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A week had past since my first couple of dates with my new nerdy little boyfriend. We had seen each other at the gym once, and even with me encouraging him to work off a little of his cute little gut, he was oddly exhausted. I guess his job was working him pretty hard.

We did a bit of texting. He was the type to write essays with perfect grammar and punctuation, often correcting himself seconds after with every little nitpick he could. He just didn't stop being the most obnoxiously cute little thing.

Thursday came round and he hadn't asked me out for the weekend, so I did what every girl wanting a date should do, I asked him instead. Hot take, I know.

"You busy tomortow?" I sent.

"Working until eight if I'm lucky. Got some bugs to squash, so I'll probably have to stay late. The crunch is real."

I felt the slight ping of rejection, but decided that meant, "You're good for Sat then?"

There was a long pause. We had the same service provider so I got the "Button is typing" prompt off and on for a number of minutes. I don't know what all he typed and erased, as when he finally sent me something all it said was, "Mom is in town."

"Is that a 'no?'" I tried.

"It's kind of fast." he sent, then immediately started typing another message, "But you seem quick on your toes."

"Should I wear a dress?" I teased.

There was a long pause, and I wish I could see his face, but he responded with, "Maybe."

So I did.

It had been a while since I had gone out in feminine attire, and it would be the first time Button would see me in a dress, or even with my chest unbound. Either way, I was going to nail this meeting of the Mom, and my little yellow floral dress was going to impress. Or at least, no one would think Button was gay.

I'm not a chef, or even identify as a cook, but Button said something about steak, so I offered to make a side. They didn't have to know it came from a box, but I'm a scalloped potato fiend, and the box stuff is good enough for me.

So there I was, tray of potatoes in hand, ready to knock on the door, seeing the extra car (a fuck off huge four door truck with full bed), and finding my confidence not as high as it normally was. Maybe it was the dress, but there was a little stone in my stomach that wasn't willing to let me knock on the door. With a deep breath, I brushed aside my nervousness and pressed the doorbell instead.

As soon as I heard the gentle bell tone, a sudden creeping fear snuck out and grabbed me. I forgot to ask which name he introduced me as. What if I said the wrong one? How would I explain that? What if...

The door opened to a chubby, motherly Corgi with golden fur accented with white around the eyes and snout. She smiled, a warmth hitting me like a good sunrise.

"You must be Asumi," she said, the warmth of her smile reaching her voice.

Problem solved, "Yeah," I shuffled the potatoes into one hand and extended the other, realized it was my left, then shuffled again to extend my right.

"Oh no, we're huggers," she declared, and wrapped both arms lightly around me, somehow pulling the potatoes away from me as she moved back.

I followed her in, and the smells from the kitchen filled the little home. Apparently Button was busy fussing with whatever he got it in his head to cook. Based on what he had made thus far, I was pretty excited.

"Button has been pretty tight lipped about you," the momma Corgi opened with.

I carefully avoided dropping into my boy voice and explained, "We only started dating a week ago."

"Oh," she gasped, "He must really like you if he's introducing us so quickly."

"Honestly," I tried to defuse with a joke, "I heard steak and had to show."

"Roast," Button corrected, stepping into the room with a bowl covered in a tea towel, "Technically, Prime Rib is a roast."

"Technically," His mother parroted, "You scare off all the girls talking like that."

I accidentally snorted, but thankfully the response was gender neutral. I didn't know if Button was out of the closet with his mother. Okay, I knew at this point that he wasn't, or wasn't fully, so I wasn't sure what I could get away with. To my relief, Button chuckled a bit himself, then returned to the kitchen.

After we watched him go, frilly apron and all, I took the initiative, "You live in the area, or did you make the commute for the cooking?"

Momma Corgi laughed, "I try to visit every once in a while. He offered to cook, and hopefully you know how that goes."

"He's a beast in the kitchen," I agreed.

Her face twisted in humor, "That may be the first time anyone's called my Button a beast."

"He has his moments," I stated.

"Oh!" She gasped, "I'm glad to hear that!"

I ran her response through my head a few times, decided I must have not heard her correctly, looked her in the eyes, decided I had heard her correctly, reviewed my own poor choice of words, and decided, "I'm gonna see if Button needs any help."

"Good luck with that," Momma Corgi huffed.

I took two steps into the kitchen and found Button wasn't actually working on anything. He was toying with his phone, before he looked up at me, a little embarrassed.

He tried to read my face and failed, "What's wrong?"

I mentally flipped a coin, it landed on... food, "I thought you were slaving away in here."

He blinked at that, a little confused, then glanced at the stove top. Button then started cataloging things like he was about to explain very longwindedly but all that came out is, "Prime Rib is resting, Carrots need little stirring to maillard properly, and..." he took that moment to open the oven a crack, "rolls need a few more minutes." He then shimmied the carrots a bit and bobbed his head about, popped one in mouth and added a little salt to the rest before sliding them onto a plate, covering it with a tea towel.

He then looked up at me and quirked an eyebrow, "Was something else bothering you?"

"She thinks we're fucking?" I stated bluntly.

"W-we're not?" He stammered.

To hide my grin, I took the covered plate of carrots and brought it back with me out of the kitchen to the table... which was probably more for gaming than dinner but it pulled double duty well enough. Momma Corgi gave me a shrewd look then snorted.

"What?" I looked back to Butters in the kitchen before rounding the doorless corner.

"Oh, Butter's tea towels," she spoke like that was a complete thought.

I sprung to the defense, "I'm sure it keeps the food warm like a..." I mimed lifting the dish I couldn't name until Momma Corgi offered "cloche" and I snapped, "Yeah that."

She snorted again. It occurred to me that I might be talking to someone who owned a cloche or two... or perhaps she was the opposite and thought such a thing was unnecessary? Why couldn't I read this lady?

My face went blank for a brief moment, just long enough for her to notice, as I remembered, I don't read that much into people. I usually just don't care.

"Everything alright?" She asked, a slight edge to it.

I shook my head before depositing the plate onto the table as gracefully as I could, "I just realized I'm posturing too much."

"I know," she took a drink of her 25 oz can of tomato beer, "You're not a dress person are you?"

Poker face, "What gave that away?"

She threw up a paw, "No leggings, your bra doesn't fit, you don't even have a purse. Button met you in sweat pants, didn't he?"

"At the gym," I confirmed, instinctively crossing my legs and hiding my hands under each arm.

"And... no offense, but the hair cut?"

"What's wrong with short hair?" I tried to get some ground back.

Momma Corgi glanced at the kitchen hold, and gave a long drawn out breath. She looked at me like she was about to tear my world apart, "My Button..." she took a long drink, "He's gay."

I took a long moment on how to respond, but decided to quote Star Wars instead, "I know."

"You know?" She glanced at my chest again, "Are you? Do you have a..."

"We're figuring things out," I offered, "We're still new to each other. I like the guy, maybe we'll be the next power couple and we can have awkward dinners like this until we're old and grey, or maybe I'll be out of your hair by the next time you see him."

"Uh..."

We both turned to see Button, bowl of rolls in one arm, roast in the other. He looked rather confused, a little hurt, and ready to drop his hard work. Thankfully he recovered and placed the dishes.

Dinner went... okay, let me get real for a second... it was amazing. The food at least. I wanted to be anywhere else until I had a bite of that weirdly pink apparently-not-a-steak and... fuck man, and no one batted an eye when I sopped the juices up with a roll. Even the veggies were amazing. It was possibly the best meal I had ever eaten. No joke. Button is a beast in the kitchen.

"You can tell it's good food because no one's talking."

Yeah bitch, why not say something that wasn't confrontational? Maybe we could have a polite discussion of careers or schooling or the fucking weather. Of course the food was good!

...

I'll spare you rest of the incredible awkwardness. At some point she got a call and needed to get going as soon as we finished eating.

Button slowly closed the door behind his mother after giving her the goodbye hug and... slid his tail down it. His butt collided with the carpet and he gave a little 'whew' before realizing I was still there.

We stared at each other for a long moment. For some reason we were both breathing deeply. Neither of us were sure of what to say, so Button got up and waddled over to the table to clean up the incredible amount of leftovers.

"Do you want any help?" I offered.

An alarmingly serious voice came from the pup, "Two things."

"Name 'em."

"I need you to take some of this home."

"Okay!" I felt my tail wag.

"And I need you out of that dress."

"OKAY!" I started to unzip the back.

"Did you bring a change of clothes?" Button asked carrying a few dishes into the kitchen.

"Oh..." I followed with a couple more. I then let my voice shift back into Saki's "Sure, I always keep a few changes in my car."

This earned a queer look from Button, "Why do you do that?"

"Oh," I found myself raising my voice as I grabbed the last of the dishes, "It's a survivalist thing."

"You're a survivalist?" Button started portioning the left overs into little microwaveable meals.

"My father was."

He considered that, "was?"

"Funny story, he collected an entire bunker full of supplies for his apocalyptic prepping. One day while adding to the stock the shelves collapsed onto him."

Button's eyes widened, "and then he gave up the hobby?"

"Nah, he won a Darwin Award for his efforts."

It took Button a long moment to process what that meant, "How is that funny?"

"Irony," I guessed.

"Sorry I didn't bring my binder, you'll have to put up with boobs," I had otherwise transitioned back into Saki and joined Button on the couch.

"I'm fine with that," Button admitted, a little cautious wag in his tail.

I slumped in, legs spread, one propped on the coffee table. I let an arm around his shoulder and he curled into me, letting his wet puppy nose rest on said mammary. We pressed our weights into each other and just existed for a while, body heat against body heat.

"I'm sorry," Button seemed to be almost crying.

I opened one eye, not realizing how close to sleep I was already until that moment, "For what?"

"Mom," he sighed.

"It had to happen eventually," I yawned.

"We could have prepared more..." he groaned.

I gave him a lazy ear scritch, "Would that have helped?"

"No..." he admitted, "Probably not."

We lounged for a while longer, the only sounds in the room our breaths. Button was panting quite a bit more than I'd expected, but it was apparently a stressful day.

So there we were, alone, two sexy adults who probably wanted to rip each others clothes off. I made a motion to kiss the little guy, but apparently that wound up on his forehead. I tried to go for a proper toying grope, but instead it became a back rub. I yawned and relaxed into it instead of questioning my instincts.

And we didn't bone that night either.