“I can’t say I know many young people becoming chemists these days. It’s very impressive.” Evie’s head nods with Steve’s, a small smile tracing her lips.
“Thank you,” I say, then take a gulp of my water. Owen sits next to me, digging into his mountain of food Evie served him. She really is a mum, feeding us all and already telling me she wants me to come back soon. It’s hard to feel uncomfortable here.
“And you met Owen through Emilia and Alistair?” Steve asks, genuinely curious.
I tilt my head to the side. “Kind of. My cousin, Stana, is dating Ali so I met everyone through her, but I’ve been lucky enough to become very close with Emilia.”
“She’s a good girl, my Em.” Evie has the look of love and tenderness at the mention of Emilia, who I know is like a surrogate daughter to her.
“She’s the best,” I confirm.
“Well, we feel very lucky to know you too, Ms. Lottie. My son has only had great things to say about you. And you should know this is the first time my Owen has ever brought a girl home.” She winks at me before finishing off the wine in her glass.
I try to swallow the chicken in my mouth, but it suddenly gets stuck, like trying to push a leather shoe down a dry slide.
“Mum,” Owen says from next to me, turning to pat me on the back a few times, his face slightly flushed. I take a gulp of water, trying to calm my mortifying coughing fit.
“Sorry,” I say, placing a hand against my chest. “Wrong pipe.” I grimace, suddenly feeling strangely hot and flustered.
“Don’t worry, darling. Steve, get Lottie some more water. Once we finish here, I’ve got Owen’s special chocolate cake for dessert!” She pops up from the table and tries to carry the plates before Owen’s much taller form stops her. That’s probably the only difference between the two—Owen has at least ten inches on his mother.
“Mum, you cooked. I’ll clean.” His voice is firm and it’s clear he won’t take no for an answer.
She pinches his cheeks, scrunching up her face before sitting down.
I stand, then collect what I can as I walk behind Owen to the kitchen. I spot all of Evie’s little knickknacks along the way—small collections of trinkets from her life and abroad. I like that about Evie; she isn’t cohesive. She’s this big bright mixture of everything.
“Lottie, you’re a guest. There is no way I’m letting you do the dishes.” Owen grabs the dishes from my arms and despite wanting to snatch them back and tell him I can help if I want to, I resist. Instead I sneak back into the dining room and try to collect what is left. Too bad Steve has me beat and nods for me to sit down, both of his hands full.
“I feel like a bit of a leech not helping,” I tell Evie as I sit next to her, then grab my water glass and have a few more sips.
“It’s the fact you asked to help that matters, Lottie. Owen and Steve can handle doing the dishes.” She offers me some wine, which I decline, thankful she clearly has no idea about my condition.
“So, darling girl, tell me about yourself. I want to know it all!”
I laugh and take a sip of my water. “Well, I’ve lived in London my whole life, only child. I’m a pharmacist, and much to the chagrin of your son, I’m not a movie person.”
Evie laughs at the last part. “Well, that tells me you must be special if Owen still keeps you around even though you don’t like movies. I’ll tell you, Lottie, ever since he was a boy, I could never keep him interested in anything if it wasn’t related to film or the drums. Every birthday party he had till he was twelve was superhero or Star Wars themed.”
“Really?” I can’t help but smile when thinking about a younger Owen and how his obsession has only increased as the years go on.
“Oh yes. Owen once made his entire party watch Jurassic Park despite half of them wanting to run for the hills. In hindsight, I suppose that might have been scary for eight-year-olds, but what can I say? Owen knew what he liked.”
“He still does,” I confirm.
She nods thoughtfully, her lips tilting up at the sides from memories. “I’m sure he’s tried to pull you down the rabbit hole?”
I playfully roll my eyes. “You have no idea. I swear I’ve never watched as many movies in my entire life as I have over the past few months. Half the time I have no idea what’s going on, but I don’t have the heart to tell him that.”
“Oh God no,” she jokes. “Would break his wee heart.”
We spend the next fifteen minutes laughing with one another, her relaying stories of Owen’s childhood as I reveal small bits about myself.
“So, Owen told me your parents live in France?” Evie swirls her glass of wine as she looks at me, her warm blue eyes hauntingly similar to Owen’s.
I nod. “Yeah, Mum and Dad moved there nearly four years ago now. We’d lived in London my whole life, but they needed a change and I didn’t, so I stayed.”
“Do you see them much?”
“Unfortunately, I haven’t seen them since Christmas. I’ve had a lot going on and they’re traveling, so we just haven’t found the time. I’ll probably go visit them in February or something.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize how impossible that visit will be. I’ll be nearly eight months pregnant by then, so travel will be off the table. A slight touch of sorrow mars my heart at the thought of it being over a year since I’ve hugged my mum and dad.
Evie’s hand comes to rest atop mine on the table, her array of rings glittering in the
