Chapter 6
Lil Woozi—my car, because like Woozi, it’s a little thing—is squealing.
Please don’t blow a gasket, whatever that is.
The engine is whining so loudly, I can barely hear XG’s intense voices, and the volume is maxed out.
I have the pedal to the floor just to keep him at fifty-five.
After a quarter million miles, I think he’s on his last good days.
Although good days might be a bit too optimistic.
What doesn’t help is living in the literal mountains and Hayden’s family living even farther up them than I do.
If someone had told me that it’d take forty minutes to get from my place to theirs, I might have reconsidered.
That’s just shy of a full hour for my anxiety to wreak havoc on my stomach.
My phone says it’s only another five minutes, but there’s no sign of a home yet.
It’s all the same up here. Road, grass, trees, repeat. Nothing is close up here.
I tried to get Kaitlynn to come with me.
Okay, I begged her, but she flat-out refused.
Something about me needing to get to know my “boyfriend’s” parents by myself.
That hasn’t stopped my head from waffling between scenarios.
Maybe this is all some weird sort of awful/cool dream, or maybe it’s real somehow—but then the existential dread sets in full force—or maybe my potions the other night had something a little bit stronger in them than I realized.
Either way I nearly turned around ten minutes ago.
I was so close to saying forget it, but instead I’m driving under endless barren trees and a dark and puffy sky.
I relish every glimpse of the moon when its paper-thin sliver manages to get through.
Its faint glow is a glint of reassurance that it’s going to be okay, even though the road looks never-ending and disappears into a black nothing beyond the reach of my headlights.
A minute later my headlights reflect against something up ahead.
I blink as if that’ll help, and finally see a little hanging sign.
It swings in the wind as I draw closer, my engine still fighting for air.
This is why I don’t drive too late, if possible.
I’d wake people up, plus all the lights have halos around them at night.
I squint. The lettering goes from blurry to finely engraved silver lines that read MARCUS ESTATE.
“Estate?” What the hell? I knew Hayden wasn’t poor—he drives a nice new black truck—but I didn’t assume he was estate wealthy. “Wow.”
I turn down the driveway. My tires clonk along the washed gray stone drive while a charcoal-gray barrier rises to my left, shielding my view of a drop-off.
Ahead I catch lights, and then the shape of a house starts to form, but it’s not what I expect.
My mind had conjured up one of those old money Southern homes with perfect symmetry, lots of ornately framed windows, most likely a chimney or two, maybe some columns, and either lots of brick or a lot of white paint.
That’s not at all what’s forming ahead though.
It’s not quaint or old-fashioned. It’s modern AF.
Black monolithic pillars jut into the air, framing large glass panes with sheer ivory curtains standing guard between wooden walls.
Gray concrete barriers are erected around parts of the perimeter with outdoor lounge furniture under towering evergreen trees.
There are no slopes or shingles. It’s built in hard lines, flat roofs, like a bunch of cubes laid one next to another, but it’s gorgeous.
And the road adjacent to the house is filled with cars.
It seems the others are all here already, so reluctantly I brake and my tires come to a mostly smooth stop.
“Wow.” I gawk at the house. It’s pristine and ethereal, surrounded by towering trees under a sky that’s threatening rain.
Like a fortress, but one that still feels…
I don’t know. Calming? I lean toward the rearview mirror and check my makeup.
It’s simple. I had to give my face a little color to cover up all the pale, and my winged black eyeliner is actually looking really good.
“What am I doing? This is so stupid.” My heart is pounding. I shouldn’t be here. This is wrong. I don’t belong with Hayden’s family inside that house. I just don’t.
I close my eyes and shift Lil Woozi into reverse. The engine shudders but follows my lead. Just go. I turn to look over my shoulder, and I’m so close to pressing the accelerator when headlights flash around the bend and settle in behind me. “Shit.”
Now I’m stuck. I face forward and fall back against my seat. What do I do now?
“Kenzie!”
I jump. They’re already standing at my window, bent down looking at me.
It’s Eliza. That was quick and stealthy!
I face my window and smile. It’s only partially fake.
I pull the handle and pop my door open. The window motor has been out a few months and I don’t exactly have window repair money sitting around.
“Hi.” I lean out from under the doorframe to meet her eyes.
“Trying to escape already?” she asks.
“Huh?” I play confused. “What?”
“I usually wait until after dinner,” she tells me. “Randall thinks everyone wants to hear about his cases—no one has the heart to tell that poor man they don’t.”
She shrugs and huffs. I laugh. It sounds fake, but it’s funny that she’s dissing one of them to the new person right before Thanksgiving dinner. And cases? Who is Randall?
Eliza nods toward the house. “You ready to go in?”
“U-uh…yeah,” I say, but don’t immediately get out of the car. “One second, I brought something.”
I take a quick moment to pinch my necklace between my fingers and ask Freyja to calm me down while I reach across the center console. I scoop up the covered plate I brought and get out.
“That’s sweet of you. Mary-Anne is going to protest, but still sweet,” Eliza says.
Mary-Anne? Right, the mom. Gods, this is going to end badly. I don’t know most of their names, but I have to act like I do, or at least that they sound familiar. I would have heard them if I were dating Hayden, right?
“Oops,” I laugh. “I wasn’t sure what to bring, so I made a batch of pecan pie brownies. Hope no one else did.”
“That sounds amazing. They’ll love that.” Eliza grins and I follow her to the front door.
Unlike the rest of the house, there’s a stone slab with a sliver of a window down the middle. A wooden-plank door sets to the left of the slab with a long, vertical brushed-metal bar nearly my height along the face. It’s so modern. Eliza pulls the bar and the door swings open without a sound.
This is so out of my league.
My nose is blessed by a scent of apple mingled with the smell of so many different foods. Sweet potatoes for sure. I sniff and catch a whiff of something salty—green beans maybe?
“Kenzie!” My name becomes a chorus of voices.
The first I notice is Mr. Marcus standing behind a large tan sofa behind Grandpa, who hasn’t noticed me yet.
He’s caught up in the football game playing on a massive screen.
If this is the living room, it’s almost the size of my entire house.
Then Grandma in a sleek but somehow cushy-looking armchair next to an adorable, even older lady I haven’t met before.
His sister is at the other edge of the large room with some tall blonde-haired guy who looks to be about the same age as Mr. Marcus.
Eliza walks up to him and hooks his arm in hers.
“Kenzie!” Grandpa’s gruff voice yanks me away from the horror of more unknown faces.
“Hey, everyone.” I nod nervously. I can’t remember a time I’ve entered a room and had my name yelled out.
“I must be chopped liver,” Eliza grumbles, but she’s smiling.
“Aw, no you’re not, honey.” The blonde guy pulls Eliza closer and kisses her check. So maybe Eliza and whoever he is are the aunt and uncle?
“There are children present.” The little girl rolls her eyes.
He leans in and starts to peck her cheeks over and over again.
Eliza mumbles something he finds funny apparently, then turns and throws me a lifeline. “I’m guessing you’re not too sure who’s who.”
It’s like she read my mind. I grin big and shake my head.
“Okay then.” She squeezes blondie. “This here is my man, Hayden’s Uncle Jeffrey. Hands off.”
Of course, it’s all framed by Hayden. But that’s great, because I’d have a time mapping out the entire family dynamic otherwise. I laugh at her comment. She’s without a doubt my favorite.
“This is Randall”—she points to the man I’ve been calling Mr. Marcus—“Hayden’s dad. He likes to talk.”
“I have lots to discuss.” Mr. Marcus, or Randall, comes back with an amused smile still planted on his face.
“This is Randall Sr.” She points to Grandpa. “Randall’s dad, Hayden’s grandfather. We call him Gramps.”
“Welcome, sonny.” Gramps nods. Gruff. Balding head, peppered hair. Blue eyes that seem to run in the family—minus Hayden—and a small budding gut. I wish I could place the actor’s name I have in my head. Nick comes to mind, but that’s it.
“They’re nonbinary, Gramps.” The only other kid in the room speaks up, looking at me apologetically. I grin back but don’t say anything.
“She’s mine.” Eliza grins proudly at the girl.
“I’m Catina.” The girl throws her hand up like it’s roll call, with a big smile showing perfect white teeth between dimples that redden her brown cheeks.
“Huh? So what’s that mean? He don’t eat meat?” Gramps asks, not an ounce of sarcasm in his voice.
I bite my lips to keep from bursting into laughter. The girl is visibly holding back too, as well as Jeffrey. Eliza’s lips are turned inward as she breathes in a deeply. The smell of sweet potatoes is almost too much now. Overriding the moment for just a split second. I’m hungry.
“Moving on.” Eliza ignores the question while Gramps peers around the room in obvious confusion. I, for one, am not answering that question. “This is Gramps’s wife, Kristi, grand—”