stand up. While she didn’t need it to be fully ambulatory, the mobility device did help her with certain physical actions. My mom could be fiercely independent, yes, so it was a huge relief that she didn’t fight things like her increased lens prescription or her walker and shower stool. One of my biggest fears was that she would have a slip and fall in the shower, since I’d read that was one of the biggest risks to seniors. And whether or not I liked to think about it, my mother was most definitely a senior now.

A senior and thriving. The march of time might be relentless, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t enjoy the path it took and admire the journey we’d been through along the way.

“Here we are,” I replied, striding toward her with Olivia’s arm hooked through mine. “It’s good to see you, Mo⁠—”

“Yes, yes, I see you all the time! Let me talk to this amazing woman I’ve been hearing all about!”

Like something out of a sitcom, she playfully dodged my embrace and Tokyo-drifted her walker to be in front of Olivia.

“My, aren’t you a vision? It’s so lovely to meet you. You can call me Angela, of course.”

I tried not to chuckle. It looked like Olivia’s soul was attempting to leave her body. While my partner was progressive in many, many ways, I knew that, to her, the idea of calling a respected elder by their first name was akin to spitting in their face. I appreciated that part of her culture.

“How about Miss Angela instead?” I said, hoping to throw Olivia a bone. I didn’t want her to have to explain that her traditional Italian family had some culturally specific hang-ups right off the bat unless she wanted to. And although I knew it would likely feel better for her to use the term “Mrs.”, my mother had never been married and wasn’t bashful about the fact.

“Miss An…” my mother murmured before she caught the grateful expression on Olivia’s face. Thankfully, my mother wasn’t the type of woman to lock onto that as a weakness and then harp on it whenever she could. Rather, she clocked that something was going on that she could ask about later and adapted to the situation at hand. “Of course. Miss Angela is perfectly fine.”