Chapter 17 – Jordie #2
“Guess I’ll just stand out here in the cold,” Phoenix says with a bit of a dramatic accent. “Freezing without a mere scrap of bread to warm my poor little bones.”
“Hush, you fool,” his mother says, rising up on her toes to kiss her son’s cheek. “It’s almost a hundred degrees out here today. And it’s nice to see you too.” She pats his face with affection.
We file in, and Ophelia leads us across a beautiful white floor that shines like someone hand polished it a second before we arrived. “Your floor is gorgeous,” I say and immediately feel like an uncouth nimrod. Who the hell compliments someone’s floor? Apparently I do.
“Oh, thank you for noticing,” the pretty woman gushes. “It’s Italian porcelain and my favorite part of the foyer.”
“Of course. Italian porcelain is the best,” I say, like I know what I’m talking about. I don’t even have a favorite part of my foyer. Actually, I don’t even have a foyer.
Ophelia leads us into a room that’s probably called a parlor, with chintzy couches and low wooden tables. “Have a seat, darlings. Reecie and I will be back with some hors d'oeuvres.”
“Sorry,” Phoenix whispers as soon as they’re gone, presumably to the kitchen. “My mother loves having company.”
“It’s okay,” I reply. “She seems really nice.”
“She’s the best,” he says with warmth infused in his tone.
Reece and Ophelia return more quickly than I would have predicted, the little one carrying small saucers with a look of pride on her face. Ophelia is bearing a large tray with food, a pitcher, and glasses, like she’s a seasoned waitress.
“Here we go. Just a little breakfast to start your day off right. Jordie, I hope you like the juice. It’s a blend of fruit juices I like to whip up,” Ophelia says before gently prodding her granddaughter. “Honey, can you set the saucers down?”
The sweet girl sets a small exquisite floral plate in front of each of us, and I give her a thumbs up. “Good job, Reecie.”
Her face beams. “Thank you. I didn’t even drop any of them.”
Ophelia laughs and unloads the tray, setting down stemmed glasses in a soft transparent pink before placing the pitcher of dark red juice and two platters on the table in front of us. Then, to my surprise, she lowers herself lithely to the ground across from us. Phoenix instantly stands.
“Mom, you take the couch.”
She waves him off. “No need. I’m already down here. Sit, sit.”
He reluctantly follows her direction, and Reece plops down beside her grandmother. “This looks beautiful, Mom, but you really didn’t need to go to all this trouble.”
Once again, she flaps her hand at him. “No trouble.” Turning to me, she says, “I checked with Phoenix, and he assured me you don’t have a nut allergy, so I made one of my favorites. Waffle pops with Nutella drizzle and crushed macadamia nuts.”
My eyes shift questioningly to the man beside me, and he reminds me, “There was a part on the intake form you filled out regarding allergies. The company lawyers insist we have it on there so we don’t inadvertently serve one of our endorsement partners something that will kill them.”
“Wise move,” I say with a laugh before pointing at the other platter. “And what’s that one, Ophelia? They both look delicious.”
“Poached eggs in candied bacon cups. With a little sprinkle of sea salt on top,” Ophelia promptly informs me. “Beware because they’re addictive.”
She is not wrong. I inhale two of them and one of the mini waffles on a stick as Ophelia chats with me about football. She’s surprisingly knowledgeable about the subject.
“You know a lot about football,” I tell her, eyeing the bacon-and-egg cups. Would it be rude to have one more?
Phoenix apparently notices because he places another on my plate, whispering, “It would hurt her feelings if you didn’t eat at least three.”
Far be it from me to hurt my hostess’s feelings, so I pick it up and take a delicate bite as Ophelia smiles on. “Well,” she says, “I know a lot about football because my son played.” She nods at Phoenix, and I shoot my eyes at him.
“Really?” I lift my glass and take a sip of the juice. It’s the perfect blend of tart and sweet.
He looks embarrassed. “Just in high school.”
His mother flashes him a scolding look before returning her attention to me. “Two-time high school All-American,” she recites proudly. “And he got offers from seven D-1 schools. Unfortunately, he tore his ACL in the last game of his high school career.” Her mouth turns down sadly at the corners.
I glance down and see a scar on Phoenix’s knee that I hadn’t noticed before. “I’m sorry that happened. What position did you play?”
“Quarterback,” he mumbles, his cheeks flushing. “Really, it was no big deal.”
His mother shoots him a dubious look, but sensing his discomfort, she shifts the subject. “My other sons are wonderful athletes too. Helix was a nationally ranked swimmer before his… accident.” She seems to stumble over the last word. “And Remington is a scratch golfer.”
“Uncle Helix taught me to swim when I was just one year old,” Reece pipes up, holding up a single finger.
Ophelia strokes the little girl’s dark curls. “Our Reecie is quite the little fish.”
“I’m a mermaid,” she corrects, nibbling on another waffle pop.
“Of course you are,” her grandmother says adoringly before smiling at us. “You two better get to the airport. There are supposed to be storms rolling in soon.”
Phoenix gives her a cool lift of his eyebrow—since, ironically, she’s the reason we’re not there yet—before rising to help her to her feet. “Thank you for the breakfast hors d'oeuvres, Mom. Everything was delicious.”
I rise too and hug the kind woman. “It was, Ophelia. Thank you for having me.”
“Of course, and hold on just a minute. I boxed some up so you’d have food on the plane.”
“I’m too polite to point out that we do have full meal service on the jet,” her son says, and she makes a face at him. I like this woman. A lot. She lives in a literal mansion and yet she squeezes her own juice and sits on the floor with her granddaughter like a regular person.
She returns a moment later holding two bakery boxes she apparently already had ready and an oversized thermos. “Here you go. Since you liked the juice, Jordie, I put you some in here. I’ll get your number from Phoenix and send you the recipe.”
“That would be great. I’m thinking about getting a juicer because I'd love to make my own healthy drinks in the morning.”
Ophelia and Reece walk us to the door, and I give each of them another hug. Phoenix embraces his mother before setting down the food and taking his daughter in his arms. With a gentle motion, he sways her back and forth, whispering into her hair, and I have to look away from the touching scene.
His eyes are suspiciously damp when he sets her down and gives her a final reminder to be a good girl for Nana.
“I will, Daddy. And I promise we won’t go to any of those triple-X stores to buy toys.”
Ophelia lets out a strangled noise, and Phoenix shakes his head, mouthing, “Later,” to his mother. Guiding me toward the car, he mutters, “Don’t you dare fucking laugh.”
But it’s too late. I’m in hysterics, and they don’t stop until we reach the airport.