Seriously, what else could I do?
“Promise?” she pushed.
“Promise,” I gave in.
Mom smiled.
Boy, I was screwed.
Mom let me go and turned back to the sink, wiping her face and saying, “Okay, let’s get this done and get back in there. It’s good they’re bonding but they’re doing it with whisky. Whisky makes your father talkative. Talkative means he might get out photo albums. And you went through that unfortunate punk phase when you were fifteen. We don’t want Tor seeing that.”
Oh crap.
No. Agreed. We absolutely, definitely did not want Tor seeing photos of me with ratted out hair, too much black eyeliner and torn clothes held together with safety pins.
I snatched a plate out of the drainer and dried it, urging, “Hurry, Mom. Dad had three before we even cleared the table.”
“Right,” Mom muttered and started wiping silverware.
And I finished the dishes with my Mom and while I did it I memorized every freaking second.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Something to Celebrate
I was silent on the ride home mostly because I was thinking of all my mother had said, all that had happened between Tor and me and about the words to “Crash into Me”.
It wasn’t until Tor unlocked the door to my apartment that it hit me Tor had been silent all the ride home too.
He opened the door for me, I preceded him, he closed it, locked it and stalked, yes, stalked to the kitchen.
Hmm. It seemed I’d missed something.
I saw the light go on there, I switched on a few lamps in the living room then I followed him and stopped in the doorway to see he was opening and closing cupboards.
“Can I get you something?” I asked quietly and his eyes sliced to me.
They were broody and intense.
Oh boy.
“Do you have spirits?” he asked back.
Oh boy!
“Um… you had whisky with my Dad,” I pointed out.
“Yes, and I knew I would be operating that vehicle, undoubtedly in the rain, which it does all the bloody time here, so I did not have as much as I would have liked for operating that vehicle inebriated would not be wise,” he returned.
He was right about that.
“In the cupboard by the wall,” I belatedly answered his question.
He went to the cupboard, sorted through my myriad of bottles, pulled out some bourbon, opened it, sniffed it and went to the cupboard that held my glasses.
I watched him pour himself a rather healthy dose as I grew uncomfortable.
Tor was being broody, something he could be but he was usually kind of… openly broody. As in, it was rare he didn’t tell me what was on his mind.