The phone started ringing just as Ava opened her laptop Monday night.
She stared at the screen for three seconds before realizing the sound wasn’t hers. It came from the coffee table, from Evan’s phone, the one he’d left charging while he set up his camera gear by the window.
"Evan, your phone’s—"
He grabbed it mid-sentence. "Got it."
She went back to her notes, half listening until his tone changed.
"Hey, Mom."
A pause.
"No, I didn’t forget."
Another pause, longer this time.
"Yeah… she’s here."
Ava looked up. "What?"
He mouthed, *help me.*
"Who’s that?" she whispered.
"My mother," he mouthed back.
"Why is she—"
He motioned for silence, then forced a cheerful laugh.
"Yeah, Mom, she’s right here next to me. Want to say hi?"
Ava froze. "No."
"She said yes!" he blurted and handed her the phone.
"Hi, Mrs. Brooks," Ava said, trying to sound human.
"Oh sweetheart! I was beginning to think you were fictional," the woman boomed through the speaker. "You sound lovely! Are you taking care of my son?"
Ava swallowed. "He seems perfectly capable of—"
"He never is! You must come to dinner. Tomorrow. No arguments."
Ava blinked. "Tomorrow?"
"Yes! I’m making roast chicken and pie. Evan hasn’t brought a girl home in years. I need to make sure you’re real."
Evan tried to intervene. "Mom—"
"Tomorrow!" click. Call ended.
He lowered the phone like it was radioactive.
"Did she just invite me to dinner?"
"Correction," he said, "she summoned you."
Ava groaned. "Why would you tell her I’m here?"
"Because I panic-lied when she asked if I was alone."
"So now I’m your alibi."
"Technically you’re my girlfriend. In her version of events."
"Fantastic."
He grinned. "You’ll love her."
"I already have a migraine."
He leaned on the counter, still smiling. "Come on, it’s one dinner."
"With your family. Who think I’m your real girlfriend."
"Minor detail."
"Major problem."
"You handle clients worth millions. You can handle my mom."
"Clients don’t ask about my childhood or when I plan to have kids."
He laughed. "Okay, fair."
She folded her arms. "You’re taking this way too lightly."
"I have to. If I think about it too much, I’ll die of terror."
"At least we agree on something."
They spent the next ten minutes arguing over what she should wear. Evan voted for "something normal." Ava interpreted that as a business casual presentation with emergency pearls.
By the time she left, he looked half amused, half terrified.
The next evening, Ava stood in front of a suburban house that smelled like cinnamon and danger.
"Last chance to fake food poisoning," she said.
"You’ll be fine."
"That’s what people say before disasters."
"She’ll love you."
"She’ll interrogate me."
"Same thing."
The door flew open before they even knocked. Mrs. Brooks burst out, flour on her hands and a smile broad enough to eclipse the porch light.
"There’s my boy! And my new favorite person!"
Ava barely had time to react before she was pulled into a hug that smelled like vanilla and comfort.
"You’re even prettier than your pictures!"
"What pictures—" Ava glared at Evan.
He winced. "She may have seen our ‘official couple posts.’"
"You posted those?"
"I can explain."
"You can’t."
Mrs. Brooks beamed. "Come in, come in! Dinner’s almost ready. Sophie’s here too!"
Evan murmured, "Perfect. Both of them."
"Both?"
"You’ll see."
Inside, the house was a museum of family photos and chaos. Ava spotted a younger Evan in every frame—mud, camera, mischief. It was disarming.
Sophie appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tray of glasses. "Hey! So you’re the legend!"
"I guess so," Ava said.
"Finally! Someone who can handle my brother."
"Define ‘handle.’"
"Still here after week three."
Evan rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Sophie."
"Anytime."
Dinner was loud, warm, and terrifying. Mrs. Brooks asked everything—how they met, who said ‘I love you’ first, when they’d move in together. Ava nearly choked on her water twice.
Evan kept improvising, his lies ridiculous but weirdly sweet.
By dessert, she’d stopped keeping score. Mrs. Brooks clapped her hands. "You two are adorable. Next Sunday—family brunch."
Ava blinked. "Sunday?"
"Every week."
When they finally escaped to the car, Ava exhaled like she’d run a marathon.
"She’s intense," she said.
"She’s unstoppable," he agreed.
"She’s planning brunch."
"She’s serious."
Silence filled the car, then they both laughed—quiet, tired, and somehow fond.
"Thanks for coming," he said.
"Thanks for the ambush."
"Anytime."
Outside, the porch light glowed behind them like a beacon and a warning.
Ava looked at him, smiling despite herself.
"This fake relationship is getting dangerously real."
He smiled back. "Yeah. I noticed."
As they drove away, the quiet between them felt heavy but not uncomfortable.
Evan kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other tapping along with a song that played too softly to recognize. The headlights carved pale tunnels through the dark streets.
"She likes you," he said finally.
"She interrogated me."
"That’s her way of saying welcome."
"I survived. Barely."
"That’s the Brooks initiation ritual."
Ava smiled despite herself. "She invited us for brunch."
"Yeah, she doesn’t take no for an answer."
"I noticed."
"You’ll like it. Sophie makes pancakes."
"Great. More pancakes."
He laughed, the sound soft and unguarded. "Hey, at least this time they won’t burn."
"I’m not convinced."
"Then I’ll make sure they don’t."
"You say that every time."
"And yet here we are, still alive."
She turned her head toward the window. The glass reflected his profile, the slight curve of his grin. Something about the quiet domesticity of the drive unsettled her more than the chaos of dinner had.
"Evan?"
"Yeah?"
"Why did you really want me there tonight?"
He hesitated. "Because she asked for you."
"That’s not an answer."
"Because it made her happy to think I wasn’t alone."
"And you wanted to keep it that way."
"Maybe," he said. "Maybe I just wanted you there."
She looked at him, but he kept his eyes on the road.
"You’re a terrible liar," she said.
"I’ve had practice with you."
"That’s not comforting."
"Didn’t think it would be."
They stopped at a red light. The glow washed over his face, softening the lines of humor around his eyes.
"Thanks for coming," he said again, quieter this time.
"You already said that."
"Still true."
The light turned green, but he didn’t move right away.
A horn blared behind them.
He laughed, pressed the gas, and the car rolled forward.
Ava rested her head against the seat. "Next time, you’re the one answering your mother’s questions."
"Deal."
"And you’re telling her the truth."
"Define truth."
She sighed. "Hopeless."
"That’s me."
Outside, the streetlights blurred past in golden streaks. The city felt smaller somehow, or maybe she did. She realized she was still smiling.
"Stop that," she said.
"What?"
"Making me laugh at the end of every disaster."
"That’s my job."
"You’re not paid for it."
"Yet."
He turned into her street and parked in front of her building. The night air slipped in when she opened the door.
"Good night, Ava."
"Good night, Evan."
"Don’t dream about my mom."
"Too late."
He laughed as she shut the door.
Upstairs, in the quiet of her apartment, she leaned against the wall and let out a long breath. The smell of cinnamon still clung to her clothes. She could almost hear Mrs. Brooks’ laughter, see Evan’s grin across the dinner table.
She should have felt relieved that the evening was over.
Instead, she felt something dangerously close to content.
For the first time in a long while, Ava didn’t check her planner before bed. She didn’t need to schedule what was already starting to happen.
She was falling, just a little, into the mess she’d promised herself to avoid.
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