Forbidden Attraction (Book 1)✔

♤Chapter 26♤

  “Do we have to go?” I almost whined, watching my mom apply her eyeliner.

 She replied with her mouth hanging open, “Don’t be rude, his mother invited us,” she stood straight, setting her brush down and getting her mascara, “And we don’t have anything to do, why not?” she retorted, unscrewing her mascara and dipping it a couple times before leaning forward again, toward the mirror; applying it.

 It was Thanksgiving. One of my least favorite events of the year. Why? Because I hate crowds. I love food and I love my family, but I really hate crowds. And this year Mom and I decided to stay home for Thanksgiving — which I was looking forward to — only for Chris to tell me, before we went on break, that his mom was wondering if we could come over for Thanksgiving. That was if we didn't have any plans.

 And the first thing I’d asked myself was what was she up to. Because if she was gonna start all that ‘your daughter might be dating my son and keeping it from us’ bullshit, we might just have a problem. I didn’t doubt that that could be brought up, whether both Chris and I were in the room, but I was all too eager to tell them the truth if it came down to it.  Which was that nothing was happening between me and her son. Now worse than ever.

 So basically,  we were going over for dinner because my mom doesn’t know how to say no.

 Okay maybe it’s my fault, she did ask me if Charlotte could cook and I told her yes. It was a automatic response because I couldn’t lie to her for something so small. Even though she’d hinted that if she couldn’t cook we weren’t gonna go, I just couldn’t downplay Charlotte’s cooking like that. Sis can throw down in the kitchen and people should know this. Not every white person just sprinkles some salt and call it a day. At least now I know from experience.

 I was already dressed. It didn’t take long because I already knew what I was gonna wear. Some light jeans, a white knitted sweater, and leather boots. Her on the other hand…

 I was laying on my stomach, watching her do her face. She honestly didn’t need makeup and I’m not just saying that because she’s my mom. She eats right and works out every now and then, drinks a lot of water with lemon juice in it — which is disgusting — and sticks to a strict diet. Most of the time.

You hardly see a wrinkle on her face, not even laugh lines. That may be because she doesn’t laugh as much as she used to, and she didn’t have any blemishes. I aspire to have skin like hers.

 But she likes it like most females seem to, so she does what she does. It didn’t bother me because she didn’t try to pull me into it.

 Topic switch…

 Christian.

 Ever since the... incident, I haven’t held a decent conversation with him.

 That day after he left, my mother had sat me down and did something I never thought I’d ever experience. Something I thought I'd gotten out of because of me being so smart. But I didn't.

  She gave me the talk. And I cried.

 Because all I did was see a guy in his underwear. I didn’t touch him, nor did I smile. I shooed him away like the good, innocent daughter I am.

 This woman acted like I sucked his dick on the recliner. And I tell you, I cried. I started tearing up throughout her speech, then once she was finished, I went to my room, locked myself in there and cried for about 15 minutes.

 And so I haven’t spoken to him.

 He’s tried to talk to me. Several times a day actually. He texts me, I reply. Sometimes. Then he calls me when I don’t reply and I answer. Sometimes.

 He just doesn’t understand how embarrassed and uncomfortable I was. And some of the things my mom said, made it even harder for me. Which is one of the reasons why I can’t even look at him right now. That and the fact that I wanted him to suffer for what he put me through.

 “But why couldn’t we just have Thanksgiving alone for once?” I asked. I haven’t told her that I’ve been, somewhat, ignoring Chris. Not that she’d have a problem with it at all. The topic isn’t something I want to bring up again.

 “Can you stop?” She retorted, turning to give me a look, “What’s the problem? You’ve had dinner with them before and you said it wasn’t so bad, so what’s the difference with Thanksgiving?”

 I sighed heavily, not bothering to respond to her question and asked, “What time are we leaving again?”

She fixed her hair in the mirror, before straightening. She turned to the side, checking herself out and I stared at her blankly, holding back a smile. Until she finally said, “Right now.”

 I sighed in relief because as much as I was dreading this evening, I did not want to lay here and watch her for another half hour. So I pulled myself out of bed and went to gather some of the food stuff that we were bringing over.

She made vanilla cake, mac and cheese, and some cornbread. But she also got up early this morning and made some ham for us, “just in case” and also cause I’m a fatass and I might eat something when I get back.

 I’m not kidding, my mom has pointed out, on multiple occasions, my weight gain in the past couple of months. Mostly found in my midsection. And a little contributed to my thighs. And lets not forget my double chin. Least to say, I had trouble buttoning my jeans when I was getting ready and a couple of my other jeans I struggle to move up over my upper thighs. I keep my room door closed when I get ready now solely for that reason. If my mom ever saw me, everything would get worse.

 Who’s fault was this you ask? Christian. Because he feeds me everyday. He gets me breakfast, then he forces me to eat lunch with him, and then he gets me junk all the time. The second he finds out what I like, he gets it.

Of course the last couple of days before break were different since I wasn't speaking to him. I didn't go to lunch, but sometimes when he'd bring breakfast in for first block he doesn't stop staring at the side of my face until I eat something.

 Despite that, I didn’t hate the weight gain. It didn’t bother me until I had to put skinny jeans on. But I look cute. I think so. My mom doesn’t though. But she hasn't seen the worst and I tend to keep it from her for as long as I can.

 “Ready?” She asks, grabbing her pocket book, then the glass container of mac and cheese.

 Not even a little bit, I thought. But smiled and said, “Yeah.”