Page 37 of A Little Crush (The Little Things #6)
After ending the call, I finish unpacking, throw in a load of laundry, find a snack in the kitchen, then head to the theater room.
It doesn’t take long until the Gilmore Girls theme song echoes through the sound system, and I settle into the couch cushions, preparing for a marathon in my favorite small town, Stars Hollow.
Apparently, my mom’s friends made her watch it for years, and, grudgingly, she slowly fell in love with the characters, too, before continuing the tradition with me.
And even though it’s dated in more ways than one, it’s also my comfort show.
Maybe it’s because I share the same name as the mother-daughter duo.
Maybe it’s because I’m also awkward and nerdy and don’t always know how to be in my own skin.
If only there was an adorable German Shepherd in the mix, it would officially be the perfect show.
Even then, it comes pretty close in my book.
I’m not sure how much time passes when my mom calls, “Hey, babe! Oo, what episode?”
Peeking over the edge of the couch, I answer, “the one where Rory’s introduced to the Life and Death Brigade.”
“Aww, that’s a good one. ‘ You jump, I jump, Jack ,’” she adds, quoting one of my favorite scenes in the episode with Logan and Rory. She plops down on the cushion next to me and steals some popcorn from the bowl in my lap.
“Hey!” I start to pull the bowl from her, but she only tosses the stolen piece to Hades who’s curled up on my opposite side.
As he catches it, she dives in for another handful, munching on a few buttery kernels. “You know he’s not supposed to be on the couch.”
Stroking Hades’ soft fur, I argue, “I needed snuggles.”
She nods her understanding and caves instantly. “Long flight?”
“Guess you could say that.”
“I bet it was extra fun after they lost the first game of the season,” she adds. “How’s the team?”
“Gloomy except Reeves. ”
She chuckles. “Do you think anything could make that man have a bad day?”
“I doubt it,” I offer dryly. Pretty sure the only thing that could dampen Oliver Reeves’ mood is if his wife stubbed her toe and he wasn’t there to kiss it better.
“What about Jax?” my mom prods. I don’t miss the knowing glint on her eye. “Your dad’s worried he’s putting too much pressure on himself.”
Is he that obvious? Why, yes. Yes, he is.
I pick at my cuticles, debating how many details I should give before deciding on a broader approach instead of getting into the nitty gritty. You know, like Jaxon climbing into my bed without an invitation. Not that he wouldn’t have gotten one with a simple request. But I digress.
“Yeah, Jaxon likes to put a lot of pressure on himself,” I admit, “but it isn’t Dad’s fault.”
“I know, but it’s still hard to see someone you care about beating themselves up.”
“True.”
“Speaking of which.” She tilts her head toward the show. “You sure you’re okay? I know this is your comfort show.”
Apparently, Jax isn’t the only one who’s obvious.
Barely casting the television a glance, I pick up another popcorn piece and nibble on the edge, lying, “I’m good.” Or maybe it isn’t a lie. Honestly, I’m not sure.
I can feel my mom’s gaze bouncing around my face as if she can’t decide, either, but I don’t bother looking up. The less help I give so she can read me like an open book, the better.
“How’s watching Poppy?” she asks.
“Good.” I smile, and this time it’s more genuine. “She’s the cutest thing ever.”
“She really is.” My mom shifts on the cushion, trying to make herself comfortable. “You know, when we had Mav and Archer, it was a pretty big trigger for your dad. How are you on that front?”
My lips bunch on one side as I realize why she was shifting on the couch. Because she was uncomfortable. Not physically, but by the topic she was about to bring up.
Sneaky, Mom. Very sneaky.
We don’t usually talk about it. My OCD. Not that it’s taboo or anything. But the more attention you give OCD, the louder it can be, and since my dad has the same not-so-awesome disorder, they’re well-versed in the do’s and don’ts accompanying it.
“I’m handling it,” I answer.
“You’re sure?”
I nod. “Yeah. I mean, I can feel when I want to question things or when I want to act on my compulsions, but overall, I’m able to keep it in check.”
“That’s good.”
“Why do you ask?”
“No reason in particular.” She tucks my hair behind my ear. “I just worry about you sometimes. I know you have your fancy psychology degree and that you know how to take care of yourself, but it’s okay if you need a tune-up, you know?”
She’s right. It is. And it’s not uncommon, either.
Experiencing new things or routine shifts are known triggers for a lot of disorders, including my own.
Add in twenty-four-seven access to an attractive hockey coach I’ve been in love with for decades, and the responsibility of a helpless child I adore, and I’m not sure I ever really stood a chance.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m not above asking for help if I need it.”
“Good.” She steals another handful of popcorn before patting her shoulder. “Now, get over here. Hades isn’t the only snuggler in this house. ”
Scooting closer, I rest my temple on her shoulder and sigh, grateful for my mom and the relationship we have.
That I can talk to her. Commiserate with her.
Share everything with her. Okay, maybe I didn’t share everything, but it isn’t because I can’t.
I’m just…not ready. And after decades of conversations with my mom, I know she’s okay with that part, too.
The waiting game. The open door and open arms I know are ready to catch me whenever I’m ready to let her.
She’s my rock. My confidante. My best friend.
“Missed you,” I tell her.
“Missed you, too.” She kisses the top of my head, then rests her own against me while Gilmore Girls plays on the screen in front of us. Two episodes later, the popcorn’s gone, and an almost empty pint of Ben & Jerry’s sits on the coffee table beside the empty bowl when my phone buzzes with a text.
Dodger
So…I heard we broke up.
With a laugh, I unlock my phone so I can respond.
“Who is it?” my mom asks.
“It’s Dodger.”
“Aww, how is he?”
“Good.” Giving her the side-eye, I add, “We broke up.”
“That was quick,” she muses, but I don’t miss the cocky lilt in her voice. It’s the same one she uses when talking about Santa and the Tooth Fairy with all the grandbabies.
Twisting toward her, I say, “You knew, didn’t you?”
“I’m your mother. Of course I knew.” She lifts her chin toward my phone. “You gonna answer him?”
Oh. Right.
“Yup.” I reread the message, then type my response.
Me
Seems word travels fast.
Dodger
Apparently. How are you doing?
Me
Good. Watching a show with my mom. Why do you ask?
Dodger
Just checking in. Wanted to make sure you’re okay.
Me
How very sweet of you.
Dodger
I’m an excellent fake boyfriend.
I grin even wider.
“What did he say?” my mom prods.
“That he’s an excellent fake boyfriend.”
“ Ex fake boyfriend, right?” she counters.
Good point.
I type exactly that and hit send.
Me
Ex fake boyfriend.
Dodger
Right. EX fake boyfriend. How could I forget?
Me
So, how are things with you and the band?
Dodger
Still on hiatus for now. Judge’s nephews are a pain in the ass.
Me
That bad, huh?
I don’t know why I ask. We went to the same university together, and yes.
His assessment is spot on. Jagger, Hawke, and Ford are menaces.
They’re cocky, athletic, reckless. And okay, yeah, they’re good-looking and wealthy and charismatic when they want to be.
But they also have no issue reminding the rest of the town that, as far as their father’s concerned, they’re closer to kings than regular people and should be treated as such.
Or maybe that’s only their public persona, and they’re really gentlemen with big hearts and a penchant for community service in the form of fight nights, gambling, and underground deals.
Who the hell knows? They don’t let anyone get close, especially not a Goody Two-shoes like me.
My phone buzzes with another text.
Dodger
You have no idea. Speaking of, I just got a text from Judge, but I’m glad things are going well and we’re on the same page. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?
Me
Of course. :) Thanks again for your help, and good luck with the nephews!
Dodger
Thanks, we’re gonna need it.
“Oo, who are Judge’s nephews?” my mom chimes in.
“Mom!” I tuck my phone to my chest, but she only laughs.
“I’m only asking.”
“You were reading over my shoulder,” I argue.
“Yes, yes, I was, and I don’t feel bad about it in the slightest. ”
“Talk about an invasion of privacy?—”
“Are you going to answer my question or not?” she prods. “Who are Judge’s nephews?”
My eyes thin, but I answer her anyway. “Just some boys who are troublemakers.”
“Troublemakers, huh?”
“Yup,” I answer.
“Good.” She grins. “You could learn a thing or two from them.”
“Excuse me?” I elbow her playfully. “You know, most moms would love having a perfect daughter like me.”
“I do love having you,” she argues. “And you’re definitely pretty close to perfect.
All I’m saying is, there’s nothing wrong with not taking life too seriously or making sure that every second is planned out.
Some of the best things in life are the things you never expect.
You really think I planned on sleeping with my boss when I worked for your dad? ”
My nose scrunches. “Ew!”
“I’m just saying.” She kisses the top of my head again.
“You’re allowed to make mistakes and be impulsive and have fun before you settle down and start your career.
I think traveling and nannying is a great start.
Now, if we could just convince you to have an actual fling or two instead of a fake one with a rockstar, then I’d be really impressed. ”
I snort. Count on my mom to call me out like this.
Giving her a mock glare, I mutter, “Gee, thanks.”
“Mm-hmm.” She tosses her arm around my shoulders. “Now, come here. I’m ready for more snuggles.”
“But only if I don’t overthink it, right?”
Her light, airy laugh wraps around me like a warm hug, and she squeezes me tighter. Now that I think about it, she might be onto something. The whole, don’t take life so seriously and have a fling or two. There’s nothing wrong with it, right ?
Keeping this in mind, I open another conversation on my phone, though I’ve been avoiding this one for days.
Eric
Hey! Any chance you’d be interested in being my plus-one for the banquet this weekend?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I type my response.
Me
Hey! Sorry I haven’t responded. But, yes. If the offer is still on the table, I'd love to go with you.
I hit send and flip my phone upside down in my lap, tapping the edge against my leg.
One, two, three . Pause. One, two, three .
It vibrates.
Eric
Sounds great! I’ll pick you up at seven. See you then!