Chapter 51

Clara's POV

Mom was in the living room tapping her feet impatiently.

My mom was far more deadly when she was quiet.

Derek and I sat down across from her. The room became increasingly silent.

I wasn't worried about me but rather about Tristan.

Mom looked up, preparing herself for her speech.

She sighed, her anger finally contained. "Look here, Clara, I don't expect you to be a saint. You can even date twenty of them simultaneously if you want to. I don't like being lied to. I've been worried sick, wondering if something had happened to you all the while you were with this one." Mom scolded.

"And you," she turned to Derek. "Do you always drive around dropping girls off at the corner in your employer's car?" she continued.

This was not going well.

Derek stuttered as he struggled to form a coherent sentence. "T-That was not my intention at all, ma'am." He answered. He has always predicted confidence. I've never seen him like this.

"Guys with good intentions don't drop off girls by the corner. They have the decency of showing up at their door and meeting her parents." Mom snapped again.

This was a bit of my fault.

Mom shook her head in disapproval as she continued her interrogation.

Mom sighed as she tried to regain her calm. "So, who is he, and what does he do?" she asked.

"This is Derek," I answered. "He is my..."

"I'm her boss," he answered.

Mom now looked horrified, her murderous look returning.

"Is this the reason for the sudden promotion and the extra off days?" Mom concluded. "I now know all the extra hours at work and the reason for you not showing up at home the other day were all lies." She shook her head in disapproval. This was the moment when every parent realised that their parenting had failed. "Were you expecting anything in return when you gave her that promotion?" she questioned.

"Not at all, ma'am," Derek interjected. "Clara is one of the most hard-working employees that we have. She deserves that and so much more," he quickly responded. "Just like you, I'm sure, I've heard about your wonderful cakes."

Something she couldn't retort to; she couldn't say no to a compliment.

"I'll have you know, I'm not doing too bad," Mom answered, shrugging off his compliment.

"Don't be too modest. I've been begging Clara to bring me one of your cakes, but she refused to. I think I finally have a chance of getting it from you." Derek smiled.

I guess I wasn't the only liar around. It was surely working on my mom. She seemed to have softened a little towards him.

"Of course, Clara would do that," Mom shot me a look. "I have something you can try fresh out of the oven." She smiled. She rose from the couch and left for the kitchen.

I waited until she was out of sight to speak. "Are you going to throw me under the bus?" I whispered, punching him lightly in the shoulder.

"She wasn't looking at you like she already had a grave dug up for you in the backyard." He answered. "It was you or me," he teased.

I would have thrown him another punch, but Mom returned, holding a single plate of her famous chocolate cake.

She handed the cake to him and then returned to her seat.

Derek smiled, then began to dig in.

"It's really good," Derek said between bites. "I think it would be even better if you added a little more buttermilk and cocoa powder," Derek commented.

Just when I thought he was doing so well. He does this. I wanted to turn away and crawl into a corner where no one would ever be able to find me.

Knowing my mother, maybe he did deserve to be in a body bag and dumped somewhere no one would ever find him.

I noticed my mom's eye twitch as her anger resurfaced. "You know something about cooking?" My mom muttered. She made it sound like a treat. As good of a cook as she was, she never accepted any criticism.

"Yes, actually," Derek answered. "After business school, I wanted to learn as much as possible about the industry from experience, which included working with some chefs." He answered.

"Oh," my mom smiled. "I think you are right. I always felt like it was missing something. I have a new recipe I'm working on. Maybe you should come back another day. My children know nothing about cooking." She laughed.

That transpired differently than I expected.

"I sure will," Derek answered. "I'm sure there are plenty of things I can learn from you." He added.

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" Mom suggested. "I was just about to prepare the food."

"I'd love nothing more," Derek answered.

That, ladies and gentlemen, was the start of Derek and my mother's newly formed friendship.

Minutes later, Derek donned an apron, the two cooking and laughing together. I never knew suggesting experimenting with spices and recipes could be this funny.

I felt like a third wheel around them. Neither of them noticed when I slipped out of the kitchen to watch some TV in the living room.

That's when I saw Katy peeking from upstairs. She walked downstairs, her footsteps barely audible.

"Is anyone dead yet?" she asked.

I pointed to the kitchen, where my mom and Derek laughed.

Katy looked disappointed. "I was hoping that I'd upgrade to a bigger room." She joked.

Katy cozied up right next to me. Of all the space on the couch, she couldn't leave me alone. "He seems like Mom; Mom just doesn't warm up to everyone. You should start working on having that baby." Katy whispered.

And have to explain why the child was born a whole month late. Lying was not going to get me out of this one. I sighed, leaning my head back.

The TV didn't seem that interesting. Not when I was on edge that Derek could say one wrong thing, and everything would blow up in my face.

I stepped away from Katy and walked to the kitchen.

Mom and Derek were at the stove. Derek mixed the contents of the pan while Mom dished out some instructions. "You should steer it in circles; that way, the butter melts perfectly into the mixture," Mom instructed.

Mom turned, noticing my presence. "He cooks well. It would help if you learned from him," she said. "This one is never going to cook for you." She laughed, pointing with her spoon.

She looked like she couldn't be any happier. Usually, when she asks Katy and me to help her cook, we walk away and pretend we have other things to do; she has finally gotten the apprentice she has always wanted.

She took some plates from the cupboard and prepared the table.

"I thought you said you hated cooking. You don't have to do this." I whispered to Derek, who was steering the pot.

"I want to," he answered loudly. "I think that I enjoy cooking for the first time." He answered.

What had my mother done to him?

Katy walked into the kitchen, approaching Derek and me. "I'm really glad that you are still alive. I had already prepared a body bag and a cover-up story for your death. But you proved me wrong." He approached Derek. "I'm Katy, by the way; I'm going to be your boss one day." She reached her hand out.

"Sounds like I'll finally have some competition," he said as he shook her hand.

"Is there any chance we can exchange my sister for you?" Katy smiled. "We don't usually get people like you around here. It's just that my family is so poor that my sister can't even afford to buy me a dress," her smile dropped as she turned to stare at the floor.

"Katy!" I cut her off. "I'm sure m is calling you to help her set the table," I glared at her.

I should have known she would try to use every opportunity.

"Fine," Katy sighed. She retreated, walking out of the kitchen.

"She'll do great in business," Derek pointed out. "Why won't you buy your sister a dress? After all that money that your boss pays you." He laughed.

"Don't encourage her. My mother dropped her at birth," I answered.

Minutes later, the food was ready; I helped Mom make the finishing touches on the dinner table.

"Tell me, am I finding him in a body bag?" I joked.

"He is alright," mom answered.

I knew that was the best answer I was ever going to get.

Derek and Katy joined us as we all stepped around the table.

We spent dinner mostly talking about Derek, my mother occasionally throwing comments to embarrass me.

"I think I should get going. Dinner was lovely," Derek announced.