Chapter 21 Lucy
TWENTY-ONE
Lucy
TWO WEEKS SINCE THE WEDDING DAY
I walk up the sidewalk, around the car parked in the driveway, and stop short when I see a woman standing on the front porch. This is starting to become a habit. Coming home to strange women.
She’s wearing a white blazer, white pants, a large gold bracelet on her right wrist, and a gold necklace with an emerald pendant. Her red hair is dyed, and the bright red nails clutch the handle of a square leather purse.
I’m woefully underdressed in my jeans and rubber boots. I made a visit to a dairy farm on the way home…and I currently have cow poop covering me from head to toe. I think I even feel some in my ear. Preg-checking cows puts you on the wrong end of business.
“Hi there,” I greet tentatively.
She turns to look at me. Her eyes travel up and down, then back up me, stopping at the top of my hair. Yes, I’m sure there’s manure up there too.
“Are you all right?” she asks in a concerned voice.
I glance down at my jeans, which are smeared with green and brown. “Oh, this little mess? I’m a veterinarian, and I think the cows won the last round. I assume you’re here for Miles?”
The woman’s face cracks into a smile. “Yes, I am. Why don’t you clean up, and I’ll make us dinner?” She holds up a large bag in her other hand that I can only assume holds foodstuffs.
“Umm, okay? But you’re a guest, and we should be making you dinner.”
She waves a hand through the air. “I’m the one surprising both of you. It’s only fair I brought dinner.”
I know she’s related to Miles. He showed me pictures of his family. I just can’t remember what this lady’s connection is, so I just smile and say, “Okay, it’s a deal.”
I squeeze around her, trying not to brush any part of myself against her white jacket as I unlock the door. I kick my boots off outside and my jacket too. They deserve a good hosing off in the backyard.
The woman walks into the house and sets her purse and the large bag on the kitchen counter. “I never like to show up empty-handed, and I love to cook. You don’t mind, do you?”
The sparkle in her eyes has me shaking my head.
“Of course not. I’ll hurry and shower, then be out.”
Halfway through a hot shower, I realize I’ve left a stranger in our kitchen. But there’s something familiar about her, and if she is a burglar, she’s at least brought dinner.
After scrubbing green manure from my hair for what feels like forever, I jump out of the shower, paint my nails to hide the iodine stains, slip on a pair of linen pants and soft sweater, and give myself a swipe of mascara and lip stain. It’s the best I can do in fifteen minutes.
I open the bathroom door and come face-to-face with Miles. He’s wearing a button-up shirt, but he’s missing a crucial part of it … the buttoned part. It’s hanging wide open, but the panicked look in his eyes distracts me from wondering about the shirt.
“My grandma is in the kitchen,” he whispers as he glances over his shoulder and down the hall.
I step back into the bathroom and jerk a thumb over my shoulder. He steps inside and closes the door. This bathroom has felt very spacious—until now. With Miles in here taking up space, it feels like a shoebox.
“Grandma’s here to meet you,” he says.
It takes me a moment after staring at Miles’s bare chest to realize what he’s saying. “You mean to say I just let your grandma in the house? What have I done?”
“Well, it’s not like you could have just left her on the porch.” He runs a hand over his face, then stares at himself in the mirror over my head. “She didn’t even give us any warning.”
He looks so forlorn that it gives me a chance to stall my own building panic.
“Why is your shirt unbuttoned?” My eyes keep falling to the bare skin.
“Oh, I was going to change into something more casual,” he says with a grin and shrugs out of the shirt completely. And now I know the bathroom is too small for the two of us.
“Showing up unannounced seems to be a pattern with your family. Your grandma is carrying on family tradition,” I say with a laugh.
What about meeting her makes me nervous? Oh, right. The part where I’m lying. Bringing up his grandma turns Miles’s smug look to panic.
“We didn’t even talk about this part,” he whispers.
I nod as I turn around to work on combing my hair with my fingers. “I know. I guess we thought we’d have more time to prepare. It’s only been a couple days since we got married.”
“To be fair, I know my family and I should have realized someone would just show up.” He sighs heavily as he leans back against the bathroom counter and watches me try to sort through my shoulder-length hair.
“They do seem to be making a bit of a habit of dropping in.”
“It’s rather unfortunate. I wonder who will be here next week,” he muses.
“Wait, who else could potentially show up?” I ask as I pump some anti-frizz serum into my hands and pat it into my hair.
“My mom. Dad. Grandpa. My other sister. I’ve got some aunts and uncles, plus a few cousins.”
“You’re saying that any of those people could potentially stop by?” I turn to look at him, and I’m certain my eyebrows are touching my hairline. “Maybe a long-lost brother? Some nieces and nephews?”
Miles grimaces and nods. “This is definitely on me.”
I sigh. “It would have been nice to have some kind of warning. I just met your grandmother while covered in cow crap. How do you want to play this?”
He stares at the floor and runs a hand up and down the back of his neck. “Like we’re married?”
“Are we happy or having a newlywed fight?” I ask.
“Happy. But I just found out you like to leave your dirty socks in the corner of the bedroom,” he says with a chuckle.
“And I just discovered you never remember to actually turn the washer on.”
“And I’m now spoiled, and I only want delicious homemade breakfasts from you.” He grins at me when he says it.
“Hmm, is that so?”
“Your biscuits are to die for.”
A loud clang catches our attention.
“I guess we should go out there and face her, right?” I ask.
He nods. “She really isn’t too bad—as long as you’re on her good side.”
“I’ll do everything to get there, then.” I laugh and walk out of the bathroom.
“I’ll throw some other clothes on, then be out,” Miles tells me.
I glance back to see that he’s standing in the doorway, with one hand leaning against the doorjamb.
As far as husbands go, I don’t think I could have picked a better-looking one.
My breath catches at the thought, and I spin around to hurry down the hall.
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” I croak out as I reach the kitchen. “I had to wash my hair three times.”
“Oh, don’t you worry, sweetie. I was raised on a dairy farm. I know how good a shower feels after working with cows all day.”
She smiles at me and pours a very full glass of wine, which she then offers me. It’s hard to picture someone like her growing up on a dairy farm—or covered in manure for that matter.
I take a sip of the wine and decide I probably can’t even afford to read the label.
“You must be hungry after a long day,” she says.
And that’s when I realize I’m at a distinct disadvantage. I don’t know her name.
“I’m so embarrassed to ask this,” I say in a hushed tone. “What’s your name? Miles just always calls you Grandma, and it just made sense to me, but now that you’re here, I guess I should know your name.”
She throws back her head and laughs. “Oh, that sounds like Miles. Has he told you much about the family?”
“Not too much, Grandma,” Miles says as he walks into the kitchen.
He greets her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and then he walks around the island toward me.
Hopefully, my wide eyes are telepathically sending my words to him. Stop. Think. Maybe collaborate. Are we kissing on the lips? The forehead? What would a newlywed do? I’m making us WWAND bracelets.
Miles’s back is to his grandma, so he mouths to me, You okay with this?
I nod once, and he leans down to kiss the top of my head. Okay. That wasn’t too bad—but then he swings his arm around my shoulders and tucks me close against his side. Worse. Much worse. Now I can feel his entire side, and it’s molding to mine as he faces his grandma.
“I’m just so glad to be meeting you,” she says. “By the way, I’m Marigold. But most people call me Goldie or Grandma. I’d be pleased if you called me either.”
“Are you sure? I might turn out to be the bad seed of the family.”
“Don’t worry. That position has already been filled by Preston,” Miles murmurs.
Goldie has amazing hearing, because she narrows her eyes at him. “Was there something you cared to say?”
“Nothing, Grandma,” Miles says with a fake, innocent smile.
“Do you want us to help with dinner? You really didn’t have to do this. I feel bad that the first time you come to visit us, you’re the one doing the cooking.”
Because cooking would probably be a better choice than noticing how perfectly I fit in my roommate’s arms.
“I’m going to finish searing this cod, and the salad is already made. Miles, dear, would you like a glass of wine?”
I notice she didn’t even bother to ask me that question earlier. Maybe I look like a wino. Or maybe she’s hoping to get me drunk. It could be either one at this point.
“Sure, Grandma. I’ll get it.”
His arm leaves my shoulders, and it feels drafty in here now. I can’t stop the shiver as I watch him move into the kitchen. When I finally tear my eyes away, I catch Goldie watching me with a small smile on her face. I blush and take a big drink of my wine.
“I like her, Miles. Everyone is so excited to meet her on the camping trip.”
I promptly choke on the wine. Miles hurries to pound on my back.
“Ouch!” I yelp when he smacks me with the flat of his hand—he didn’t hit hard; it was just the perfect angle to sting my skin.
“Sorry,” he mutters as he starts rubbing small circles on my back.
“Meet everyone camping?” I manage to ask as I sit down on the bar stool.
“Oh, yes, everyone will be there this year. Miles did tell you, right?”
I narrow my eyes at Miles, who grimaces. “I must have completely forgotten about it,” I say.
“It’s always a good time. It’s a family tradition.
But of course, we’ll also have to have a belated wedding reception.
I know the two of you wanted a small wedding, but you have to let me have some sort of celebration.
Especially since I like you. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t bother. I’d just wait for the divorce papers.”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing hysterically. The ridiculousness of this situation and the guilt at deceiving this woman are warring with each other for top spot in my mind. Even Miles flinches at what she said.
“Grandma, we don’t say the D-word here,” he says in a somber tone as he finally moves his hand from my back.
It’s cold, and now I have to figure out what I’m supposed to do with myself. Reach for his hand? Or act like we’re together enough that we don’t have to be touching all the time? There are a lot of ways to play this, and I regret not talking with him more about it when we were in the bathroom.
“Dinner is served,” Goldie says as she slides the fish onto a large plate.
Miles reaches for me again, and I leap out of the chair and walk around the island.
“I’ll get the plates,” I say.
“Miles, get some wine glasses. I brought a bottle to share,” Goldie says.
I carry the plates to the table, and Miles brings the silverware and some salad dressing.
“You’d better pour Lucy an extra big cup. She’s had a long, busy week and needs to unwind,” Miles teases.
I jab his side when Goldie isn’t looking. He’s in big trouble for not mentioning an annual camping trip.
I’ve never been camping in my entire life. And now we’re going to have to share a tent.
Things can’t possibly get more awkward.
Miles catches my eye and flashes a guilty smile. I stick my tongue out in response.