Page 12

Chapter Twelve

Isaiah

“ S top fidgeting.” I glared at Travis.

He sighed. “I’m meeting your mother.”

We were riding the elevator up to her fifteenth-floor condo.

She’d bought a studio condo in this building when I’d moved out.

She claimed she didn’t mind the small space.

In truth, she’d saved her entire life for a place of her own.

Tired of renting, she had a dream of home ownership.

An unexpected inheritance from a distant maiden aunt had helped a lot.

Mom owned the place pretty much outright.

I’d also received a part of that inheritance, and had put it down on my mortgage. I’d renegotiated for a lower payment, so I had a bit more money to spend. Money I’d been trying to spend on Travis.

Which irritated him to no end.

That, in turn, made me grin all the freaking time.

Mom’s studio was in an older building in North Vancouver.

A quick ride on the ferry got her across the Burrard Inlet and another quick bus down Burrard Street landed her at the hospital.

When St. Paul’s moved into its new home a few years from now, she’d have to take the SkyTrain.

I worried, even though public transit was pretty safe.

I worried about everything to do with her.

The bell chimed, the door opened, and we stepped into the hallway.

“That smells…” Travis sniffed. “Oh my God.”

I laughed. “Mom gives some to each of her neighbors. So she was probably walking these hallways about ten minutes ago.”

“And we get to eat that?” Travis’s stomach actually rumbled.

Another laugh escaped my lips. “Yes, we get to eat that.”

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “This, uh, feels fast.”

I cocked my head.

“Meeting the parents.”

“Mom’s been bugging me for weeks. Thanksgiving’s the perfect time. She was going to go all-out anyway. This way she doesn’t have to do it twice.”

“She doesn’t have to do it at all.”

I grasped his hand. “This is my mom’s way. She shows love with food.” I patted my stomach. “Why do you think I work out so much? Have to keep up with her love .”

He squeezed my hand. “My mom would’ve loved you.”

“Well, this will be our way of sharing me with her.” I wasn’t religious, but I was spiritual. On occasion, I believed things beyond what could be explained. I could believe Travis’s mom was here in spirit.

“Yeah, okay.”

Mom’s door swung open. “Good grief, Isaiah. Are you going to stand there and jabber or are you going to come in?”

She eyed Travis. “You’re too skinny. I’m going to put some meat on your bones. Now, do you accept hugs or am I being too forward? My son likes to chastise me for stepping into other people’s spaces.”

“Uh…”

I nudged him forward. I wasn’t one hundred percent certain he was ready for a Mama hug. But he also hauled steel around for a living.

He was tough.

And then he stepped into my mother’s embrace. They were almost the same height and, after a long moment, he sagged against her.

Slowly, I rubbed his back.

He shook under my touch.

Mama soothed, in her gentle way. “Oh, my dear boy. Welcome to my home.”

Welcome home was what she meant. Mama’s place was home to anyone who needed it. I’d often brought home strays as a kid. We couldn’t keep the animals—but some of the kids had become lifelong friends to me and pseudo-adopted children to Mama.

“Okay, ham waits for no one. I hope you like pineapple.” Mama finally released Travis, then put her hands on his cheeks.

As I often did.

And she sent the message I always tried to convey.

I see you for who you are. Your beauty on the inside is what I treasure.

Whether he’d be able to accept those sentiments was a challenge. He struggled. He couldn’t believe someone like me could care about someone like him. That hurt my heart.

“I love pineapple. And ham.” Travis grinned as Mama released him. Then he gave me a glance. Part panic, part relief, part adoration.

Yeah, Mama could engender all those sentiments at the same time.

She bustled back into her condo, wearing her bunny rabbit slippers I’d bought her when she’d moved into the place. I maintained she needed dignified slippers when she greeted guests.

As predicted, she’d laughed uproariously. And had worn them every time I visited since.

Travis and I removed our shoes, then followed her into the condo. She had a pullout couch, a desk, several comfortable chairs, a few bookcases, and a high-top table with four stools. Said table was laden with bowls, containers, and three plates.

“Sit.” Mama bustled to the slow cooker.

“Do you need me to carve the ham?” I fingered the electric carving knife.

“Well, yes, that would be lovely.”

I always carved the ham.

Mama always acted like she was going to do it herself. She was perfectly capable, but she knew the pleasure I took from this simple action.

“What can I do to help?” Travis stood nervously twisting his hands while standing on the artificial border between the kitchen and the living room. A delineation which was just tile floor to carpeting.

“Sit.” Mama motioned to the table. “And maybe turn up the music a bit. I’m playing that all-Christmas music radio station.”

I sighed. “I bought you that stereo system. Heck, I even installed it.”

She waved at the ham. “Too complicated. I grew up listening to the radio, and so I’ll do it now.”

Arguing was pointless.

So I carved the honeyed ham while listening to Silent Night , Jingle Bell Rock , and Do You See What I See . Which happened to be my favorite. I cut Travis a glance.

His eyes were a little misty. He clutched his hand to his chest in a way I knew meant he was touched.

He’d done the same thing when I’d given him a team jersey.

Oh, and tickets to sit beside Becca for our next home game.

I’d waffled back and forth between offering just one or giving him the pair.

In the end, I’d left it up to him. He’d invited his coworker Annabelle.

The look of gratitude he’d given me would stick with me for a very long time. I’m going to keep giving him as many gifts as I can. Stuff that doesn’t cost money. Stuff that makes him smile .

Finally, when I had the ham completely carved, Mama moved the plate to the table. She’d send me home with a massive container, and I’d be having ham-and-honey-mustard sandwiches for a week.

I’d be in seventh heaven.

Mama and I sat at the table. I sat next to Travis and took his hand as Mama offered her prayer of thanksgiving. I’d warned him and he’d assured me he didn’t mind. That he wouldn’t be offended. That he’d respect every tradition in Mama’s house.

We hadn’t specifically talked religion. Nor had we dug into politics, although he’d mentioned whom he voted for last time.

Same party I had, so we were good on that topic.

I could’ve dated someone who didn’t see things the way I did—had, in fact.

We’d avoided politics, but I’d always had a niggling sense of knowing we perceived things differently.

I liked that Travis believed in the same things I did.

Understood, with few words, what things were important to me.

“Eat.” Mama passed the basket of rolls to Travis.

His nose twitched as he took one.

“Fresh baked.” She beamed.

“I…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“So don’t say anything. Eat up, making happy noises, enjoy the meal, and I’ll be satisfied. And if you don’t like it—”

“Oh, I’m certain I will.” He surveyed all the food. “You don’t have to worry about that.” He put a roll on his plate, then accepted the plate of ham I handed him.

She grunted. “You’re too skinny.”

“Mama.” I tried for my best chastising voice.

Evidently I hadn’t been clear in my warning not to focus on the physical.

I’d warned her about the scar and tattoos.

Hadn’t thought to mention how skinny he was.

And since I knew he didn’t do drugs, I wasn’t as worried as Mama clearly appeared to be.

Drug use by people working in trades was something I’d read about. The numbers scared me.

Travis assured me he was fine.

I believed him.

“So, Travis, you like my son?”

I nearly choked on a piece of ham.

Travis cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am, I really do.”

She waved. “You call me Mama. Everyone calls me Mama. Well, except at work. Then I’m Nurse Maria.”

“Uh…Mama…” He appeared to be trying out the word. “Thank you.” He whispered the words quietly.

“And…” She held a piece of bun aloft—nearly pointing it at him.

“Yes, Mama, I like your son a lot.”

She nodded her approval. “That’s good. He likes you too. Talks about you all the time—”

“Mama.” I glared.

She grinned. “He doesn’t bring boys around.”

“I’m hardly a boy.” Travis glanced down at his food, pushing a bit of mashed potato around the plate.

I handed him the gravy boat.

He offered me a grateful smile.

“You’re younger than me.” Mama grinned. “That makes you a boy. To me, anyway.”

“That’s true.”

Although not by much. Mama had me when she was young. She wasn’t even fifty to Travis’s forty and… “Hey, you’re closer in age to my boyfriend than you are to me.” I eyed my mother.

She continued to grin. “I wondered how long it would take you to figure that out. I don’t care. I just want you to be with a man who makes you happy.” She pointed her fork at Travis. “He makes you happy.”

I swallowed. “Yeah, he kind of does.” I exchanged a glance with Travis.

“Me too.”

He offered that shy smile of his that I loved so much.

So many little things about him called to me.

His smiles—so rare and therefore meaning even more when he offered them.

The way he ducked his head—a shyness I found adorable.

His keen sense of curiosity—he tried to hide it, but he loved learning new things.

He used that knowledge whenever he could.

But only with me, as far as I could see.

He was afraid of letting people know he was smarter than they perceived him to be.

“So use condoms and be safe.” Mama popped the last of her roll in her mouth.

Travis choked on his asparagus.

And we were off.