Free His Good Girl by Dinah McLeod

life," he told me as he scooped portions onto our plates.
    "I like my food a bit done," I said cheerfully. Though he smiled, I could tell it would take a lot more than that to cheer him up. I carried our plates to the table and sat directly across from him so I could rub his foot with mine under the table.
    After a few minutes, he seemed to perk up. The chicken was moist and delicious, and the mashed potatoes were like little buttery clouds from Heaven. Besides, it was the company I really cared about. We talked the night away as we began to make wedding plans. We agreed that we wanted something small and simple, and that we wanted to get married as soon as possible. Before he left for the evening, Kevin gave me a kiss that was long, lingering and filled with so much promise. I couldn't help thinking that it had been the best meal of my life; burned rice and all.
    ***
    For the first time since we'd met, Kevin and I didn't see each other the following day, or even the one after that. Business was picking up for the both of us—a good thing, in both our lines of work. We texted throughout the day, and talked on the phone for hours at a time each night. Despite the fact that I had to be at work early in the morning— Kevin had imposed a midnight curfew which I rarely obeyed, although he never knew it—when I walked in bleary eyed, it was always with a smile on my face. I couldn't remember a time when I'd ever been happier, and I loved showing off my unique engagement ring. Though she denied it, I could tell that Janie was practically beside herself with jealousy.
    I spent all my free time planning our wedding, and our conversations often revolved around the where and when. All I really cared about was a dress and a bouquet, and Kevin insisted that he just wanted to make me happy. Since his family lived in Michigan, he was in touch with his parents to see when the best time would be for them to fly down for the wedding. As a prestigious business man, it was hard for his dad to miss work. Other than that, there was only one other teeny, tiny, minor detail to handle—Kevin insisted that he needed to meet my mother.
    Like all women enveloped in the fog of new love, I thought that I would be able to simply explain why that wasn't a good idea, nor was it necessary. Kevin, however, disagreed, and nothing I could say or do—even pouting—could persuade him otherwise.
    "She's your mother, Cara," he said, as though I needed reminding. "I feel bad enough that I didn't ask her permission beforehand, I'm not going to not meet her before the wedding."
    If he'd asked her permission, she would have laughed in his face and blatantly refused, a fact I didn't bother to point out. Nor did I mention that I doubted she would attend the wedding. "But, honey—"
    "No." He held up a hand. "We've been going around and around this for two weeks and frankly, I'm tired of it. Either give me a good reason why we can't go, or call her and make plans."
    I let out a long-suffering sigh. "I already told you why: I don't want to."
    "So I heard. She's your mother, Cara."
    I could have told him that she wasn't the mothering type—that she was far from what you pictured when you thought of what a mother should be. I could have told him that I was afraid that he, upon meeting her, would reconsider our engagement. I could have given him any number of reasons, but somehow, as I looked into his steady, determined eyes, I knew that none of them would carry much weight or change his mind. So I gave the smallest of nods and whispered, "Okay," instead.
    "There." He gave me a bright smile that almost made it worth it. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?"
    "No, but we haven't gone yet, either."
    "Cara," he said and chuckled, "everything's going to be just fine." He leaned in to kiss me, and while I returned his embrace, I couldn't let myself relax.
    I didn't bother to contradict him—I knew he wouldn't believe me, anyway.
    I had hoped I'd be able to stall for at least a