“You can’t see it right now.” Her voice is small, quieter than I’ve ever heard her. “But he needs a good brushing. There are some mats in his fur, and . . .” Her voice trails off and she looks up at me. She doesn’t say anything else for a moment, and then looks down at her hands, flexing and squeezing one of them.
“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out,” I assure her. “There’s going to be a learning curve though. I’ve never had a cat before.”
Mrs. Patterson snorts. “They’re easier than dogs. It’ll take a while for him to warm up to you.”
“Please,” I say. “I won your granddaughter over, didn’t I?”
Rory
* * *
Of course, I’m pissed at my grandmother. The angry part of me thinks she’s doing this just to mess with me, to push me further to not be alone—her backup plan if Morgan doesn’t work out is at least I’ll have a cat.
But there’s a small, niggling part of me that whispers that Grandma’s getting older, frailer, and she’s relieved to have me close by.
And, also, she’s fucking smitten with my fake fiancé, because when they come out of the den having left the ornery cat behind, Morgan’s got her chuckling. He offers us wine—he’s bought some special chardonnay for Grandma, which I pass on, preferring my beer—and he entertains us while he cooks. Princess is out of the bedroom now, and she also charms my grandmother by putting her chin on Grandma’s leg and insisting on pets.
It all feels so domestic. Morgan presses a kiss to the top of my head when he brings me a new beer, and when I stand at the counter to take out plates, he pulls me to him with a hand on my hip.
It’s just a little hip bump, nothing too sexy or romantic about it, but Morgan sells it with his eyes, looking at me fondly, even though I’m pretty sure the angle is wrong and Grandma can’t even see it.
He does this pretending thing so smoothly, whereas I just feel like cringing every time I try to offer the tiniest bit of affection. I don’t know how to place my hand on his back in a way that feels natural, and when he leans in to put my plate in front of me, I tell him thanks, and then kiss his cheek. He’s not expecting it, though, so I miss and get his neck instead, which is a whole different kind of embarrassing.
Before I can crawl under the table and die of mortification, Morgan sits down and lifts his glass, waiting just a beat before offering a toast. “To new families,” he says.
Awkwardness forgotten, a teeny tiny lump forms in my throat as I look at Grandma. She’s practically glowing with happiness.
This is why I’m doing it, right? So she can worry about me less, so she knows there’s some hope of me finding love and not being alone.
“Here, here,” Grandma says, and we clink our glasses. I resolve to get my shit together.
I take a sip of my beer—that IPA that I like, which Morgan has stocked in his fridge for me—and Grandma hums in appreciation for the wine Morgan chose.
She sets the glass down. “What about your family, Morgan? When will I meet them?”
I keep my eyes on my fork while I stab some of the veggies Morgan’s sautéed.
“I’m not sure,” he hedges.
“At the wedding?” Grandma prods. “Bridal shower? Engagement party? Don’t take too long or I might die first.”
“Grandma!”
Morgan sneaks a laughing glance at me. “The thing is,” he says, turning back to her. “I’m not close to my mom or brother.”
Grandma narrows her eyes. “Why?”
I hold my breath while Morgan thinks about it. “Rory’s met my brother. He’s not a good man,” he says simply. “And my mother enables all of the trouble he gets into, plus she has her own problems.”
Her eyes narrow even farther. “What kind of trouble?”
Morgan doesn’t sugarcoat it. “Drugs. The law.” He says it with a shrug, like it doesn’t bother him, but I remember that hunch in his shoulders when he was on the phone with his mom and the tired defeat in his voice.
“Grandma, leave him alone.”
Morgan looks up and meets my gaze. His eyes are warm and soft, but then there’s a twinkle and he reaches over to smooth a hand across my shoulders. “Aw, babe, you don’t have to protect me.”
“Besides, he’s going to be family soon. I want to know if he’s ever been in that kind of trouble,” Grandma says.