Page 19 of Captivating Anika
That works. A few minutes later the baby is happy in her mother’s arms on the couch, and Mom is in the kitchen putting on the kettle for some tea.
“So where were you last night?” she asks, grabbing mugs down from my cupboard.
“Last night?” I echo, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.
“Yeah.” She points at the Tupperware container she carried in and tossed on the counter the moment she spotted the baby. “I sent Dad over last night to drop those off and he said you weren’t home.”
“What are they?” I ask, hoping to distract her.
There’s no way I’m ready to answer her question without exposing myself to further scrutiny. I’m still trying to come to terms with what happened in Hog’s barn last night, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to hide my confusion from my mother.
She has a sixth sense for anything reeking of a romantic prospect. I swear, she notices every-fucking-thing and becomes like a terrier, not letting go until she has an answer that satisfies her. It was infuriating as a teenager because I could never hide anything to do with boys from her. Nowadays, it’s only annoying when she pries.
The last thing I need is for her to find out about that kiss. She’d make a big deal out of it, and I’m not even sure if it was one.
Don’t get me wrong, Hog’s kiss shook my world in the best possible way, but when moments after he acted like nothing happened, I wasn’t sure which side was up. I still don’t know, because he certainly didn’t seem that affected over dinner, while I could barely swallow my food, despite how absolutely delicious those tamales were.
He never mentioned the kiss, not even when I was getting ready to leave and he walked me to the door. For a moment I thought he was going to kiss me again when he bent down, but all I got was a peck on the cheek and a promise he’d be in touch.
The entire drive home, and most of the night last night, I was left wondering if that kiss actually happened or was a figment of my imagination.
“Jalebi,” Mom says, opening the container. “We can have some with tea.”
“What is jalebi?” Lindsey wants to know.
“It’s a dessert or a treat,” my mother is quick to respond. “A deep-fried pastry covered in sugar syrup. It’s Anika’s favorite.”
She’s right, it was my favorite, but I’ve been avoiding sugar for the past year, which is why I haven’t been over at my parents’ house for dinner as much as I used to. Food is my mother’s love language, and refusing her food is like rejecting a hug to her. Every time I indulge, I can feel the effects on my body.
Maybe I should bite the bullet and tell them what’s going on with me, but not today. I have other things on my mind.
The talk is mostly about babies while we have our tea, and Mom gets up to leave shortly after.
“I have to get home to get dinner started,” she announces. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to stop in? Trin says Tucker is going to be there.”
“Thanks, Mom, but maybe next week? I really want to get the painting done today.”
She pulls me down to kiss my cheek.
“Okay, Sweetie, but don’t be a stranger, okay? Even Dad said we see so little of you these days.”
I shut the door behind her and close my eyes, banging my forehead against the doorpost.
“I’m going to have to take lessons from your mom for later,” Lindsey remarks behind me. “She does that guilt thing really well.”
I groan before turning around and walking back inside. “She is the master.”
Lindsey tilts her head and eyes me speculatively.
“She didn’t catch on to you avoiding her question,” she points out.
“What question was that?”
I know full well what she’s referring to and, for a moment, curse the fact I have not one, but two, intuitive and nosy women in my life.
Lindsey grins. “Nice try. Where were you last night?”
“What if I tell you it’s none of your business?”