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I’m about to tell him not to answer when he pushes the button and says, “Hey, Mama!”

“Marcus!” the blonde middle-aged woman on the screen says.

I duck down, trying to stay out of sight. A glob of sauce drops from my face onto the floor. I’m a mess. I need a towel … maybe a shower. I should just go.

I start to duck-walk toward the door, and then I realize I’m dripping sauce as I go, like a bloody waterfowl barely escaping the scene of a crime.

“Where you going?” Marcus asks me, looking down with obvious amusement at me waddling in a squat position.

“Marcus?” his mom asks. “Is someone there?”

“Uh. Yeah.” He seems to only now realize I shouldn’t meet his mom.

“Is that the famous girlfriend we’ve been hearing about?”

I grab the edge of my apron and start swiping at my cheeks. Then I pinch the fabric around strands of my hair and run it down and get the sauce out. I realize too late that I’m making myself look a mess.

“It’s … uh …” Marcus is stuttering overhead.

No. I silently mouth the word to him while running my hand across my throat in a don’t do it motion—or an I’ll kill you gesture. He can take it either way.

He reaches down with one hand, holding the phone with the other, and grips my wrist to tug me upright.

“Marcus, no!” I whisper-hiss.

“I hear her!” his mom says.

I step behind Marcus to hide. Thankfully, he’s eating four thousand calories a day. He’s big enough to play a decent game of hide-and-seek behind.

“She’s there, right?” his mom asks. “It’s okay for me to meet her. I won’t say anything inappropriate, I promise, Marcky.”

“Marcky?” I whisper.

He turns, losing sight of the fact that he’s my shield, and says, “You will never use that nickname. Ever.”

“Oh! Cass!” Marcus’s mom says. Her tone is so excited.

I try to duck back behind Marcus, but he’s looping his arm around me and tugging me around till I’m at his side, wrapped snugly next to him.

“I’m a mess,” I say into the phone. “I sort of made a disaster of dinner.”

“That’s alright, honey,” Mrs. Delaney says. Her accent is just a little stronger than Marcus’s, but still that slow melodic Mississippi drawl.

I smile at her. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Delaney.”

“Not as nice as it is to meet you, you sweet thang. Goodness, look at you. You’re more beautiful than you looked in the photos you took with Marcky at that park.”

“Mom. No Marcky, please.”

“Right, right,” she says. “He hates when I call him that.”

“I don’t hate it. Just not in front of people.”

“She’s your girlfriend. May as well get used to me, right?”

“Right,” he says, and his face practically blanches.

I know the feeling. I had to deal with my dad’s minor freak-out when he found out I was dating the quarterback of the Thunder. I told him we’re not serious. That’s the best I could do. Mom couldn’t care less. She’s not into football. She just wants me to meet a nice boy and settle down.