After Hours

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  Fuck if I could see a thing.

  I slid closer to Aysia, but addressed the nearest cop. “Find anything?”

  The uniformed man blinked at me. “You are?”

  “He’s with me,” Aysia said quickly.

  Her hand snaked out as if she was going to pull me against her. Then it dropped to her side quickly. If the officer noticed the awkward motion—or my disappointment at the fact that claimed me verbally but not physically—he didn’t say.

  Instead, his face relaxed. “Evidence of a break-in. Door handle unscrewed and left on the front mat. Big electronics—TV, stereo, all that—still there, no one inside. Whoever the guy was, he was in and out in under ten.”

  “Could be personal,” the second cop added.

  I saw Aysia stiffen, but her voice was neutral as she replied. “Personal?”

  “Jealous ex, old roommate.”

  Aysia’s mother actually laughed. “Nothing like that kicking around for my daughter.”

  The first cop studied the two of them for a second, like he could sense that something about the statement wasn’t quite true. He didn’t comment on it, though.

  “We’re going to need you to come in and take a look around. Let us know if anything is missing or disturbed, all right?” He waited for Aysia to nod, then added, “While you take inventory, my partner will take notes. I’m going to ask a few questions of the neighbors, find out if the building security cams caught anything, stuff like that. Some guys’ll be by to see if they can’t lift some prints. Realistically, it’ll probably be a few hours. When everyone’s finished up—and assuming everything checks out—you’re welcome to stay in the apartment, but a lot of people like a day or two to collect themselves. No shame in wanting that.”

  “She can stay with me,” I said.

  Her mom offered me the eyebrow lift. “My house might be the better option.”

  Aysia let out a noisy sigh. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  “I’ll lead the way,” the second cop offered, and we all followed him upstairs.

  Aysia was quiet as we moved through the condo. She pulled a coffee can full of spare change from the kitchen cupboard, and noted that a brand new credit card still sat in its envelope beside her coffee pot. A set of movie gift certificates hung on the fridge, untouched. In the living room, she lifted the removable lid on her table and pointed to her high-end tablet. As the police had mentioned, the television and stereo were in place and intact. A quick glance into the office confirmed that the computer remained just as she’d left it.

  Upstairs, things were the same. A painting she said was worth five grand sat on the wall. The bed was made.

  “That’s it,” she finally said. “Everything’s here.”

  The cop cleared his throat. “The underwear drawer, please, Miss?”

  Aysia went pink. “Excuse me?”

  “Surprisingly common thing,” the man replied, shifting uncomfortably. “Panty theft.”

  “Oh.”

  Woodenly, without a glance at me or her mother, she moved across the room and slid open the top drawer of her dresser. She moved things around a bit, then frowned.

  “Something missing?” the officer asked.

  “No, I just—no.” She shook her head firmly, then stepped back. “Can we go?”

  “Sure can. If you like, we can give building maintenance a call and have them seal up the door with some tape when we go,” the policeman offered. “We’ll contact you directly if we find anything. And vice versa, all right?”

  “Sure.”

  A few short minutes later, Aysia had an overnight bag packed, the correct contact information exchanged with police, and we were back on the front step. There, her mother turned my way and stuck out her fingers.

  “Crystal,” she said.

  I took her proffered hand and shook it. “Marc.”

  “Well, Marc. You can follow us home.” Her eyes were shrewd. “And I hope you like playing cards, drinking wine, and sleeping in a guestroom.”

  Then she grabbed Aysia’s bag, stuffed it into my chest, spun on a designer heel, and led her daughter away.

  * * * *

  Aysia

  Normally, I would’ve fought my mom on her insistence that I ride with her rather than Marc. It would make more sense. I could give him directions. Warn him that she probably wasn’t kidding about the guest room. And of course, avoid her questions about Marc himself.

  But I had a feeling his questions were going to be worse. More pointed. More insistent. And the last thing I wanted to do was confess what had crossed my mind when the police said “personal.” What I thought might be confirmed when I rooted through my underwear drawer.

  I shook it off now, too, telling myself it was nothing more than supposition. A hunch. And I knew from years of watching crime dramas that facts and evidence were the only thing that could get people arrested. Everything else just got people in trouble.

  You sure about that? The police also need leads, don’t they?

  I shoved aside the little voice in my head and focused on my mom instead.

  “Sorry,” I said. “What was that?”

  “Well. I asked how you met Marc and what’s going on with him. But now that your face has gone the color of the kale smoothie I had for lunch, I want to know if you’re okay.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Kale smoothie?”

  “Trying something new. Healthy.”

  “Gross.”

  “Have you tried it?”

  “No.”

  “Then don’t knock it.” Her manicured hands tapped on the steering wheel. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “About Marc?”

  “About whether or not you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine, Mom. Just a little shaken up. Even when I lived in that miserable apartment my first year of college, I didn’t get broken into.”

  “It’s definitely a bad feeling. Do you remember that old Chevy I drove when you were a toddler?”

  “Kind of.”

  “It got broken into once. They jimmied the door open, took the two quarters I kept in the ashtray, rifled through the glove box, and left a dirty old mitten on the front seat. It took me weeks to feel comfortable driving it again.”

  I made myself smile. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not moving in for weeks. Just long enough to get my door fixed.”

  “Or just long enough to sneak out to Marc’s house?”

  “Mom.”

  “Aysia.”

  I sighed. “Okay. Don’t get the wrong idea, but I met him at a bar a few weeks ago.”

  Now she lifted her eyebrow. “Is there a right idea about that?”

  “You’re so old-fashioned.”

  “I’m not old-fashioned. I had a kale smoothie for lunch.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay. Fine. I’ll give you that. But that doesn’t mean you don’t sound motherly.”

  “I am your mother,” she pointed out. “Do you meet men in bars often?”

  “Mom! No. And even if I did, I’m a grown woman. Meeting men in bars is normal.”

  “A smart, grown woman. Who’s never introduced me to any of the men in her life—bar-met or otherwise—before this one, no matter how normal it might be. And even now, the introduction wasn’t on purpose.”

  “It’s still really…” I trailed off helplessly.

  “Really what?”

  “Really I don’t know.”

  “Really you don’t know, or really you don’t want to say?” She glanced in my direction, her face softening. “I take it this is the same guy who was making you giggle over text?”

  “That’s him.”

  I hesitated. Would it be so bad to tell her that he wasn’t just some guy? That we’d already labeled ourselves. That I might as well have been
pinned, or wearing his letterman jacket, or possibly had his name tattooed on my left butt cheek? But I couldn’t make the words come. It seemed almost harder to tell my mom than it was to think about disclosure at work.

  Maybe just invite her by when you have the neon, Marc + Aysia sign installed below the Eco-Go headline at the office.

  And in the end, I went for distraction.

  “Hey, Mom,” I said. “Wanna see something gross?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Have a look anyway.” I lifted my dress hem to expose my stitches.

  She glanced down and her face filled with concern. “Oh, my God! What happened?”

  “Accident with a wine glass.”

  I launched into explanation—minus a few, torrid details—and the story took me all the way to my childhood home’s driveway. But as we pulled in with Marc’s Maserati close behind, my mom adjusted the rear view mirror to watch as he climbed out and moved toward the trunk.

  “Maybe this is the wrong moment to bring this up,” she said, “but I’d rather mention it now than wish I had later. And I’m allowed to be overprotective.”

  My pulse fluttered nervously, but I made myself answer lightly. “Spit it out, Mom.”

  “This is the first time you’ve brought a guy here in more than ten years.” She paused and met my eyes. “Since Walt.”

  My chest squeezed, but only a little. “It’s not the wrong moment.”

  “No?”

  “No.” I took a breath and added, “And he knows, too.”

  Her expression became surprised. “He does?”

  “Everything.”

  “So you would’ve introduced us eventually? On purpose?”

  “Yes.” Even though I hadn’t thought of it until right that second, it was true. “I would’ve introduced you soon. And you’re going to like him, Mom. I promise.”

  “Not as much as you do,” she teased.

  My eyes followed him as he approached. He had my bag on his shoulder, and a smile that was just for me on his face. My body warmed.

  I exhaled, not caring how sappy I sounded as I swung open the door and answered her over my shoulder. “No. Not nearly as much as I do.”

  It should’ve been awkward. Spending hours with my mom and the man who made my skin tingle. Instead, it was just comfortable. Grilled cheese sandwich, tomato soup comfortable. Wood-burning fireplace, footy pajamas cozy.

  My mom beat the metaphorical pants off Marc at rummy, and he lost gracefully. We ordered Chinese food and we fought over the last wonton in the wonton soup. Then Marc made us watch my mom’s grainy, old VHS copy of Life of Brian, and we all laughed as we sipped our wine. We somehow managed to avoid the topic of where Marc worked, though he did tell her he was in marketing, and they compared notes from her days in advertising. And it was all kind of like living in an alternate universe. A good one, full of unicorns with rainbow manes.

  Finally exhaustion won out—at least for me—and I drifted to sleep on the familiar, floral-print couch. I didn’t even worry about what they would talk about without me. If my mom decided to pull out embarrassing family photos…that would be just fine.

  The whole thing was a bit surprising to me.

  I was surprised, also, to wake up in my own childhood bed, and to find Marc stretched out beside me. His big body hugged the edge of the twin-sized mattress, and his manly features looked comical on top of the pink pillowcase that had been mine since I was ten years old.

  Automatically, my eyes flew to the door in search of my mom. The white-painted wood hung ajar slightly, the butterfly-themed wind chimes hanging on the knob like a makeshift alarm.

  Nervous, I brought my gaze back to Marc and whispered, “What are you doing here?”

  He looked far too amused for his own good. “Well. We met a few weeks back. I’m Marc. Your boyfriend. And usually you like to have me in your bed.”

  I slapped his shoulder. “I don’t mean like that. Didn’t my mom insist that you sleep in the guest room?”

  “I’m not sleeping.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  “About kicking me out of bed?”

  His hand tickled my thigh, and I swatted it away.

  “Stop it,” I said. “Or my mom will hear us and make you leave.”

  “Nah. She likes me.”

  “Not if she finds out you’re in here trying to seduce me.”

  “Actually…she gave me permission.”

  “To seduce me?”

  “To tuck you in.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “And how long have you been lying there, tucking me in?”

  He grinned. “An hour.”

  “Probably not what she meant.”

  “Probably not. She’s already come by once to check on us.”

  “Really?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “So she doesn’t like you that much,” I teased.

  He traced my jawline with his thumb, then tugged on my bottom lip. “Sure she does. She just doesn’t trust me.”

  “Can you be trusted?”

  “A hundred percent.” He bent his mouth to mine and gave me a slow, shiver-inducing kiss. “What about you?”

  I pressed my hand to his outer thigh and slid it up. “Nope.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t be trusted in the least.” My finger came up farther, slipping under his shirt to play over his rock hard stomach.

  He groaned. “You should probably stop that.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Hell, no. But your mom frisked me for condoms before I came in here.”

  “Shut up.”

  He chuckled. “Okay. Maybe she didn’t go that far. But I wouldn’t put it past her.”

  I leaned back to study his face, and I groaned. “Oh, God. She doesn’t just like you. You like her.”

  “Well. She’s pretty cool.”

  “Great. Just what I need. The two of you working against me.”

  “We’ll only work in favor of your well-being. I promise.” His smile dropped for a moment. “Are you going to tell her?”

  “Tell her what?”

  “That we’re a couple.”

  I fought the warmth that crept up my cheeks. “Don’t you think she knows?”

  He touched my face. “Yes. I think she knows. But that’s not the same thing as telling her.”

  “You remember what I told you about my dad?”

  “He left your mom for another woman.”

  “After he made her quit her job,” I reminded him.

  He studied me for a second. “You’re worried that your mom will react badly if she thinks you’re taking the same path.”

  I exhaled, relieved that he understood. “Exactly.”

  “Did I tell you that my parents met at work, too?”

  “No.”

  “They did. My mom was my dad’s boss. At Dairy Queen.”

  I laughed. “Not quite as serious.”

  Marc shook his head. “You’d think. But there was an anti-fraternizing policy there, too. And since my mom was the junior assistant manager…”

  “Okay. I’ll bite. What happened?”

  “Well. They were sixteen. So they quit and went to work at Burger King instead.”

  I gave him a playful shove. “You’re awful.”

  He laughed. “But it worked. They got married at twenty. Had me at twenty-two and my sister at twenty-five. Thirty-four years later, and they’re still going strong.”

  “So…you’re saying we should go work at Burger King?”

  “I’m saying that every situation is unique. Every relationship, too.”

  “I know.”

  “So don’t you think your mom knows, too?”

  The question was gentle but not condescending,
and it made me pause. Of course she knew it. And of course I knew that she knew it. I’d just never really had a reason to think about it before.

  “It’s new for me,” I said softly.

  “I know.” He offered me a smile. “But if it would make you feel better, I could have my mom call yours.”

  “Um.”

  “What?”

  “You want to introduce our mothers to each other? See if they get along?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you also naming our unborn children?”

  It was a joke. But Marc’s face was utterly serious as he answered me.

  “Not Liv, if we have a daughter,” he said. “Because she’s already got enough of an ego. But Walt would be nice for a boy.”

  My throat didn’t just tighten. It constricted completely, and I could feel the tears forming in my eyes. I drew in a shaky breath.

  “Are you for real?” I asked.

  He brought my hand up to his chest and flattened my palm over his heart. “Don’t I feel real?”

  I swallowed. “Very.”

  “I like you, Aysia.”

  “I like you, too, Marc.”

  “I think I more than like you, Aysia.”

  My heart danced a nervous jig. “I think I more than like you, too, Marc.”

  “Think?” he repeated.

  “Your word, not mine.”

  “That’s because I don’t want to scare you off, honey. I can’t even stand the thought that I have to stay in a bed that’s two doors down.”

  “You can’t scare me off.”

  He laughed in that low, sexy way of his. “That’s complete bullshit and you know it.”

  I sighed. “Okay then. I don’t want to be scared off. How’s that?”

  “Better.”

  “You don’t have to leave just yet.”

  “No?”

  “You can definitely stay for a few more minutes.”

  “Twist my arm.”

  I tucked my head against his chest and yawned. “This was the most interesting day I’ve had in forever.”

  “In forever?” I heard the teasing innuendo in his reply.

  “I mean interesting in a way that’s not related to having intertwined body parts.”