It was 5:00 pm, Beca was gathering her belongings along with some work that she decided to finish at home. It was Friday and it was the first Friday since she had moved to New York City where she didn't to worry about work: everything was starting to fall into place. And, it was about damn time. She had spent an entire month, working extra hard to get shit that the former A&R director had left for her to do. She thought she did a great job considering she was new at the whole thing, but to everyone else she was just doing the job that she was paid to do.

Beca grabbed a folder, that she was going to go through over a bottle of wine and some cheese while listening to music from her playlist for a change, put it in her messenger bag, wore it then headed out, turning the light switch off on her way out.

"Hey, Beca, wait." Beca momentarily shut her eyes and stopped walking. "What's up, Matt?" she asked when he caught up with her.

"Nothing much," he shrugged and walked with her to the elevator. "I just wanted to ask about your plans for the fourth of July," he glanced at her, pushing the ground floor button.

"I don't have any," she replied.

"WHAT?" he exclaimed. "But, it's the fourth of July!"

"Dude, it's a reason for people to get together and have fun and give criminals the opportunity to commit murders with firearms thanks to the obnoxious overuse of fireworks."

"Where the hell is your patriotism, Ms. Mitchell?"

"Oh, it's there. But I don't think I need to celebrate independence day the way most people do to prove how much I love our country."

"It's tradition."

"Yeah, well, it was a tradition to burn children alive in a religious ritual for the gods Baal Hammon and Tanit," she stepped out of the elevator when they reached the ground floor.

"Wha-" he shook his head, "you just lost me there for a second. What does burning children for Bal Hamm and Tan- or whoever the fuck they are- have anything to do with independence day?" he followed her.

"Baal Hammon and Tanit, they're Gods from the Carthaginian mythology," she informed him.

"You still haven't explained their relation to independence day celebration."

"I'm just saying that traditions aren't always good, that's all," she shrugged.

"And you used a mythology I've never heard of to prove a point?"

She shrugged, he didn't have to know that she saw a documentary a while back about the Carthaginian mythology while high on pot brownies.

"I didn't have you pegged as a history nerd," he chuckled.

"I'm not. I just happen to be smarter than you think I am," she said in amusement.

"That's totally not true. I think you're very smart. I mean you got promoted from a record producer to a director of A&R! Only a smart person, with little experience as yourself, would accomplish that... unless you did some voodoo."

"Yeah. You got me," she deadpanned, strangely amused by their banter. Matt wasn't so bad when he wasn't hitting on her. "I did crazy Carthaginian magic."

"Did it involve burning babies?"

"No. Just a gallon of a 25-year-old Caucasian man's blood," she stopped walking when they reached the end of the block. "And, I'm planning on doing a spell soon," she winked at him. "You're 25, right?" she asked, pulling her ringing phone.

"Yep," he chuckled. "Well, if you change your mind about 4th of July, I'm throwing a party at my parents' beach house in the Hamptons: you can bring a plus one. Yes, you can bring your boyfriend if he wants to come."

"Thanks, Matt. I'll keep your invitation in mind," she smiled at him before looking down at her phone.

"Well, see you on Monday, Beca. Have a great weekend," Matt said before walking away.

"Yeah, you too," she replied before picking up the phone. "Hey, mom."

"Beca honey, how are you?"

"I'm fine. I just got off of work," Beca crossed the street, making her way to the closest subway station. "You?"

"Well, according to the Uber driver, we're 20 minutes away from your apartment."

Beca stopped walking and took a moment before saying, "you're 20 minutes away from my apartment?"

"Yeah."

"Shit," Beca swore under her breath. "Hey mom, hold on a second," Beca said to her mother before pulling her phone away from her ear and tapping on her messaging app, scrolling down to find her mother and read their latest exchange of text messages: she gave her mother her address after they talking about her flying from Pittsburgh on Saturday— Friday. Beca was almost sure it was Saturday until she read that her mother was coming on Friday. "Shit," she swore again before pressing her phone on her ear. "Yeah, sorry, mom. I'll be home in like 30 minutes. You just wait, okay?"

"I'll wait. I can't believe you're so close yet haven't come home."

"I told you, mom, I'm really busy. You're busy too, so don't pin it on me."

"I'm not pinning anything on you— God, traffic is awful."

"It's rush hour and it's Friday," Beca stated. "I told Saturday morning would be better," she added, shaking her head when she realized the reason why her mind was set on Saturday: She tried to get her mother to visit on Saturday and thought that she had convinced her.

"Hey, mom, I'm about to get into a subway station, I gotta go."

"Okay, be careful."

"Always," Beca sighed, hanging up.

"Mom," Beca paced to the apartment complex, spotting her mother.

"Beca," her mother pulled her into a hug when she reached her. "Honey, you lost some weight," she cupped her face, frowning. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine," Beca looked inside her pocket for her keys. "I'm doing great," she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

"Well, the bags under your eyes don't agree with you."

"Mom, I'm fine," Beca said firmly.

"Okay," she put her hands up in defeat.

"I just have a lot of work," she sighed, walking into the elevator.

"Don't let work affect your health," she rubbed her back while Beca pushed the button to her level.

"Working on it."

So, you've been here a month, I know you've been busy to get involved with anyone but I gotta ask, have you?"

"Actually," Beca set a couple of plates on the counter, "I'm seeing someone," she informed her mother.

"You are?" her mother arched her eyebrow in surprise.

"Yep," Beca nodded. "And, we're exclusively dating."

"Honey, I never thought I'd say this to you, but aren't you rushing things?"

"I," Beca cleared her throat, "I'm in love with him, have been for like 8 months," she reached for the pizza boxes and placed each pizza on a plate.

"Who is he?"

"Remember my roommate Jesse?" she looked up at her mother.

"the divorced guy with a baby, right?"

"Yep, that's the one."

"Didn't he move out months ago?"

"Seven months ago. He followed his ex-wife to New York to stay close to his daughter. I actually pushed him to move here."

"Honey, why didn't you say anything about him?"

"Because I was trying to move on and talking about him wouldn't help."

Her mother nodded, watching her turned on her heels.

"When am I meeting your boyfriend?" her mother asked watching Beca grab a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine.

"Tomorrow," Beca placed the glasses on the counter and filled them with red wine. "Jesse can only do brunch: he starts work at 1 pm."

"He works on weekends?"

"Yeah," Beca nodded, sitting down.

"But isn't he a teacher?"

"Jesse got a job bar-tending for the summer," Beca picked a slice of pizza and brought it to her mouth. She didn't comment on the way her mother heavily sighed. She chewed slowly, thinking of how to tell her mother about the baby from his ex-wife situation.

Fuck it—Beca grabbed her glass and gulp down some wine.

"There's something you should know," she started to say. "Jesse knocked up his ex-wife. She's 8 weeks pregnant and she's keeping it."

"And you're okay with that?"

"What am I supposed to do? Should I, like, resent Jesse for screwing his ex-wife when I'm the one who pushed him to follow her and their daughter across the country?"

"He's going to be there for her and their child, right?" she asked after a beat.

"Of course, he is, mom. What kind of question is that?"

"Honey, I care a great deal about your happiness but are you sure about this?"

"Mom, listen—"

"—No, you listen," her mother cut her off. "He's going to be spending a lot of time with his ex-wife. You're not a parent, you don't know what parents do for their children."

"If you think that he'd get back with his ex-wife because of their baby, don't," Beca said after swallowing. "They didn't stay together for Sam, they won't for their second baby. And, if Jesse stops wanting to be with me and gets back with Sandra then be it," she shrugged.

"You're fine with letting that happen?" her mother questioned in surprise.

"Yes. I'm leaving in a year anyway. At least, that would make it easier," she murmured.

"Hold on, you're leaving?"

"I'm going back to L.A.," Beca informed her. "I got a job there waiting for me, in a year from now."

"Beca," her mother called softly.

"I don't like living in New York. Jesse thinks he can convince me to stay here."

"If you love him you should stay with him."

"It doesn't work like that," Beca shook her head. "You know me and you know how pointless it is to try and change my mind so can we not talk about my life choices?"

"Fine."

"Thank you."

Beca plans for the night were to work were screwed but she didn't mind. She missed her mother and catching up with her was fun.

1:10 am, Beca woke up to her phone vibrating on the nightstand. She blinked a couple of times and grabbed it. "Jesse, you better be dying," she sleepily said, picking up.

"Not dying, no. I'm downstairs, can you let me up?" She sat up and resisted the urge to groan at his slurred speech. Beca glanced at her mother when she shifted in her sleep.

"What are you doing here?" she asked as she got out of bed and walked out of her bedroom.

"I need to pee and you live closer to the bar."

She looked through the window and saw him. He looked up and waved at her, hanging up the phone.

"Hey, Bec," he grinned.

"Keep your voice down," she told him then walked to the kitchen counter where she looked through her bag and pulled her keys.

"Here," she threw him her keys. He almost fell over when he bent down to collect them from the ground.

Beca went to her bedroom to check if her mother was still asleep then got out and unlocked the front door and waited for him.

"Heeeeeey!" he greeted as he stepped out of the elevator.

"Inside voices," she whispered-yelled and he nodded.

"Why are you drunk?" she asked when he leaned in and pecked her lips. She didn't get to taste what he had been drinking but the smell of vodka was enough.

"It's Mae's birthday and so we had a couple of celebratory shots," he slurred following her inside the apartment.

"A couple of shots," she repeated after him, closing the door. He gave her puppy dog eyes and nodded.

"Who's Mae?" she asked.

"We work together, she turned 22," he sang the 22 like in the Taylor Swift song 22.

"Oh, yeah, that's her name," she murmured to herself, recalling the young bartender that she met a few times at the bar. "Well, mom is sleeping you're not allowed to talk once you step inside my bedroom. You are so not meeting her for the first time like this."

"What do you mean like this?" he smoothed his hair. "I look great," he hiccuped.

"Jesse, I serious," she cupped his face. "You can't wake her up."

"Got it," he pecked her lips then started to make his way to her bedroom.

She followed him in to make sure he stayed quiet. She leaned against the closed en-suite bathroom door and waited for him. "Shush," she said when he started humming a song.

"Sorry," he whisper-yelled, zipping his fly. He washed his hands then followed her out of the bedroom.

"C'mon, you gotta sober up and go home," Beca whispered, walking to the kitchenette. "How many shots did you drink?" she asked as she set the coffee machine.

"5, 6? I don't know," he shrugged.

"Have some water," she told him.

"Wasn't your mom supposed to come tomorrow?" he asked as he pulled a beer from her fridge.

"I thought she was coming tomorrow," she turned to him. "This is not water," she took the beer from his hand and put it back in the fridge.

"Baby, you look hot in boxers," he playfully smacked her butt then placed a hand on her arm and pulled her to him. "You're so beautiful," he slurred, grinning at her.

"Jesse," she removed herself from his arms. "Drink. Some. Water."

Jesse groaned, filling a glass of tap water and drowning it. He leaned against the sink and watched her set the coffee machine. "You think our kids would have blue eyes like yours or brown mine?" he asked.

"What was that?" she glanced at him. She was focused on setting the machine, his slurred speech was hard to follow.

"I asked if you think our kids will have steel blue eyes like yours— I want them to have your eyes. I actually want them to look like you."

"You really drunk you right now you won't remember any of this," she turned to him.

"I'm not drunk at all. You're just blurry," he shrugged. "C'mere," he gave his hand. She took it and let him hug her.

"You smell nice," he said into her hair, squeezing her in his arms. "I love you," he grinned at her when she looked up.

"I love you, too," she smiled at him, kissing him back when he pressed his lips against hers.

She had no intention of letting the kiss they were sharing escalate into anything more but once he pulled away to catch his breath and looked her lustfully she forgot that her mother was sleeping in her bedroom and let him pick her up and sit her on the counter. She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling his closer as they made out.

"No," she shook her head, placing her hand over his when he tried to slip his hand under her boxers. "We can't," she pulled away. "Jesse, mom is sleeping in my bedroom," she stroked her cheek when he pouted.

"Okay," he nodded. "Can we just kiss, then?"

"Yeah," she leaned in, "we can do that," she said against his lips. She decided that they could make out until coffee was ready.

To say least, making out with restraints was hard. Beca was starting to get frustrated when she had to stop him from nibbling her neck.

"Beca?"

Shit— Beca pulled away, panting. "Mom," she managed to say, tilting her head and unwrapping her legs from around Jesse's waist.

"Jesse, I assume," her mother cleared her throat as she walked to the kitchenette.

"Yes, ma'am," he slurred, stepping away from Beca and extended his hand. "Pleasure meeting you," he shook her hand.

"Likewise," she eyed him.

"Jesse was on his way home from work but had to use the bathroom, I live closer to where he works," she explained to her mother, hopping off of the counter. Glad the coffee machine had finished, she paced to it and poured a mug then handed it to Jesse.

"Thanks," he placed a kiss on her forehead.

"Jesse, go sit on the couch."

"M'kay," he started to make his way to the couch.

Beca uncomfortably scratched the back of her neck, feeling the blush burning on her cheeks.

"Do they pay him to drink?" her mother asked watching Jesse walk in heavy steps.

"They were celebrating his co-worker's birthday and had some shots... Could you please stop looking at me like that? We weren't going to do anything."

"Yeah, you're don't need to explain yourself," she chuckled humorlessly. "I don't want to place any judgments but I really hope you know what you're doing."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Beca crossed her arms, defensively.

"You know exactly what it means," she sighed.

Her mother was right, Beca knew what her mother meant. Jesse was a mess and came with a lot of baggage that she was overlooking because of how she felt about him.

"You shouldn't send him out. He can barely walk."

"If coffee doesn't help. He'll spend the night on the couch," Beca said glancing at the living area.

"Well, I got up to drink a glass of water," her mother walked to the fridge and pulled a water filter pitcher, pouring a glass and drinking it.

"Night," she said to her daughter before making her way back to the bedroom.

"Good night, ma'am," Jesse sat up when he saw her.

"Good night," she said over her shoulders.

Beca walked to the couch and sat down next to Jesse, burring her face in her hands.

"You okay?" he asked, placing the mug on the coffee table.

"Yeah," she nodded, sighing as she leaned against the couch. "Are you feeling any better?" she asked.

"I feel amazing," he hiccuped. "Hey, babe, what should I call your mom?"

"She goes by her maiden name: Ward."

"Ms. Ward. Okay. First name?"

"Nicole. Doubt you'd get to call her by her first name anytime soon."

He nodded, throwing his arm around her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he apologized.

"It's all right," she sat up. "You should drink more water and get some sleep."

He pulled her back, kicking off his shoes. "Stay with me," he nuzzled her neck.

"Lemme go get a bed sheet," she placed a kiss on his jawline when he pulled away, "and some sweatpants for you."

"Okay," he removed his arm. She got up and walked to her bedroom, carefully walking to her closet and grabbing a pair of sweatpants that he left over along with a flat sheet.

"Bec, you should get a sofa bed," he said as he carefully folded his jeans.

"My couch isn't comfortable enough?" she asked, handing his sweatpants.

"No, it's very comfortable. But, sofa beds are larger," he got up and wore his sweatpants. Beca had to hold his arm to keep him from falling. She let him throw the sheet on the couch and made her way to the kitchenette, walking back with a glass of water.

"You don't want to wake up with an awful hangover, now, do you?" she asked when he groaned.

He hesitantly took the glass and drank it then placed it on the coffee table.

"You gonna sleep with me or with your mother?" he asked then chuckled. "That came off weird— you gonna spend the night on the couch or next to your mom?" he rephrased his question.

"With you," she watched him lay down.

"Great," he grinned then made room for her.

"You smell really nice," he said breathing in her scent, wrapping her in his arms and placing a kiss on her cheek.

"You smell like vodka, sweat," she snuggled up to him, "and coffee." She chuckled when she heard him sniff himself. "Is that a bad smell?" he asked.

"No, you're good. Now sleep."

"Night," he breathed.

Jesse woke up hungover, his headache, however, was tolerable. Glancing out of the window, he saw that it was the break of dawn. He moved slowly, trying not to disturb Beca who was holding on to his arm. He grimaced, closing his eyes when the events of the night came back to him: he met her mother drunk off his ass. Did he really have to drink 7 shots of vodka in celebration of Mae's birthday before heading home?

He removed his arm and eyed Beca as she slept. He felt bad for showing up drunk. He knew her mother wasn't going to be a fan of their relationship and he gave her another reason not to like him.

Jesse had to use the bathroom but he didn't want to walk in on Beca's mother sleeping. He felt like he would be invading her privacy. Jesse figured he'd take Beca to her bed, use the toilet, leave to wash up and come later to properly meet her mother over brunch as planned.

"Bec," he gently shook her shoulder. She moaned in response. "Beca, I'm gonna take to bed then leave. I'll text you, okay?" he spoke softly, while keeping his distance, not wanting his breath to disturb her. She nodded then sighed, sitting up.

He quickly got up and picked her up bridal style, placing a kiss on her forehead before making his way to her bedroom. He gently laid her down next to her mother then made his way to the en-suite bathroom, making as little noise as he could. He still wanted to make a decent impression—do some damage control.

AN: Thoughts? Will Jesse manage to make a good impression? I'm gonna shake things up a little bit in the next chapter: I'm taking your suggestion, Jessie Mai.

Thanks for reading people. Peace out.