The Entangled Engagement of Indigo

Chapter 2

"Mom, you really didn't have to do this," Tate said.

He'd only been back in his childhood home for half an hour, and yet his mom already had him sitting at the bar with a plate of his favorite dessert.

He looked down at the fluffy massive slice of cake shining from the sweet, sticky passionfruit glaze, and his mouth watered. He missed this; homemade goodness in a place that wasn't just home but felt like it. Music churned through the rooms, floating on the warm breeze that flowed through the open windows.

Whitney Houston and A/c off. It was his mom's homeostasis. You could take the girl from Brazil, but not Brazil from the girl.

"Do what?" Beatrice said, with the might of her thick wavy auburn hair, held out of her face with a teal scarf, as she maneuvered around the kitchen like a gazelle. "Make my one and only son his favorite food."

"I'm your only child."

"More reason for you to stay for longer than two weeks." She brushed her hands down the vibrant apron, shielding her blouse and jeans from the sprinkle of errant flour. "You come home after being away for ten months, and that's the time you want to spend here. You won't be able to see everyone and many people miss you, you know."

He huffed, stabbing the fork in the cake. People probably missed him, that much was true, but the person he wanted to miss him didn't.

"I have deadlines and I've got to get back to L.A. This isn't a vacation, mom." He dropped the fork with a clack then muttered a 'sorry' at the sharp look she shot him. "I need to get the house ready."

Beatrice tsked as she pulled a sheet pan lined with golden brown speckled balls from the oven. "This again. I don't understand. You love that house. I remember when you first closed on it. A smile from ear to ear, like a little boy. You really love California that much?"

Not really. "Yes," he lied and hoped she couldn't tell. He tried hard to smile but could only smirk. "I'm setting down roots there."

"Mhmm." She shook her head, transferring the baked spheres from the pan to a glass dish. "So, you and that girl...you two serious."

"Abigail." He got up and joined her by the island. "Mom, you know her name is Abigail." He told his parents about her months ago over the phone.

"I know her name very well. It's just..." She clasped her hands together, inhaling deeply.

He knew she was about to say something that he would not like or didn't want to hear.

"This girl. I don't see it. I don't get it."

"Mom." He rolled his head back. "Love isn't something that you get."

"But you see it." She pointed at him. "And I don't. You don't look like a man in love and I have seen how you look when you are...in love."

"Mom," He groaned out, raking his hand through his curls as far as it could go, trying to keep his tone calm. He didn't feel like having this conversation. "Can you lay off? I'm not here for that. Indigo is the furthest thought from my mind. I'm actually happy for her. She's finally getting what she wants."

"Besteira." She flicked her hand at him.

He knew the foreign word. It was the word she used whenever he or his dad said something that she didn't agree with. Her go-to swear word in her native language.

"You can just say 'bullshit'."

"Who's saying 'bullshit'?" His dad strode in the kitchen, pushing his black-rimmed glasses back up his nose.

Abigail was right behind him, her yellow romper catching all the sunlight that poured through the window-lined breakfast nook. "Mrs. Larsen, you have perfect eyes. I wish I could buy all your work. My apartment really needs an upgrade from the mass-printed pics I snagged on a discount from Target."

"Thank you, darling." Beatrice smiled at the bubbly blonde.

"And you were so cute as a kid," Abigail said, sidling next to him. "Chubby cheeks and all."

"Dad, you didn't." Tate knew he shouldn't have let the older man show Abigail around the house. There were some things he didn't want her to know. Rooms he didn't need her to go in. His teenhood bedroom was one of them. That place was a time capsule of his youth. A youth that reminded him of her.

"Chill, boy." His dad took a pitcher out of the fridge. "I didn't take her upstairs."

"What's upstairs?" Abigail glanced from father to son, then her eyes went to Beatrice. "What's he hiding?"

"He was—" Beatrice started, her eyebrows knitted, and Tate held his breath. "A band nerd."

"No!"  Abigail latched onto his arm with glee. "Did you go to band camp, too? What instrument did you play?"

His 'thanks' was all over his face as he looked down at Abigail, "No, and the cello."

"Do you still have it? Play it for me."

"He doesn't remember how to play that thing," Mr. Larsen seethed, swiping a cheese puff from the dish while his wife turned her back. "I spent a fortune on that oversized violin."

Beatrice chuckled with a shake of her head. "Leave my baby alone and take this to the car." She handed her husband the pyrex dish. "And I counted them."

"I thought..." Tate pointed to the container his dad was carrying, and no doubt was going to go into once he got outside. "Those were for me."

"No." Beatrice put the pitcher back in the fridge. "Those are for the party tonight."

His welcome home party. Tate sighed soundlessly. He didn't know why his mom insisted on throwing him a party as if he had just come home from war.

"Yes," Abigail spoke up. "I already have my dress picked out."

"You invited the Clarks, didn't you?" He warily stroked at the scruff lining his jaw.

"The Clarks are family," his mom said. "They're always welcomed."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

He knew his mom wasn't sure. She didn't know what went down between him and Indigo last year. But he didn't feel like protesting because deep down he really wanted to see her...in the flesh and not from across the street.

Should Tate go to the housewarming?

Why do you think Tate's selling his house?