Page 190 of Lovers Like Us

You’ve always been that kind of mom,I want to say, but I inhale a tight breath, having no goddamn clue where this is going. But my dad sends me sharp looks tolet themtalk.

So I stayquiet.

Farrow nods just as confidently. “I’m glad youdid.”

My mom sniffs and reaches for a small hand-wrapped package she set on the coffee table. “So this is a welcome back to Philly…thingy.”

“It’s not athingy,” Rosesnaps.

“Yeah,” Daisy agrees, still upside-down, “you said you wouldn’t call itthat.”

“It’s a gift,” my mom says in a strongnod.

My pulse speeds. Is this normal? Mom’s gifting their son’s boyfriend a present. I think I’m overthinking. No, IknowI’m over-fucking-thinking.

Farrow smiles, eyeing me a bit, and then he starts to tear at the tape. The package is wrapped in newspaper. Minimal effort—I’m thankful for that. Keeping it casual,Mom.

“You didn’t have to give me anything,” Farrow tells her. “This is enough.” He means being on speaking terms and heracceptance.

“I wanted to,” my mom says and she backs up into my dad’s chest. He holds her and hunches to rest his chin on her bonyshoulder.

Farrow slowly unwraps the square-shaped package. Glancing at me, he asks, “You didn’t know aboutthis?”

I shake my head. “Noclue.”

He tears off the last piece of paper, and his smile stretches from cheek-to-cheek—and I’mgroaning.

“Mom.”

“What?” She balks. “You probably don’t have any photos together of you two in public. I just thought it’d benice—”

“I love it,” Farrowsays.

“You do?” My mouth parts, my pulse still beating in myears.

Farrow rotates the wooden-framed photograph to me. The picture was taken from a celebrity news site, a little watermark in the corner. In the photo, I stand with crossed arms near thelovesign at LOVE Park. Farrow is close as my bodyguard, earpiece wirehanging.

But our eyes are on each other. I’m laughing like he said something funny. His smile is full-on James Franco. If it weren’t for the earpiece and the radio on his belt, he might look like afriend.

Maybe even aboyfriend.

But I hone in on the setting. Philadelphia. I remember that day. I was doing a photo-shoot forThe Hollywood Reporter.It wasbeforethe tour. We’d just starteddating.

My brows furrow. “Mom, this was before you knew we were acouple.”

“Yeah.” She clears her throat. “I had to scour some magazines for thatone.”

“She was stalking you,” my dadsays.

“Lo!” My mom slugs hisarm.

He smiles affectionately. “Alright, love.” He looks to me. “She wasn’t stalkingyou.”

Farrow only focuses on my mom as he says, “Thankyou.”

My mom practically beams. Her eyes dart from him, to me, back to him. Like she’s fully feeling our relationship as reality. Her smile kind of looks giddy. Like she could root for us. Wave flags for us. Create banners and move mountains forus.

That means a fuckington.