𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭 || ᴊᴇɴʟɪsᴀ

𝐭 𝐡 𝐢 𝐫 𝐭 𝐞 𝐞 𝐧

Lisa feigned surprise as I closed the door on my childhood room before she could see inside. “Not even a peek?”

“Oh no.” I took her hand and guided her toward the bathroom so she could change.

She lingered at the door, suddenly looking like she’d reconsidered the appropriateness of being in Mama’s house. “Are you sure it’s fine for me to stay for dinner?”

I ran my hand up her arm, feeling her muscle tighten then relax again. “Trust me. Mama loves two things more than anything. Surprise visitors and feeding people. Feeding a surprise visitor will make her week.”

“But is it okay for you?”

“Yes. Get changed, I’ll see you downstairs when you’re done.”

I sat at the kitchen table and distracted myself from thoughts of her changing upstairs by pouring a large glass of white.
I’d barely swallowed my first mouthful when Mama pounced. “How’s work, baby?”

“Busy, same as always.”

“You look tired.”

I shrugged. There was nothing to say. I was tired. Partly from work but also from shortening my sleep hours with what sometimes felt like scheduled lovemaking, wonderful as it was. “No more than usual.”

She moved to stand beside me, body warm against my shoulder as she ran her hand through my curls. “I worry about you, Bunny.”

Here we go. Countdown to relationship status in three…two…

“Ever since Chahee left—” Bingo. “You’ve been working nonstop. You need some balance in your life.”

I twisted to look up at her. “I have plenty of balance, Mama and besides, I’ve worked too hard to just let it all fall apart now.”

My mother gave me her look. The one that told me I was about to be delivered some home truths disguised as gentle guidance. Her style wasn’t to jackhammer, oh no. She was water, gently washing at your feet. It felt nice at first, until you realized that she’d rotted away all your foundations and you were about to be carried away by her tide.

She was like a song stuck on repeat. She’d start with gently reminding me how companionship completes a person, then move onto talking about marriage, which would segue into the grand finale of how much she wanted grandchildren. Having children was dead horse territory—the topic could be flogged no more. I’d been adamant for as long as I could remember that I was not interested in kids. Maternal I was not.

Mercifully, Lisa's footsteps on the stairs made Mama abort her strafing run. I was safe, for now. Mama bent to kiss my forehead, picked up her glass of wine and walked away to check the oven. Lisa stepped hesitantly into the kitchen. She’d changed into tight jeans and tighter tank, let her hair down and reapplied perfume. The scent always did strange things to me, made me feel like I was unconsciously gravitating toward her.

Lisa winked at me then looked to Mama. “Connie, that smells absolutely amazing.”

Mama’s face was part beatific, part smug. “Wait’ll you taste it.”

I shuffled to the fridge. “What can I get you to drink? Beer, wine, water?”

“Beer would be great, thank you.”

“Any preference?”

“Whatever you’ve got is fine.”

I pulled a bottle from the fridge, popped the top and handed it to her. “There you go.” Wiggling the bottle of white above my head, I asked, “Mama?”