He smiles and pecks me on the lips. “I couldn’t sleep,” he says. “Finally gave up and came over here after midnight.”
I smile, even though it’s way too early for me to feel like smiling. “You missed me.”
Graham pulls me against him. “It’s weird,” he says. “I used to be fine when I was alone. But now that I have you, I’m lonely when I’m alone.”
Sometimes he says the sweetest things. Words I want to write down and keep forever so that I’ll never forget them. But I never write them down because every time he says something sweet, I take off his clothes and need him inside me more than I need to write down his words.
That’s exactly what happens. We make love and I forget to write down his words. We’ve been trying to catch our breath for the last minute when he turns to me and says, “What did I miss while you were sleeping?”
I shake my head. “It’s too weird.”
He lifts up onto his elbow and looks at me like I’m not getting out of this. I sigh and roll onto my back. “Okay, fine. We were at your apartment in the dream. Only your apartment was a really tiny shit-hole in Manhattan. I woke up before you because I wanted to do something nice and make you breakfast. But I didn’t know how to cook and all you had were boxes of cereal, so I decided to make you a bowl of Lucky Charms. But every time I would pour the cereal into the bowl, the only thing that would come out of the box were tiny little comedians with microphones.”
“Wait,” Graham says, interrupting me. “Did you say comedians? Like as in people who tell jokes?”
“I told you it was weird. And yes. They were telling knock-knock jokes and yo-momma jokes. I was getting so angry because all I wanted to do was make you a bowl of Lucky Charms, but there were hundreds of tiny, annoying comedians climbing all over your kitchen, telling lame jokes. When you woke up and walked into the kitchen, you found me crying. I was a sobbing mess, running around your kitchen, trying to squash all the little comedians with a mason jar. But instead of being freaked out, you just walked up behind me and wrapped your arms around me. You said, ‘Quinn, it’s okay. We can have toast for breakfast.’？”
Graham immediately drops his face into the pillow, stifling his laughter. I shove him in the arm. “Try and decipher that one, smartass.”
Graham sighs and pulls me to him. “It means that I should probably cook breakfast from now on.”
I like that plan.
“What do you want? French toast? Pancakes?”
I lift up and kiss him. “Just you.”
“Again?”
I nod. “I want seconds.”
I get exactly what I want for breakfast. Then we shower together, drink coffee together, and leave for work.
We couldn’t even spend an entire night apart, but I don’t think this means we live together. That’s a huge step neither of us are willing to admit we took. I think if anything, this just means we no longer live alone. If there’s a difference.
His mother probably thinks we already live together since she thinks we’ve been dating a lot longer than we have. I’ve been to Graham’s parents’ house at least once a week since the first night he took me there. Luckily, he stopped with the fictional stories. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to keep up with everything he told her the first night.
His mother absolutely loves me now and his father already refers to me as his daughter-in-law. I don’t mind it. I know we’ve only been together three months, but Graham will be my husband one day. It’s not even a question. It’s what happens when you meet your future husband. You eventually marry him.
And eventually . . . you introduce him to your mother.
Which is what is happening tonight. Not because I want him to meet her, but because it’s only fair since I’ve met his. I show you mine, you show me yours.
* * *
“Why are you so nervous?” Graham reaches across the seat and puts pressure on my knee. The knee I’ve been bouncing up and down since we got in the car. “I’m the one meeting your mother. I should be the nervous one.”
I squeeze his hand. “You’ll understand after you meet her.”
Graham laughs and brings my hand to his mouth, kissing it. “Do you think she’ll hate me?”
We’re on my mother’s street now. So close. “You aren’t Ethan. She already hates you.”
“Then why are you nervous? If she already hates me, I can’t disappoint her.”
“I don’t care if she hates you. I’m scared you’ll hate her.”