Sugar, Butter, Flour, and Love - Chapter 32: Chapter 32

The rest of our camping trip was wonderfully uneventful. Just lots of intimate moments between me and Trace and lots of walks and hikes through the forest terrain. It was a peaceful and a nice romantic weekend between the two of us that I was sad to see end.
The drive back to the city also meant a drive back to real life. I had to put in my two weeks at work the next day and start apartment hunting because I had a special lease with the landlord that gave me reduced rent as long as I worked at the bakery. So, I had a lot to do when I got back to Toronto. And I had to worry about meeting Trace's parents, too. And asking my parents to meet Trace...
Fuck. This was a lot of change.
"Hey, how's your baking channel going?" Trace's low, smooth voice drew me out of my thoughts and I stilled.
I blinked in surprise. "Oh yeah, that thing. I should check up on it." But then we pulled up to my apartment and Trace helped me lug my stuff into my apartment and came up for a small lunch.
I'd made lasagna before we left for the weekend and I heated it up in the oven. It was quiet as I prepared our meal and Trace wordlessly piled all my used clothes from our trip into my laundry bin. I should have been embarrassed as he moved around my apartment easily, and hummed to himself as if he belonged right there. With his dark hair knotted in a low bun at the base of his neck and his pretty voice and the sound of his foot and his prosthetic clacking against the floorboards as he walked. It was weird and it was right but I didn't know why I found it so embarrassing.
Maybe because I wanted it. Suddenly, I was overcome with what it would be like to  wake up next to Trace, and to just have him always there. My heart beat hard and slow. It would be so nice.
Trace was watching me for a moment before he took down the whiteboard from my kitchen fridge. "Why don't you make a list of all the things you have to do in order of what's most time sensitive? I can sit with you if you want."
We sat at my dining table and I stared blankly at the white board. The world started to swim and I had to remind myself to breathe.
Trace's voice was soft, "Okay, how about number one: accept the job offer?" He stretched his hand out and patted the back of my hand, before rubbing a slow, lazy circle on my palm that was doing something funny to my heartbeat.
I exhaled slowly. "That seems like a good place to start." I started writing and started to talk aloud as I added to the list. "Think of a nice outfit to wear when I meet your parents. Put in my two weeks at the bakery. Talk to the landlord about breaking my lease. Go apartment hunting. Put up a new video for my channel and— tell my parents you're coming to Thanksgiving. Uh— I think that's it."
Trace moved and kissed me on the cheek and for a moment I could feel the heat of his body wash over me and smell something citrusy in his hair. I wanted to turn into the kiss and have his mouth on mine instead but I stayed still. Mostly.
"That's good," he said, "so, those are all the things you have to do. It's seven manageable things. Why don't you put a time line for when you want to get things done by? And I can talk to my sister if you want to stay with us for a bit until you find a good place."
I flushed, thinking of sharing a bed with Trace. He'd kick me in his sleep but I wouldn't mind because then those warm, muscular legs would be up against me all night and his hair would tickle me when we spooned and those intense dark eyes would be on me when I woke up.
"I couldn't do that," I said quickly, "but thank you for offering. If anything I'll stay with my parents. They don't understand why I moved out, anyways. It's not uncommon for people in my culture to live with their parents until they get married. But I felt like...I needed to move out so I could become more independent."
"That's okay, and for what it's worth I think you're very independent." Trace's voice lowered, "Can I kiss you?"
It felt like it came out of the blue, but his eyes were tracked on me, lips wet and parted, and he was so close to me. Just one breath and a head tilt away... I breathed, nodded and Trace leaned over, kissing me slowly. His tongue was wet and hot in my mouth, his hand warm at the back of my neck as I burned and moaned into his touch.
I knew I wanted more but I didn't know how to ask and soon the kiss was over. Trace stroked my cheek for a moment before pulling back and standing up. He stretched, and I saw his shirt slide up exposing a strip of golden brown skin. I chewed my lip, wondering if I could initiate like a normal human being.
But before I could gather my thoughts Trace was talking. "I can help you choose an outfit to meet my parents," he said softly, "but you're so handsome it doesn't matter what you wear, baby."
I laughed awkwardly, uncertain how to answer that. Having Trace call me baby was the best and the worst thing in the world. I'd never know how he managed to wrap up so much affection, warmth and barely banked possessiveness into one term. And he said it a lot. Too much and never enough.
Trace grabbed my hand and lead me to my room where we went immediately to my closet. I stood by his side as he murmured and selected some clothes.  I laid out some options to the side of the closet and felt relieved that I didn't have to think about it anymore.
He teased me about modelling for him but I got out of it by reminding Trace the lasagna was almost done.  Then, we were back in the kitchen and I was taking the lasagna out of the oven with oven mitts. It was a vegetarian blend with probably way too many kinds of cheese and equally unhealthy. But I seemed to burn calories without doing much so I didn't really worry about eating fattening foods. At least Trace liked to exercise so it balanced out.
There were moments when Trace would raise an eyebrow when we went out to eat at my portions but he'd never commented.
I served both me and Trace and we sat down at my small dining table. It felt scarily domestic and I let myself bask in the feeling of what a life with Trace could look and feel like. It felt good.
#
"I'm scared," I said a few days later, after dressing in a silk button down shirt and dressy slacks. I'd gone to the barber the night before and got a clean line up. I was following my skin care routine and I'd chosen a nice outfit but my heart was still beating wildly out of my chest.
Breakfast with Trace's parents was at 11:30AM at a small French restaurant in the city. It was apparently a spot the family always went to when they were all in Toronto and I didn't know how to feel that I was being invited to such a special place.
Trace stood in front of me in a casual outfit of dark jeans and a button down shirt with sneakers. I knew sneakers were most comfortable for him to wear with his prosthetic and he looked good no matter what he wore but I wondered if I was dressing up too much. Would his parents think I was trying too hard?  Would they like me? What if they didn't think I was good enough for their son? What if they were closet homophobes? What if I spontaneously forgot how to speak English? What if I sweated through my shirt? Maybe I should've smeared deodorant on my back to avoid a disaster. But then maybe I'd smell like deodorant. I didn't want to smell like deodorant. Had I even remembered to put on my deodorant? I raised my arm to take a whiff but then I realized I was in front of Trace and smelling my armpit would be distinctly unattractive.
"Baby," Trace spoke low enough to cut through the noise of my mind and he touched my back. The two of us were in my doorway and I'd stopped at the entrance, feeling like I couldn't move. "Darius, it's okay. They're nice, I promise."
"I've never met my boyfriend's parents before," I started quickly, "I mean, I met Carter's mom, but she's homophobic and it was only by accident. We'd gone to the movies and she was going in with some of her friends. They were all church ladies. And Carter liked holding hands in public. And we were in the foyer and then were in the foyer and his mom and was just standing there with her church lady friends. Staring. And Carter marched right up to her still holding my hand. And by then my hand was really gross and sweaty and I was trying to let go but he was just holding so tight because he wanted to prove to his mom that he wasn't embarrassed. But I was so embarrassed. I just wanted to get out of there but the foyer was huge and she was quiet. And the church ladies were shaking their heads and I don't even remember what happened. And I never met her again. And I just can't go through that again. I don't want to feel like that. I'm so nervous, Trace. I don't know if I can do it." No, I knew I couldn't do it. It was impossible.
Trace gave me a long look, brows furrowing as he considered me. "I can cancel it," he said softly, "you don't like being in public when you're stressed and I should have remembered that. I'm sorry."
I felt my eyes tear up and my heart ratcheted up another level. "No, don't apologize to me. I— I'm the problem, okay? Not you!"
Trace paused, but he looked resigned somehow. "No one's the problem, Darius. I just...should have kept in mind that what's comfortable for me may not be comfortable for you. I'll just call my dad now."
Trace whipped out his phone and started to file through his contacts. Trace's phone was in a mishmash of Japanese and what he later told me was Bangla. It wouldn't have been anything I could decipher but before Trace called his dad, I interrupted.
"Wait— I don't want to cancel. I can just get through it." I could plan for a panic attack by excuse myself to the bathroom. It could be okay.
Trace frowned. "And then you'll have a panic attack later and that's not worth it. I don't like seeing you go through that and I don't want you to go through it either."
"How about your apartment?" I suggested, not wanting to think about the one time Trace had witnessed one of my worst panic attacks, "I can cook and—"
"You are not waiting on my parents the first time you meet them. If anything they should be cooking for you. Fuck, I don't know what we should do. Wait. How about pick up? I could order delivery from the restaurant and we could eat at my place. Is that okay?"
A bit of relief filled me and I felt like it was doable. I knew the lay of the land and there wouldn't be any waiters asking me if I played basketball or if I was Cyrus Nkrumah. "Okay."
Trace smiled and his face lit up. "Okay?"
I nodded, softening. "Yeah, I'm okay with that."
Trace went up on the tips of his toes and kissed me on the cheek. "Okay, I'll call my dad and tell him the change of plans."
After that Trace was on the phone and I paced aimlessly. I ended up untucking my button down shirt and taking it off. I pushed off my shoes and walked in circles around my living room in my socks. If this was the better solution why was I still so stressed?
When Trace was done on the phone he called the restaurant and ordered takeout for 1PM to his apartment. That ended up giving us three hours to kill.
"Okay, so I'm going to hang with you for a few hours, go home and prep and then I'll pick you up?"
I nodded.
"Okay, can I kiss you?"
"Yes," I said quietly. It had become common for Trace to ask me if it was okay if he kissed me. He did it in that quiet, confident way he did everything and I appreciated that if I said no, he didn't seem like he would mind.
Trace gave me a kiss and rubbed my back slowly. "Let's cuddle?"
I nodded. "Okay."
Trace looked for a long moment at my bedroom and we went there together where he helped me take off my clothes and I changed into something comfortable. Trace had gotten into the habit of stealing my sweaters. He called it a boyfriend tax and he was now standing at the foot of my bed swiping through my closet.
"You still have my sweater from when we went camping," I said quietly, just watching the strong line of his back and his ass. Okay, mainly his ass. I'd never go so far as to call it a feminine ass, but it had that plush quality that people of any gender identity would kill for. He had that in fucking spades.
Trace turned slightly and it only emphasized the dip in his back that lead to his ass. "I'll return it eventually." He plucked a sweater from my closet and put it on the dresser. Then, he stripped down to his briefs and climbed into my bed, taking the time to remove his leg and place it on an end table. Finally, he folded his body around mine.
It didn't feel sexual but I wasn't completely sure what was happening. Trace was just lying there, and rubbing circles on my chest. I expected him to bring up his parents or maybe the fact I'd cancelled but instead his eyes were closing.
"Let's take a nap?" He mumbled softly, "just a short one."
I frowned. "I'm sorry I can't even get it together enough to go to a restaurant."
Trace sighed. "Darius. We don't have to eat at a restaurant. If you're going to meet my parents then it makes sense for you to be comfortable. I don't want you stressed when you meet them.It's not a big deal, and maybe tonight we can go to a chill bar? It's dark and pretty gay. I wanna go out together and show you off."
I squinted. "Can we spoon?"
He reached up and kissed me on the cheek. "Yes, baby, do you wanna be the big spoon of the little one."
"...the little one."
We moved around until Trace was behind me and his arm was slung protectively over my waist. He was warm and I had my socks on and we were wearing our matching earrings today. I shouldn't have had anything to complain about. And at that moment I didn't. I was big but Trace still had his body around mine and I could feel his warmth. From his breaths on my neck to his chest plastered against my back and even the feel of his hips snug against my ass was all very comfortable.
He had his hand on my stomach and I wished I could fall into him and we could just blend and blur together for a moment. Trace started to hum and my eyes started to lid as he rubbed my stomach distractedly.
"I'm sleepy," I mumbled. My body was relaxing and a hum of want was building. I either needed a nap or for Trace to kiss me senseless.
"I feel like I should tell you something..." Trace said softly. I turned over, losing all that wonderful closeness as Trace frowned. "My family history is kind of complicated."
I blinked the sleep away. "What does that mean?"
"Well...  my father is from a very traditional Muslim family that has ties to Indian nobility, politics in Bangladesh, and a few Bollywood stars. So...he comes from a lot of money. But he was disowned when he started dating my mom because she wasn't rich or Bangla or even Indian or even from a good family. So him and his parents became estranged up until me and Nalini were born. My grandparents sort of saw the errors of their ways and me and Nalini spent at least a month in Bangladesh every year when we were growing up and my grandparents are nice but just...very traditional. My father could never forgive them for not approving of my mom and they've been trying to make it up to him since we were born. All that to say my father is kind of...posh? He seems uptight but he's not. And my mom is well... kind of snobby? She's just really proud and she just speaks very formally and she's always dressing in kimono. She'll probably be in kimono today, too."
I blinked. "Your dad is Muslim? You've never mentioned that. I've seen you eat pork... are you Muslim, too?"
Trace laughed loudly. "I'm not a practicing Muslim, no, but I was raised Muslim. After my accident, I became promptly atheist and my dad didn't push me. So he's chill. I guess he's kind of a weird Muslim but he still prays five times a day and he doesn't drink."
"Why didn't you tell me any of this sooner? Whenever I asked about them you just said they were quirky but normal?"
"I'm just realizing maybe you'd want more information on them. So ask away." He sat up on the bed and crossed his legs but he put a pillow under his stump for some support.
"What's this about you being rich?"
Trace actually flushed. "My dad owns the number one architecture firm in Japan, and he went to...Oxford and Harvard for school...so yeah his family is insanely rich. But he's down to earth, don't worry."
"I'm worried."
Trace sighed. "Maybe this is making things worse. Why don't we just make out and forget about stuff for a bit?"
I shook my head. "Are they really okay with you being gay?"
"Even if I was a serial killer my dad would still love me."
"That's not encouraging!"
Trace frowned as if realizing what he just said. "Fuck, I didn't mean it like that."
"I'm freaking out. I need to calm down," I murmured, "I hate this. I hate this. I hate this."
"Baby, just lie down a sec, okay?"
There was a long moment where I was very still and then I listened to Trace and laid down.
"Can I touch you?"
I hesitated. "Okay."
He slid his body up against mine and hummed appreciatively. "Let's count together. We'll go once in English and once in French. You're in a safe place with me here. I won't judge you and I'll by your side the entire time because I love you."
"I can't understand why," I groaned, "I can't understand why you feel the way you do."
"Baby," Trace groaned, "I could write a fucking novel about how amazing you are and how hot I find you but you still wouldn't get it. But you don't need to get it. You don't need to understand why I feel the way I do. You just need to know that I do feel this way. I'm going to be on you like white on rice for as long as you can stand me. That's a promise. So let's count."
Trace started slowly in English until I joined in and once we got to French he started to kiss me. He crawled on top of me, straddled my waist and planted his hands on either side of my head. Being under full possession of his body made me dizzy I just let him kiss me. I let myself feel the warm wetness of his tongue in my mouth and his body, heavy and hot, and way too clothed against mine.
"We have time," I murmured against his mouth, asking, no, almost pleading without saying much.
"Yeah?" Trace teased, "what does that mean?" I flushed and Traced placed one palm on my cheek and a pleased note entered his voice. "Aw, you're blushing."
I kissed my teeth softly, rolling my eyes without any real annoyance and Trace laughed.
"Come on Darius, just say what you're thinking."
I bit my lip, and closed my eyes. "I want to...you know, do something sexual with you. Maybe. If you want."
Trace's voice went soft, "oh?" And then he gave me a very gentle kiss before rolling off of me.
I opened my eyes to see Trace leaning on his side and grinning at me. I really looked at his face and noticed a slight indentation in his left cheek. A fucking dimple. A fucking dimple I hadn't even noticed. But I'd probably missed it because Trace never grinned so broadly.
Right now he looked like he'd won the lottery. His smile turned small and intimate. "You know how hot it is to hear you say shit like that? Damn, I can't wait until you're almost as colourful as I am. But yeah, take off your clothes and we can kill some time."
I flushed hotly and fumbled with my boxers as Trace did the same.
#
A few hours later I was at the doorstep of Trace's apartment and he was by my side holding my hand.
"I don't think we should hold hands," I said suddenly, "it'll look weird. Like, yeah we're in a relationship but I wouldn't want to throw it in their faces. You know? And you never told me if your sister will be there? Will she be there? Is it weird if she's there?"
Trace let my hand go and spoke very quietly, "I'm going to open the door, okay? The longer we wait the more nervous it will make you. No, Nalini won't be there. And remember: my parents are completely understanding of the fact I'm gay. And they're literally in an interracial relationship long before it was even a bit socially acceptable. And in their cultures it still isn't. They'll only judge you on who you are and you fucking rock."
I took a big breath but before Trace could unlock his door the door swooped open.
For a moment I blinked. And then I blinked again, trying to take in what I was seeing. Trace had shown me a few pictures of his parents but it was different seeing them in 3D.
For average height people both of his parents were tall. His father was probably around six foot and just a bit taller than Trace with a clean shaven face and salt and pepper hair. It took me until that moment to realize that the waviness of Trace's hair and the glossy black colour was something he got from his father. And of course his skin was a deep golden brown that was several shades darker than Trace's. His father had strong features consisting of narrowed eyes, sharp cheekbones and an overall wolffish demeanour.
And then Trace's mother was like the spitting image of Nalini and it was scary. She had large eyes, delicate features and hair that was sculpted into an artful bob. Despite her prim features her mouth was just like Trace's...meaning she seemed like she was constantly frowning.
I was staring at her for far too long and I realized it after several seconds at which point I looked down at my feet.
—
some image references just for fun
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Trace started speaking in Japanese, gesturing between himself and his parents and then between me and him. The one word I recognized was my own name. I looked up tentatively and both his parents were looking at me inquisitively.
Trace seemed concerned. "I was just introducing you, baby."
I winced at the endearment, feeling embarrassed that Trace was so willing to be affectionate in front of his parents. I didn't like it.
"Uhm," I said quietly, "should we go inside?"
Trace laughed gently. "Maybe first I should translate for you?"
"Oh," I murmured, "right." I could feel sweat start to dot my brow and I wished we could just go inside.
"This is my father, Nasim Taluqdar, and my mother, Toru Tsuchida. You can shake their hands."
"Uhm— it's very nice to meet you," I tried to speak clearly but it took me a couple tries just to start my sentence. They probably already thought I was crazy. I didn't know whose hand to shake first so I went for Trace's dad and he smiled pleasantly like I wasn't already losing it.
"It's quite nice to meet you, Darius," he said in a startlingly posh London British accent.
I blinked for a second, still stupidly shaking his hand. "You're British? I thought..."
"It was traditional in my family to send the youngsters abroad to London and that is the reason for my rather peculiar accent." He gave me
a polite smile. "You can let go."
I looked at our joined hands and my face started to burn. "I'm sorry."
Trace patted my back and I noticeably tensed. He withdrew his hand immediately and he frowned but didn't say anything to me. He was only quietly translating to his mom and she was just watching us. Toru Tsuchida's eyes had the same intensity that Trace's did and it was disconcerting.
She extended her hand and shook my hand firmly before just barely inclining her head. His mother maintained eye contact with me as she spoke softly.
Trace turned to me, "she says it's nice to meet you and she hopes that you're taking care of me. It's sort of a Japanese expression but she just hopes our relationship is going well. And since we have a performance in a few days, she's on a bit of vocal rest so she'll be speaking quietly."
"Oh okay," I said.
"Let's go inside."
We went inside and Trace sat on his stool to take his shoes off and I slipped off my shoes quickly before standing there awkwardly. I felt very concerned that I was going to do something embarrassing but I tried to keep it together.
Trace's mother gestured to the kitchen and looked between me and Trace. "Ryu-chan..." she started off before making her way to the kitchen.
That was the first time I noticed she was indeed wearing a kimono. It looked expensive and lush, but not as heavy as I expected. That made me wonder if it was still a kimono and I felt stupid for not even knowing enough about Japanese culture to be certain if Trace's mother was wearing a kimono.
And then it was just me and Trace's dad. Alone. He gestured to the dining table and I took an uncomfortable seat.
"There's no need to be so nervous," he said with another smile that seemed a bit more plastic than it did before.
I looked down at the table and blinked hard. "I'm sorry," I whispered, "I just want to make a good impression."
"Noor has told us so much about you since your very first date. He cares for you deeply and we respect all of his choices, including who he chooses to be with. I will be frank, our son informed us of conversation topics not to bring up, as well as to be understanding that you're a bit nervous but that's understandable." Trace's dad had a smooth, and confident way of speaking that seemed more compelling because of his British accent but he seemed genuine. "Brunch won't be longer than two hours, anyways."
"Baba," Trace called from the kitchen and Trace's father got up from the dining table and Trace was back in a moment.
He took his father's seat and gave me a long look. "You don't want me to touch you or call you baby in front of my parents?"
I actually flinched and Trace chewed on his lip. "I mean," I started, stopped and started again, "just not right now. It's stressing me out."
Trace blinked like I was speaking a foreign language and he exhaled loudly. "Okay," he said like I'd asked him to do something impossible, "but you owe me some major cuddles after this."
I flushed. "Fine."
Trace's parents made their way to the dining table carrying several plates of different breakfast foods. It all smelled warm and delicious.
The table had four seats and I sat directly across from Trace and his parents sat directly across from one another. That put Trace's mom on my right and Trace's dad on my left.
At first it was silent and then I started to be interrogated.
Toru was speaking softly and in between small bites of omelettes, a single pancake and a fruit salad she asked me about myself through Trace and sometimes her husband's translation.  She asked me how old I was, my family's background, my profession, my plans for the future, how Trace and I met, and my intentions with her son.
The longer it went on, the more and more stilted my answers became. Yes I was two years younger than Trace, yes my parents were immigrants, yes both my parents were high school teachers, yes I'd been something of an investment banker, yes I now worked in a bakery, yes I planned on continuing to work in baking. At one point, I replied to a question in French, wishing that we didn't need an intermediary to communicate and she blinked before replying in Japanese.
Okay, so it was a no on the French.
After a while she stopped asking questions and Trace's dad started asking about Canada and what the weather was like in the city. That conversation was easier to have and he was such an easygoing person he was easy to talk to. I understood what Trace meant about his dad being down to earth.
After breakfast was finished, Trace and his father went to the kitchen to clear the plates and I was left alone with his mother at the table. She was much more serious than I expected her to be and I found myself annoyed with Trace for not being transparent with me that his mother was terrifying.
Toru's voice interrupted my thoughts and she spoke in clear, perfect Parisian French, "Our son has never introduced a boyfriend to us before."
I blinked. "Oh, I— I didn't know that," I said in French.
Her expression was hard to read but her lips pursed slightly as her eyes swooped down to her lap before up at me. "My son won't admit it, but he's had a hard life. Even in Tokyo other children could be cruel when he was young. And then the accident..." She swallowed quickly before composing herself. "And I want to make sure the person he loves is understanding of that. Of how wonderfully complicated he is. And how happy he deserves to be."
"He told me...about his leg," I said in a small voice, not sure how to tell her just how much Trace had told me about himself.
Toru nodded and smiled grimly. "It takes a lot for him to trust others. Though, it is easy for me to tell that he loves you very much." For the first time, I saw her smile and two deep dimples appeared. "You remind me too much of my husband when we first met. I was on the subway and he recognized me from one of my shows. He screamed in surprise and everyone on the subway car looked at him like he was a crazy foreigner. Then, he insisted he'd apologize over dinner." She covered her mouth and laughed quietly.  "He was so cute then and he is even more handsome now. I think if you are anything like my husband then Ryuu has made an excellent choice." She inclined her head just barely.  "Thank you."
I blinked once and then twice. "Uhh—" I stammered terribly for a few seconds before I finally got some words out. "You don't need to thank me! I'm just me, and Trace is the best boyfriend I've ever had. I'm lucky that he's even into me." And then I immediately regretted how insecure I sounded.
Toru quirked her head. "No. I'm a good judge of character and you deserve a partner as loving as my son. You're much too handsome to be so insecure."
Before I could argue with her further, Trace and his father came back into the living room and carried an ornate looking tea pot with them as well as cups. "Thought we all could fancy a cuppa," Nasim murmured as he poured for all of us.
Then, Nasim went to the tv to turn it on and took his cup to the couch. Toru went to sit with him and I was surprised when he turned to her and kissed her on the cheek, murmuring something to her intimately. Toru's expression softened but she didn't reply.
Trace sat across from me at the table. "I can drop you off at home soon and then we can go out tonight. But first, help me with the dishes in the kitchen?"
"I'd like that," I admitted softly.
We got up together and went to the kitchen where I did the drying and Trace did the washing. We were standing close together and every now and then his hip or shoulder would bump against me.
"You're doing a great job, you even got my mom to smile!" Trace looked up at me while handing me a plate to dry.
I frowned. "Why didn't you tell me she was like that?"
Trace frowned back. "Like what?"
I gave him a look. "She asked me, like, forty questions."
Trace shrugged. "That's just her getting to know you."
I snorted. "And you didn't tell me she was so intense. I obviously see where you get it from, but I would have appreciated a warning."
"I mean, isn't she how most moms are?" he asked genuinely.
I laughed. "God, no. I mean...that's how my mom treated Cyrus' wife when they first met except she never smiled..."
"Your mon sounds scarier than my mom, dude," Trace murmured as he wiped the last dish.
I made a soft note of frustration. "I'm not...dude."
Trace's reply was quick, "You like baby except in front of my parents. Got it." I couldn't believe that out of all the things the two of us had been through and all the craziness I'd displayed to Trace him not being able to call my baby for an afternoon was where he drew the line. It was kind of hilarious. And so I laughed.
He arched a brow at me and that made me laugh more. "That's the kind of thing that annoys you? Out of everything it's not being able to call me baby?"
He sighed. "I just like calling you baby. Your face gets all soft and then I just wanna kiss you. And it tells people we're together pretty obviously without me having to do much."
"It just feels weird in front of your parents. I'm not embarrassed...I'm just awkward."
Trace turned to me and put his hands on my chest. He was leaning in close and giving me bedroom eyes but I was acutely aware of his parents just in the other room. But I was weak and it was Trace so I leaned down and let him kiss me.
His arms wrapped around my neck and he deepened the kiss until I forgot whatever we had set out to do in the kitchen.
"Can I sleep over tonight?" Trace asked me after the kiss was over. His question seemed innocent enough but I knew what he was really asking.
I flushed. "Yeah... and I don't mind if we...go to a bar tonight like you asked earlier."
"Okay, good." Trace hugged me then and I relaxed in his arms.
The rest of the brunch was a lot of small talk, but I felt like I'd passed whatever test was set before me because Trace's mom was finally engaging me in conversation.
I eventually said my goodbyes and Trace dropped me off at home where I could finally, and thankfully relax.