“Work?” I ask, nearly hopeful—work could mean he can’t go to family dinner. “Worse. My mother.” My eyebrows furrow in confusion as he continues to stare at the screen. “Probably a potential date attack.” “Answer it,” I say with a laugh. “I’ll go try to find food for breakfast.” He gives me a look telling me he’s thinking about not answering it, but I do my best at replicating Gia’s stern mom look. It’s his mother, after all. Finally, it seems to work when he smiles, nods, and swipes to answer. “Hello, Mother,” he says, flopping into my bed and making me smile again. He would call his mom
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