hell was that and where did it come from? Fuck. Fuuuuuuck.
I was certain of little but it wasn't about the shitshow family. That just pushed it over the edge. It also confirmed a few things for me.
First, Zelda was not leaving my apartment. She wasn't going anywhere. Whichever random friend was willing to put her up could forget the offer. Zelda's days of couch surfing were over.
Second—and most importantly—we'd make this ill-fitting job work. I was keeping her and I didn't care if that meant I still needed to find a competent auditing assistant. We'd make it work. I was unwilling to accept any other option.
My mother completely ignored me when Zelda and I arrived at my childhood home in New Bedford. She swatted my hand away from Zelda's lower back and scooped my girl into a tight mama squeeze. I had to work overtime to prevent myself from cutting in and snatching her back.
I'd meant what I'd said earlier: I didn't share—and I didn't care if I sounded like a pouty child because my mother was busy hugging the life out of Zelda.
As if my mother could hear my thoughts, she clucked at me over Zelda's shoulder. "Stop it, Ash. You can spare Miss Zelda for a minute. I promise I'll give her back." She lifted her palms to Zelda's cheeks, framing her face and grinning at her. "Look at those beautiful eyes. I don't believe I've ever seen anything like it."
"Thank you," Zelda replied.
"Blue and green," my mother continued. "How very special and lovely, just like the rest of you." She patted Zelda's cheeks with the kind of fondness that killed most of my possessive scowl because yes, Zelda was special and lovely and it was about time everyone noticed. "I'm so happy you didn't allow my son to talk you out of joining us today."
"Thank you for having me." She aimed a conspiratorial smile in my direction. "And for what it's worth, I didn't let him try very hard."
If my mother hadn't already fallen for Zelda in the tailor's shop, she fell here and now. She slapped her hand on her thigh, muttered, "Hot damn, honey, I like you," and linked arms with Zelda, steering her deeper into the house.
They went back and forth at my expense before my mother transitioned to explaining how she'd recovered the dining room chair cushions by herself, crediting the wonders of YouTube and staple guns for her success.
Once we reached the kitchen, my mother waved me away, saying, "You don't have to supervise, Ash. I won't take a bite out of her."
Zelda caught my eye and offered a smiling shrug that seemed to say, I wouldn't mind if you took a bite out of me.
Aaaaaand now I was thinking about scraping my teeth over her neck, her shoulders, her—oh, fuck me, I couldn't think about this in the middle of my mother's kitchen. Hell, I couldn't think about this while wearing thin shorts or with several hours of family time ahead of me. Or, hell, anywhere outside the blessed privacy of my apartment.
I returned that suggestive shrug with a what are you doing to me? glare. She stifled a laugh and leaned in as my mother insisted on showing her something related to the wedding. While my mother unfolded a long sheet of butcher paper dotted with tiny stickers, Zelda tucked her hair over her ear and—oh my god, she'd bent her head and brushed back her hair and all I could see was the long expanse of skin extending from her neck to the thin strap of her top. Maybe I wasn't too disciplined, too private to gather up the woman who'd consumed my existence and nip at her neck while my mother complained about the science of seating charts. Maybe I could—
"Your father is in the den," my mother announced, punching a hole through a solid plan to maul Zelda here in the kitchen. "Spend some time with him. He's been interested to hear more about your travels this week. And let me be clear, there will be no business talk at the supper table."
"Only wedding talk," I said.
My mother shooed me away. "That's enough from you. Get all the work out of your system and leave us ladies be."
I ran my hand down Zelda's back. "Be careful with this one. She'll try to sell you raffle tickets for a church feast or convince you to join her the next time she hits up the flea markets."