Chapter Twelve

Because some of you have no patience or sense of suspense :P I will warn you all however, that this will actually be the last chapter until I can find the time to write some more. I don't have a chapter after this. I do have some rants and stuff about last night, but as the show starts in 10 minutes and this is pretty much the first time I've been home all day, it will have to wait. I have no notes, so if I forget everything, you all will have to deal with a little less snarkiness in your day. But, I know you all come here for the fic anyway, so my rants are of little to no consequence. They just amuse me immensely.

Warning: Marco... Polo... Marco... Po-FICTION!

“Anderson,” called a recognizable voice from down the hall.
“Mother…” his voice was so small and quiet.
“You’re mother? I’m in your bed and your mother, Gloria freaking Vanderbilt, is here?” the words rushed out of my mouth in shock.
“She comes over occasionally for lunch and to catch up. She has her own key to the apartment. I asked her to come today to meet you.”
“And you didn’t bother to tell me?”
I was touched that he wanted his mother to meet me but extremely annoyed he hadn’t warned me. I was no where near being appropriately attired for such an occasion and my clothes were in the other room.
“Her first impression of me can’t be like this! I can’t be the girl slinking out of her son’s room with a bad case of bed head and pyjamas. Go distract her so I can get into the guest room and get dressed properly,” I shoved Anderson to get out of the bed and go distract his mother.
He pulled on a pair of worn-in jeans over the shorts he’d worn to bed and a navy blue t-shirt over his well-defined chest. He rushed out of the room to find his mother and keep her busy until I could get to where my clothes were.
I cracked open the door looking for any sign of Gloria and Anderson. When I had made sure that it was clear, I made my way quickly to the guest room. I shut the door quietly behind me and began to wonder what I should wear. Anderson had worn only a t-shirt and jeans out, so I concluded that it would be best to wear something similar.
I took out my favourite jeans again, always reliable, and searched for a top to wear. I found a simple black polo and a long green t-shirt to layer underneath to wear. I put them on and then began to do my hair. I pulled it back into a loose ponytail and braided it, pinning it underneath into a low bun. With some simple studs in my ears, I evaluated my appearance and left the safety of my room to find Anderson and Gloria in the kitchen making lunch.
Anderson turned away from the counter as he heard my steps, beaming as he faced me. His eyes were alive with something I couldn’t quite define. Gloria turned as well, looking at me and then the look on her son’s face when I entered. There was a calculating air about her, as though she had some sort of system to grade me against. Anderson had taken advantage of the silence in the room to stand beside me. He took my hand and led me to his mother. She examined me further as the close range. He held my hand, squeezing gently, trying to tell me it would be okay.
“Mom, this is Chelsea,” the tone of his voice was seeking for her approval.
She smiled politely; I couldn’t tell if she was being truly sincere. I assumed she’d met many women Anderson had brought home, some of which she didn’t approve but still had to be nice to. I did still return her smile with me own, trying to be as sincere as I could. Anderson had changed positions, his arm heavy and comforting around my shoulder.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I wasn’t sure if I should call her Ms. Vanderbilt, Cooper or Gloria and so didn’t mention a name. I reached my hand out to her, “It truly is an honour to meet you.”
Sensing my nervousness, she softened her posture and spoke in a smooth voice, “Please, call me Gloria.” She shook my hand, firm, but elegant as one might expect.