(Gxg) This Is How You Get Her Back

vingt-six

"I want you to meet my mum."

I choked on my tea. Coughing, I set my cup down on our coffee table. I meet Alessandra's amused eyes with my watery ones as she rubs my shoulders to calm me down.

"Really?" I asked in excitement and shock and flattery.

She nodded. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah! Yeah, of course!"

Then it hit me.

"Oh no, what if she hates me? Should I get a haircut? Cover up my tattoo? Oh my go—"

She laughed. "Chill, Laur. It's just my mum."

"Are you for real? We're talking about your mum. She determines whether or not I stay in your life!"

She held my hand, calming my pounding heart. "You're staying in my life no matter what. Plus, I'm sure she'd love you."

"How can you tell? I mean, I'm not exactly visually traditionally acceptable," I said, alluding to the vertical line of characters tattooed from behind my ear down to the base of the left side of my neck.

"Babe, first of all, you're absolutely stunning. There's no arguing with that," she began as she crawled onto my lap, straddling my hips as I was forced to lie down on our sofa. "Second, you're in law school. That's already more than parent-worthy. She'll think you're responsible and stable and decent," she continued, making me laugh.

"Mhmm," I urged her to go on.

She slipped her hands under my shirt, tracing her cold fingertips along my sides, causing me to shiver under her touch. "Third, you're similar to my dad. Like... the real one, not the stepdad. Kind of badass and smart and everything. So I'm pretty sure she'd like you."

She said it like she was proud of it. There was only the subtlest hint of sadness, but her message was generally proud and reminiscent.

"What was he like?" I asked cautiously. She never spoke about her dad in the past. "And like... what happened? I mean, if you want to talk about it."

She shrugged on top of me before she laid down on my side with her head resting on my chest. She drew random patterns on my collarbones as she spoke.

"His name was Jean. You know, like Jean-Jacques Rousseau? He had more tattoos than you, and his name didn't really match his character. Because of mum, he went from a failing frat boy to a high class banker.

"For a scary looking guy, he was really funny. He wasn't a singer—like, at all—but that didn't stop him from intentionally embarrassing us in public. He had the best comebacks, and he always took me out for ice cream even when mum would get angry at him afterwards for feeding me unhealthy stuff. He was really spontaneous, like, the type to say 'Be ready in 5 minutes. We're going out.' He really took good care of me and mum, and he spoiled us so much. Oh! He actually was the reason behind my love for literature. We used to have this enormous bookshelf of classics, and I'd ask him to read to me even when I couldn't understand most of the words he said. He was incredible. Like, I can't even put into words how wonderful he was, and I could talk about him for days. But... maybe some other time.

"Then... yeah. I was 14. He was a casualty in a bar brawl that turned into a gunfight. It was so dumb and so shallow. But... I don't know. I'm not sad anymore when I think of him. I've learned to celebrate him instead, you know? He didn't live to become that great just to make people sad when he's remembered."

Clueless as to what to say, I opted to kiss the top of her head and hold her tighter.

She understood. "You don't have to say anything. I wouldn't know what to say either."