"I swear, my hand was only on her ass to try steady her! You know me Shalene!"
His sister shot him a skeptical look with her dark brown eyes.
"That's what worries me." she muttered under her breath.
"Oh, Shalene. Are you leaving?"
We all turned around from the front door to see their mother staring at all of us, looking sad already.
"Yeah, mom. I'll be back again next weekend." she paused, putting on her scarf.
"Oh, Punk said, he and Eli could stay longer."
At the words, her eyes brightened.
There was no turning back now.
After that, we all said goodbye to Shalene.
Her and Punk's relationship made me laugh.
It was like she was the older sister, not the baby.
"Oh, come on. It won't kill you to stay another hour or so." I whispered to a grumpy Punk.
He sighed.
"I know. But without Shalene, it'll be total silence."
And boy, he wasn't wrong.
We did stay another hour, or so.
Sitting in the family room with his parents.
Papa Brooks was stoic as ever, and Mama was trying just as hard to keep an actual conversation flowing.
"So Eli, what did you do before the WWE?"
I sighed.
I wished she would try to talk to her son and not me.
It wasn't only the press I hated talking to.
It was most people in general.
But my one word answers weren't helping the awkward silence either.
"I went to school."
Her brows raised a little.
Another question.
Great.
"Oh really? What was your major?"
What?
I paused.
Houston. We have a problem.
How old did they think I was?
I thought very carefully about the next few things I said.
"No. Actually I meant High School..." I admitted sheepishly.
Punk tried, vainly, to not laugh at the sheer awkwardness of the situation.
I mean come on.
If it was him, I'd be on the verge of a massive giggle fit too.
His old man was sitting in the room's lone recliner, staring away at the Cubs game on the tube.
It was a surprise that Punk wasn't glued as well.
Oh right.
He was too busy laughing at me.
"How old are you?" Punk's mother asked, casting aside all the proper etiquette she had stuck to earlier.
"Twenty-six."
At my words, her brows raised.
Even Tall-Old-and-Grumpy raised a brow.
Then again.
The Cubs did just get a base hit.
The whole thing was just awkward as hell.
"Huh, I wouldn't have guessed. Only because you're such an accomplished wrestler. You would think you'd be pushing thirty!"
What accomplished career?
I'd only been Diva's champ four times.
I just liked picking fights.
Obviously, I didn't say that, so I just smiled sheepishly at her desperate attempt at a conversation save.
I knew her saying that had less to do with my career, and more to do with the fact that Punk was almost ten years older than me.
This whole time, Punk was off shoving his face into his arm, trying not to laugh.
What help he was.
Throwing me to the wolves.
I'd get him back later.
Quickly changing the subject, she continued with some questions.
"Did you play any sports in school?"
"Yeah." I paused.
And for the first time all afternoon, Papa Brooks looked at me.
More like glanced at me.
"I used to play for the school ice hockey team."
"I thought you didn't have any friends?" Punk asked.
Apparently now he was finished with his laughing fit.
And thought he was funny.
"Punk! That's just rude! Of course she had friends!"
Now it was my turn to repress laughter.
Truth be told, in high school, I was a douche.
"Um, if you recall, Punk. There is Jakie." I paused.
"And just because I was on a team, it didn't make them my friends."
I shot Punk a smug look.
But but his mother just looked confused as hell .
"Since I was the only girl on my team, no one really talked to me. Plus, I was a jerk. No one liked me."
"That sounds about right..."
I heard Punk mutter.
That earned him a swift kick to the shin.
He grumbled.
"But enough about me," I started, giving Punk a evil smirk.
He looked worried.
As he should be.
"Tell me about teenage Punk."
She laughed and stood.
I followed her, with my eyes, to a book shelf.
She pulled out a large, leather bound book.
"No mom. Put it back! Put it back right now!" Punk pleaded with his mother, but to no avail.
I could have stopped my victory smirk.
But I didn't want to.
–
"I can't believe she did that." Punk whined some more as we were driving from his parents house.
We'd spent almost all afternoon there, and I think Punk actually enjoyed himself a little bit.
"She had to go a whoop out the baby pictures."
"Aw. But you were such a cute, little, pudgy baby! Ah. I could have just eaten you up!" I teased.
"But really. What the fuck? Why so many different hair colors? Were you confused?"
Punk just mocked laughter, and continued driving.
"So. Did you have fun? I mean, spending time with your parents."
Punk took a second to answer.
"Honestly?"
"No. I want you to lie to me." I muttered sarcastically.
"I kind of did." Punk confessed, after giving me a playful glare.
"Aside from the embarrassment of walking down memory lane, it was a nice time."
"Well that's good." I smiled, slipping my hand into his non-driving hand.