Elliot flopped back on the couch, rubbing her eyes. The coffee table before her was littered with index cards and two empty coffee cups.

"Alright," Elliot said to Beck. "That has to be it for today or else my brain is going to jump out of my ear, walk around the room and I would be left brainless."

She shrugged, resting her head back in the couch.

"It wouldn't be the first time I've been left brainless. But it would be weird to see my brain parading its freedom in front of you," she added.

"I agree," Beck said. "It would also be clearly embarrassing for you."

"It would. I'm not sure this partnership would last much longer after such an odd occurrence."

"Then we should stop for the day."

"Agreed."

Elliot hoisted herself off the couch, as Beck pulled on his jacket and satchel. Collecting the coffee cups, Elliot moved to the kitchenette and dumped them in the sink. When she turned around, Beck was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking at her. Elliot hesitated.

"I'm not sure I want to hear what you are about to say," Elliot said, moving cautiously back to the couch.

"How do you know that I'm about to say anything?"

"Because it's the only time that I can read anything on your face."

"I didn't realize I was such an open book."

"Please, you're as open as a bank vault."

The corner of Beck's mouth twitched. Elliot cocked her head.

"Are you going to say what you were going to say or should I just go through the list of criticisms I have laying around until I hit upon the right one?" she asked.

"My mother wants to meet you," Beck said.

Elliot raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms.

"Wow. I thought we had to be dating for at least a month before this came up."

"Three weeks, but I guess everyone has their preference."

Elliot nodded.

"Why does she want to meet me?" she asked, bending down and stacking the index cards.

She looked up at Beck with an odd expression.

"Wait. This isn't the part where you tell me that you need me to pretend to be your fake girlfriend, because she's dying and wants to see you with a put together, classy girl, is it?" Elliot asked.*

Beck arched one eyebrow.

"You can pull off 'put together'?"

"No, that's why it wouldn't work."

"Yes, only one of the many reasons it wouldn't work."

Elliot crossed her arms.

"When am I suppose to be meeting mother dearest?"

"Dinner. Tonight."

"Wow, you don't really give a girl a heads up do you? What if I said I had plans?"

"Do you?"

"Would you believe me if I said I did?"

"Not likely?"

"How come?"

"You usually announce them if you do. Right as we are packing up. Then you inquire into my plans."

"Right. When is this dinner?"

Beck glanced at his watch.

"In an hour."

"Question: did you not want me to come to this dinner?"

Beck had no response. Elliot poked his chest.

"I will meet your darling mother, because I'm curious to see the woman who raised you," she said.

Elliot cleaned up the rest of her stuff and pulled on her jacket.

"Alright," she said, grabbing her purse. "We need to make a stop at the florist and then you can take me to your lovely home."

"The florist?"

"I'm not about to meet your mother without flowers. I might walk slightly off the beaten path, but I have watched enough movies to know how to handle a situation like this."

"Are you sure about that?" Beck asked.

Elliot flipped off the lights as they stepped out of the office.

"Of course. I'll just stick to the script from Dinner at the Walters."

"I've never heard of that movie."

"It's a classic. I'll just skip the murder at the end. Should be great."

************

Elliot hopped off the T after Beck, stepping into the center of downtown Brookline. Red brick stores stood nestled together. The sun dipped just beyond the roof tops. People milled about the sidewalk, stopping to observe window displays or stepping in and out of stores.

"I'm this way," Beck said, nodding to a side street.

Elliot followed his lead, a bouquet of flowers clenched in her hand. Luscious trees lined the neighborhood sidewalk, creating a canopy of green overhead.

"So is this the part where you murder me?" Elliot asked.

Beck looked at her.

"I wouldn't be very smart if I planned on murdering you on a neighborhood sidewalk when the sun is still out. I would at least choose an alley," he said.

"Because you're classy like that?"

Beck faced forward.

"Besides, what would be the point of murdering you? Too much hassle dealing with the body," he said.

"Well, it's good you're thorough in your thoughts about my murder. You should know I have a great scream. Oddly enough, only dogs can hear it. Doesn't help if I'm attacked, but when I need someone to clean up food I dropped on the sidewalk, it works wonders."

Beck looked at her, a grin tugging at his lips.

"Good to know."

They continued to walk in silence, the rustling of the trees and the rushing of cars keeping them company. Beck stopped before a red brick building with black shutters and a short staircase leading to the front door. Lining each window were flower boxes bursting with color. Beck jogged up the steps and Elliot followed, gripping the flowers.

He opened the door, revealing a narrow entryway and a steep set of stairs. The smell of spices wafted through the air. Art covered the walls.

"Mom?" Beck called.

A girl in her early twenties appeared from a room, an apron wrapped around her waist.

"Hi Beck," the girl said.

"Hey Ash, this is Elliot," Beck said, gesturing to Elliot. "Elliot this is my mother's helper/nurse. Ashley."*

Elliot shook Ashley's hand, receiving a warm smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Ashley said.

"Likewise," Elliot said.

"Where's mom? How she feeling?" Beck asked.

He hung up his jacket and satchel. Elliot did the same.

"She's in the library," Ashley said. "Today wasn't too bad."

"Thanks," Beck said.

"Let her know dinner is almost ready," Ashley said, already making her way back to the kitchen.

"Will do," Beck said. He turned to Elliot. "She's through here."

Elliot walked beside Beck as he led her down a hallway and into a back room. Bookcases, reaching the ceiling, lined the walls. Dotted through out the shelves sat nicknacks: porcelain cups, small china figurines, brass bookends. Elliot smiled as she looked around, each object giving off the feeling of being placed with care. A single lamp lit the cozy room, illuminating a love-seat and two arm chairs. In one of the arm chairs sat a woman in her late fifties, with slivery hair, glasses perched on her nose and a book in her hand.

"Hi mom," Beck said.

The woman looked up, a smile lifting her expression, and curving her winkles. She set aside the book and stood. Beck moved over to her and she hugged him, his tall form bending over to meet her.

"This is Elliot Mckenzie," Beck said, gesturing to Elliot.

Elliot took a step forward and held up the flowers.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Daniels," Elliot said.

"Please call me Diana," Beck's mother said. "It's a pleasure meeting you as well."

She accepted the flowers and smelled them.

"Thank you," Diana said. "These are beautiful."

"You're welcome," Elliot said. "I like your library."

She glanced around, taking in the thousands of titles.

"It's my favorite part of this house," Diana said. "Beck's as well. I don't know how many late nights each of us have spent in here."

Diana seemed on the verge of elaborating, but Beck jumped in.

"Ashley said dinner was almost ready," he said.

"I'm sure we have sometime for a short tour then," Diana said. She handed the flowers to Beck. "Be a love and see that these find a vase and water. And see if your father is home."

Beck hesitated, his gaze darting between his mother and Elliot. He then took the flowers and left the library.

"Now, I'll show you around," Diana said. "This house has been in my family for five generations. It's one of the oldest buildings on the block."

"So naturally you rule the neighborhood," Elliot said.

Diana looked at Elliot and winked at her, an amused smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"Of course."

*************

Beck opened the front door, welcoming in a summer breeze as Elliot pulled on her jacket. She turned back to Diana and Beck's father, a tall, broad faced man with graying hair.

"Thank you so much for dinner," Elliot said. "I really enjoyed meeting you both."

Beck's father nodded. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

Diana gave Elliot a bright, motherly smile.

"Likewise," she said. "I've been wanting to meet you ever since Beck took the job. Now that I have, I understand how someone as smart as you could have already written four novels."

Elliot gave a uncomfortable laugh.

"Uh...thanks," she said. "Well, I'm pleased to be working with Beck. I've never met anyone who writes like he does."

Diana looked at Beck, a deep pride hidden behind her eyes.

"Thanks again," Elliot said, stepping out of the doorway.

Diana looked at her.

"Anytime. Beck will walk you to the T stop," Diana said.

Beck shifted, then nodded. Elliot was about to protest, but Beck moved out onto the steps. Elliot looked back at Beck's parents and waved once. The light from the house disappeared as Diana shut the door. In silence, Elliot and Beck walked down the steps and onto the sidewalk. After a moment, Elliot looked sideways at him. He had his hand in his pockets, half his face cast in shadow from the over head trees.

"Is it always like that for dinner?" Elliot asked.

"Like what?"

"Fancy."

"What do you mean fancy?"

"A table cloth, candles and cloth napkins. Fancy."

Beck chuckled.

"That's not really fancy, but yeah. That's pretty normal for our dinners," he said.

Elliot shook her head.

"Wow, our definition of fancy is putting the pizza on actual plates rather than eating from the box."

Beck looked at her, his brow furrowed.

"Really?" he asked.

Elliot shrugged.

"Sure. It's different when my mom's home, but I live with Cece and Tristan most of the time. We hate dishes. Once Tristan actually put the dishes in the oven because he didn't want to do them. Stayed there for a whole two months before they were discovered. Of course by that time he was traveling. So I dumped them in his room. I think they are still there."

"Interesting," Beck said. "You said your mother was a playwright in London?"

Elliot nodded. A car passed by, their headlights illuminating the dim street.

"She should be home soon," Elliot said. "Then who knows where she will be off to. How long have your parents been together?"

"Thirty-five years. Yours?"

"They are divorced," Elliot said. "My dad lives in California with his wife, Hannah, as well as the other half of the family."

"The other half?"

"Yeah, Michelle, Austin and Seth. We moved here about four years ago. Right after the divorce. It was a pretty intense time. Each kid picked a side. It didn't end well. The battle was gruesome. Tristan lost an eye, Austin, his left arm. Cece talks with a stutter and can't remember anything before her eighth birthday. Seth walks in circles. We haven't seen the outward damage to Michelle, but it's there. I lost my right leg."

Elliot hit her thigh, nodding.

"This is a wooden leg. Startling, I know. But that's the price you pay for freedom, right? Well, when the war ended and the dust settled we realized that we were all on the same side and the toaster we fought over didn't actually work."

She looked at Beck and found an odd, studying look in his eyes. Elliot pointed at him.

"Stop," she said.

Beck raised his eyebrows.

"Stop what?"

"You're analyzing me.

"I'm not analyzing you."

"Yes, you are. You're thinking about my divorced parents and how that's affected me. Now stop."

Beck smirked and looked away.

"I've stopped," he said.

Elliot nodded. "Good."

They stepped up to the T platform. Downtown Brookline was bright with shop windows flooding the sidewalk with light. Laughter filled the air as diners relaxed in their seats and shared stories from years that only lived in photos. Elliot looked at Beck.

"Thanks for walking me and thanks for inviting me tonight," Elliot said.

Beck nodded and turned to leave.

"Beck?"

He turned back and Elliot hesitated.

"So Cece is throwing me a birthday party tomorrow night, you can come if you want to."

Beck shifted and ran a hand through his hair.

"It's just an invite," Elliot said. "This is usually the part where you say, 'thanks, I'll try to make it'. I say, 'okay' and then plan on not seeing you, but will be pleasantly surprised if you do show up."

Beck grinned.

"Do you have a script for every situation?"

"Of course. How else would I make it in real life?"

Beck nodded.

"Thanks," he said, backing away. "I'll try to make it."

Elliot smiled. "Okay."

*******************

The sound of voices raced to greet Elliot as she stepped into the house. Light from the kitchen pooled in the hallway. Elliot tossed her jacket and purse on a small end table and moved toward the noise. She froze in the door. Cece and Milo sat at the table, eating pizza while playing Operation. Cece looked up, a smile on her lips and waved her piece of pizza.

"Hello dearest sister," Cece said. "How was your dinner party?"

Elliot flopped into a chair with a dramatic sigh.

"Oh you know," Elliot said, with a haughty accent. "The martini was dry and the conversations even drier." She rested her chin in her hand. "Now, do tell how Milo happens to be here, and all his limbs are still intact."

"I showed up with a pizza," Milo said.

"That explains nothing," Elliot said. "I still never expected you to actually be allowed to eat pizza with Cece."

"It was either that or take the pizza and push him down the stairs," Cece said. "I didn't really feel like dealing with a law suit or being on trial for murder. So I let him in and figured I would take him for $50 in Extreme Operation."

Elliot shrugged and took a slice.

"Operation played blindfolded, a classic. Makes complete sense to me," she said.

Cece leaned on the table, her face eager.

"Now, tell me," she said. "What's his family like?"

"Does he live in a mansion with servants?" Milo asked.

"Does he have a secret room that he ignored, even though you heard weird wolfish howls coming from it?" Cece asked.

"Does he have a coffin in his bedroom?" Milo asked.*

"Oh! A suit of armor that kept moving through out the house," Cece suggested.

"A sword above the fireplace that glowed when you got close," Milo said.

"A pet badger?"

"A conservatory with a secret passage to the kitchen?"*

"A laval lamp the size of Africa?"

Both Milo and Elliot looked at Cece with skeptical looks.

"A laval lamp the size of Africa?" Milo said.

"Please Cece," Elliot said, "at least make your guesses realistic."

Cece waved away their comments.

"Just tell me," Cece said. "Curiosity is strangling me."

"Fine," Elliot said. "It was a surprisingly normal home. There was a lot of art everywhere. They had an epic library. I like his mom, she seemed pretty down to earth. She's sick, but I don't know what with. I didn't ask."

Cece smiled.

"So it went well?" she asked. "You didn't make a complete idiot of yourself?"

Elliot laughed.

"Oh, I don't know about that. But yeah. It went pretty well...it's just..."

Elliot paused, making a funny face.

"What?" Milo asked.

Elliot shrugged and leaned back in her chair.

"His dad was there as well. And well...his dad doesn't want him to be a writer. He expects him to be a psychologist. A more stable sort of job, I guess."

The room was silent for a long minute.

"Seriously?" Cece asked, her forehead crunched in confusion.

Elliot nodded and picked at the pizza before her.

"I figured with his talent for writing," Elliot said, "it would be his main career choice. Also, I figured his family would be supportive. Apparently not."

Cece shrugged and started returning the items to the Operation game.

"Makes sense I guess," she said. "The artist life is not the easiest one."

Elliot nodded.

"Yeah, good thing we had mom cheering us on. It doesn't seem like Beck as the same. His mom seems supportive, but his dad...well."

"Maybe he'll help you write another best seller and that will help his dad see it's a career option," Cece said.

Elliot nodded. "I guess we'll just see."

"Now that you have settled that topic," Milo said. "I want a rematch."

Cece smirked. "Bring it, coffee boy."

**********************************************************************

Howdy little darling!

I'm sorry I won't do that again. I regretted it the moment I wrote it. Any who! The part about Tristan putting the dishes in the oven is something that my brother and sister actually did. The plates melted when my dad turned on the oven. Amusing, I know.

Vote, comment, follow! Share your thoughts. It doesn't even have to be about the chapter, could literally be about anything. I'm not picky.