Enrique is a suave parent-soothing master, expertly discussing whatever my mother brings up and handling questions about his situation in life like a pro. Which is saying something, because all I want to do is dig a very large hole and climb inside so no one can see me.

Finally, after a war of words that must have lasted fifteen or twenty minutes, my mother offers her hand. "I'm not done worrying about her."

He accepts her handshake. "She's your daughter, Ma'am. You'll never stop worrying about her."

"Yes, but she's old enough to make her own decisions. Or so she keeps telling me. I hope you two will be very happy together." She turns back to me and offers a hug. "We can talk another day?"

Why's she being so nice all of a sudden? Something's up. But I don't have time to think about it, because I have to get myself ready to leave in the morning.

"Thanks, Mama. Sure, I'll give you a call once I'm settled in."

"Good. I left dinner in the kitchen."

And then she walked away. Which aliens kidnapped my mother while I was in Vegas?

Enrique and I wave until she is out of sight. Smart of her to park around the corner where I wouldn't see her distinctive orange car.

"What was that?" I ask, turning toward him.

"I don't know? I expected her to be more scary."

"She's way more scary. Are you a parent-whisperer? You can calm them with a single conversation?"

He bursts out laughing. What is going on in topsy-turvy land today?

Enrique struggles to get in enough breath to form a sentence, but he squeaks out a choppy, "It's just funny because I'm a teacher so I kind of am a professional parent-whisperer."

I do not understand the joke. And I make absolutely no attempt to keep that confusion off my face.

Finally, he manages to catch himself and stand to full height. "Sorry. I guess that's only funny to other teachers."

"Shall we go in?" I offer, climbing the stairs and unlocking the door. "Or do we have more strange things to deal with on my front lawn?"

"No, no. Lead the way."

He is still chuckling to himself as I swing the door open. I'm not optimistic that holding my breath and refusing to look at him will calm my nerves, but I'm going to give it a try anyway.

"It's nice," he says, stepping through the door and removing his shoes. His bags clunk to the floor as he rounds the corner into the living room. "I like your shelves."

"You like my shelves?" I follow behind, arms crossed in front of me like it's some kind of battle armour.

"I do like your shelves. Is that an odd thing to say in this situation? Sorry." He smiles. "Any chance this place has a kitchen or a bathroom too?"

If I roll my eyes any harder, they'll fall out of my head. "You are hilarious. Just remember I get to see your house tomorrow so anything you dish out I will return in kind."

"I can take it," he smiles, gently nudging my shoulder with his hand.

"Oh, you are good," I return. "Fine, you like it and I should relax."

"I do. And you should. It's going to be fine."

* * *

I forgot how much work it is to unpack a whole suitcase, wash all of your laundry, and pack everything back up again. It's enough to make me never want to travel again.

Which is a problem, because I have to drive out to Enrique's in the morning.

He must sense this about me, because he insists I sit on the couch and wait for him to get dinner. I curl my legs under me and wait for his inevitable realization.

Less than two minutes after he leaves the living room, he returns holding an oven mitt, nose scrunched up.

"Does your mother know that she, umm... how do I put this politely?"

Now it's my turn to laugh so hard I can't breathe. Enrique shakes his head at me as I struggle to get the words out. "Oh, my goodness you didn't try Mom's cooking did you?"

He nods.

"I'm so sorry! I should have told you."

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" He puts his hands on his hips, oven mitt falling to the ground.

My lungs burn, struggling for air, so I hold up my fingers very close together, hoping he understands I mean 'just a little bit'.

"I never expected you could be so cruel. I'm going to assume it's my right of passage. Everyone has to try Mom's cooking for the first time, I guess." His nose scrunches up, as though the memory of the cooking is enough to turn his stomach. "I can see why you were always over at Divya's."

I'm still laughing so hard that breathing is coming in starts, a painful ribbon squeezing my chest. "Stop making me laugh," I croak out. "And find us something to eat. Maybe there's crackers?"

I move to get up and he holds his hand out. "No. I am doing this."

"You are doing what? Scouring my kitchen to find absolutely nothing edible and then magically turning it into supper?"

"You don't have grocery stores in this city?" He mocks shock. "I was thinking I'd just go buy some ingredients and make us dinner. You need anything for the drive up? I can grab it while I'm out."

"How are you going out without a vehicle?" I ask, hands on hips.

"You can't walk to a grocery store? Why do we live here?" He moves his arms around in a grand gesture I don't understand because for some reason my pulse is pounding in my ears.

He interrupts me by shaking the keys in front of his face. "I was just going to borrow the car if that's all right with you."

Is he actually expecting me to just lend him my car without asking? Dude!

Credit where it's due. The man sees my face and can immediately tell something's wrong. If only I knew what it was.

"Or I could just call a cab or something. You have a favourite one?" He puts the keys backin my hand and turns to slide his shoes on.

"No, you can take the car. So long as you bring it back in one piece." I toss him my keys and he's out the door without so much as another word.

I never even decided if I wanted anything for tomorrow. But it's okay, because he returns moments later, shivering. "It's really cold outside," he says. "And I forgot my coat. Did you want me to pick up anything for you?"

I just shake my head and laugh at him rifling through his things in search of a warm coat. It isn't until he's closing the door behind him that I realize I do want something. "Wait! Enrique!"

He whips around like he's ready to fight an oncoming tiger. "What is it?"

"Could you pick me up some chips?"

"Sure, what kind?"

"Surprise me. But if it's not ketchup, don't come home."

"Canadian girl, eh? You need me to grab you a poutine too?"

"Nah, just fetch me a hockey stick."

"In the middle of the spring?" He looks back at me when I don't respond. "Oh, joke. Okay. I'll be right back."

By the time he does return, I've managed to wash and dry all of my clothes. There's no way I'm packing a new suitcase until I've eaten, though.

Of course, I cleaned my house before I left, so all I can do while Enrique cooks is sit in the kitchen and watch.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" I ask as he chops yet another kind of pepper.

"I told you, I got this," he smiles, dropping the items into a frying pan and watching them sizzle.

Maybe he really is a wizard because it's not even half an hour before he slides a plate of something with chicken and potatoes in front of me.

"You promise this'll be better than what my mom brought?" My fork is poised over the edge of the plate. It smells delicious, but I want to see his response before I commit.

"That is highly offensive. Of course it will be," he laughs. "It's just something I whipped up. Not even sure it has a name. Mom used to make something similar with rice."

I risk it, shoveling a huge fork full of food into my mouth. Enrique sits down across the table from me and takes a bite himself, watching as I shove the food into my mouth with increasing speed.

"You want some more?" he asks when I finish.

Something inside me wants to be demure and say no. Like I'm not supposed to want to do that, but I do want more, so I nod. He's married me already. What else is there to do? He might as well get to know the real me. That's the point of trying to make this marriage thing work, right?

He slides the rest of the meal onto my plate and rinses the frying pan in the sink, leaning against the counter to watch me once he's finished.

"You ready for tomorrow?" He asks finally.

"I think so," I lie. I'm not at all ready, but it's the only way to figure out what I want to do next. And I kind of owe him at least until the reunion is over. "I just need to pack my suitcase and then I'll be all set."

"Do you want some help with that?" His arms tense against the counter like he's about to push himself up to sitting on it but he resists the urge.

"My husband wants to help me pack my bag so we can head to our house tomorrow?" I raise an eyebrow, waiting to see how he handles the teasing.

"Yes. And then he will sleep on the couch like a proper gentleman."

"A very normal married couple thing to do."

"It doesn't need to be normal to anyone but us." He shrugs. "Now let's go fold some clothes."

I try to resist as he pulls me down the hallway by my arm. But his words bounce around my head like a promise.

It doesn't need to be normal to anyone but us.

A sliver of hope pushes into my chest. Maybe we have a chance.