Just a Number(103)

Confused, my mom prods me to elaborate, so I do. She seems pretty shocked and upset to find out that my dad was fine with Owen seeing a much younger woman—before he knew it was me—while I was being made to feel shame for seeing an older man.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Mom croons. “He’s always been such a stubborn son of a bitch. He’ll come around.”

I nod, finally picking up my fork and pushing my vegetables around. “Yeah, I know. It just sucks right now. I don’t think he’s ever been this mad at me.”

There’s a moment of silence, and I can feel the tension in the air; they want to know how my talk with him went today. So, instead of waiting for them to bring it up, I decide to just bite the bullet. “Today went okay. It started off a little rough, but we eventually talked.”

“And?” Owen asks, his voice thick and laced with worry.

“He needs more time,” is all I say. “And, after talking to him, I can understand and accept that.” I take a deep breath and force a smile onto my face. “Now, can we talk about something that doesn’t make my stomach knot up?”

“Of course, honey,” Mom agrees, and we all focus on our dinner while changing the topic.

Mom asks how school’s going, and I fill her in on my classes and grades. She asks about Liz, so I tell her she’s doing great and how she just got back from Mexico. The conversation then shifts to her and Will, who are looking to sell their current house and buy one on the beach in Florida. She’s always loved it there.

After dinner, Owen offers to make a pot of coffee for all of us, but Mom declines the offer. “Actually, I’m pretty beat, and I still have a long drive ahead of me in the morning.”

“Y-you’re still going out there?” I ask, stunned.

“Of course, Amy. I’d still like to talk to your father. I’m not going there to push him into accepting your relationship, but I do want to let him know I’m here if he wants to talk about it. I just want to make sure he’s all right,” she explains. “Now, I should head out because I still need to find a hotel with a vacancy since I immediately went to your apartment and then here once I landed.”

I look over at Owen, using my eyes to tell him what I’m thinking. Naturally, he understands and nods once. “Mom, why don’t you stay with me at my place?”

Confused, Mom looks between us. “I thought you were staying here?”

“Well,” I say. “I was…um…going to, but that was before you showed up.”

Looking grateful for the offer, Mom lays her hand on mine. “That’s sweet, honey, but it’s not necessary. You should stay and talk…but if the offer stands, I’d love to take you up on it and stay at your apartment.”

“Of course,” I reply, more than pleased with her level of acceptance. “And if you have time in the morning, maybe I could meet you for breakfast?”

Mom smiles, standing from the table while Owen clears the dishes and leftovers. “That would be lovely.”

Owen and I walk Mom to the front door where we say our goodnights and watch her leave. Once she’s gone, I head to the kitchen to start on dishes, and when I’m elbow-deep in dishwater, I feel Owen’s hands on my hips, slowly moving around and resting on my abdomen. Next, he kisses the side of my neck and rests his chin on my shoulder as he watches me wash and rinse the dishes.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he tells me, talking about dinner cleanup.

I shrug, leaning my head against his as I rinse another plate. “You cooked. It’s only right I help tidy up.”

After another light kiss, Owen grabs a dishtowel and helps me finish the dishes. Once everything is put away and wiped down, Owen refills our wine glasses and we head for the living room.

We sit and talk while the sky grows darker and darker outside, a light winter rain picking up. Now that we’re alone, Owen inquires a little more about what Dad said, and I’m a little more forthright with the information. There’s no disguising Owen’s ire when I explain what happened when I’d first arrived at my dad’s place. He seems genuinely angry to hear that my father sat there and ignored me, but when I explain how Dad had tracked me down at the diner and we’d talked there, he relaxes a little.

Only a little, though.

“He doesn’t hate you,” I tell him, hoping to ease his mind a bit more. “Yes, he’s pissed, but he says he doesn’t hate you.”

Stunned, Owen stares blankly at me. “Well that’s something, then.”

“He even said he would never begrudge us our happiness. Even if we’ve found it with one another. So I think we just have to give him a bit more time to process.”