Chapter 28
Zinnia
Her parents owned a three-story house with a big front porch and a tire swing in the yard.
They converted the attic into a bedroom to give her more privacy when she was seventeen.
She stayed up as late as she wanted, playing music and making art, while they were asleep on the first floor.
Her dad had even installed an alarm that connected to their room.
In case of emergency, he’d come running.
It was still hers because as long as her parents lived in that house, she had a place to stay.
Jordan froze right in the middle of the driveway. A thin sheen of sweat clung to his forehead. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Met your wife’s parents?”
“Met parents period. I was a teenager the last time, and it doesn’t count because I already knew them.” He kissed her suddenly, quickly at first and then longer.
“Shit. Hold still.” She tried to wipe her lipstick off him with her thumb. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” She switched to using a napkin from her purse.
“You’re right. Guilty as charged and I’d do it again.”
“Please try to control yourself. We’re married but we need to keep it rated G around them.” She smoothed down the front of his shirt and gave him a once-over.
“Am I presentable?”
“Mostly,” she joked. “They’re gonna love you because that’s what they do. Loving people is their superpower. You’ll see.”
A title like husband came with specific expectations in her family. Hers checked every single box except for one. If her parents thought he wasn’t good enough because of it, then she’d just watch him prove them wrong. Because he would.
On the porch, right as Zinnia was about to use her key, the front door swung open.
“Baby girl!” Her dad stood with his arms outstretched wearing his signature straight-faced smile—it was all in the eyes, pitch-dark and lively as an electric current.
New wrinkles had carved themselves into his dark brown skin since the last time she’d seen him, especially around his eyes and mouth.
His neat, curly hair was more salt than pepper and he was only a few inches taller than Jordan.
Odds were good he wasn’t taking his supplements and had started shrinking.
Matthew Sims was supposed to tower like a giant over everyone else.
“Hi, Dad.”
“I saw you on the doorbell camera thing,” he admitted as they walked inside the house.
She should’ve known. “Have you been using it to spy on the neighbors?”
“Now, no, I haven’t, but it tells me when there’s activity going on.”
“That means he’s spying,” she said to Jordan and then slipped her arm around his waist. “Dad, this is him.”
“Him.”
“Jordan.”
“Jordan.”
Her man of the hour cleared his throat and said, “Hello, sir. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
They shook hands, but her dad narrowed his eyes and said, “Sir.”
“Uh, Mr. Sims?”
Zinnia snickered. “Dad, chill.”
“All right.” He raised his hands in defeat. “As long as you know—”
“You’d fight a bear for me,” she finished. “I like him. He’s okay.”
“Just okay?”
“Secretly got married okay. Marrying him again okay.”
“Ah, that okay.”
Jordan’s eyes were screaming with confusion. She took pity on him and said, “We’re just joking. It’s okay to catch on.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Okay, got it?”
“There you go.” Her dad slapped him on the back—maybe a little too hard. “Did you have an okay drive?”
“Okay enough. Where’s Mom?”
“Bedroom. Dang.”
“He lost,” she whispered to Jordan and then called out, “Mom, come on! I’m withering away out here.”
From deep in the back of the house, her mom yelled, “Don’t come in here!”
“Then can you come out here and meet him?”
“Him who?”
“Who is the worst!” Zinnia cackled. “Him my husband!”
“Listen to that,” her dad muttered.
“Give me five minutes!” her mom shouted.
Eight minutes later, Michaela Sims fluttered down the hall.
Mabel liked to call Zinnia a Disney Princess, but really, she was an uncanny knockoff compared to her mom.
Now, her mom was the real deal, heavenly singing voice and all. Brown-eyed and brown-haired with brown skin, and no one was lovelier. When she looked at someone, it made their world stop. She was a celestial force, drawing people into her orbit and never letting them go.
Zinnia got up from the couch where they’d been sitting for a hug. Her favorite smell was her mom’s perfume. All her best childhood memories were directly tied to it. “Hi, Mom.”
“My baby,” her mom whispered. She pulled back and grabbed Zinnia’s cheeks with one hand. “Have you been eating?”
“Yes.” Her mom’s love language was food—Zinnia was never eating enough in her eyes.
“Don’t make me call Grace.”
“Please do. She’d love that, actually, but I live with Jordan now.”
“Jordan.”
She laughed again and reached out a hand behind her. He got up immediately, threading his fingers through hers. “Hello, Mrs. Sims.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. Micheala is fine. So, what made you think it was okay to marry my daughter without my permission?”
Zinnia tsked softly and frowned. She’d told her mom all about Amber. That question was her idea of a little jokey joke. However, Jordan didn’t answer, seemingly unable to do anything except stare like a guilty kid who got caught sneaking cookies after dinner.
She decided to bail him out again. “It helps if you don’t look her in the eye. That’s how she gets you.”
“Zinnia!”
“It’s the truth!”
“Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t expect you two to look so much alike in person.”
“Uncanny, isn’t it?” she joked. “You met me at a good time. I used to look more like my dad until my face settled.”
“I would’ve asked first,” he said quickly to her mom. “But she didn’t want me to meet you yet.”
“Oh?” Her mom slowly turned to look at her. “Is that true, Zinnia?”
“Well, you know me. Always have to do things the hard way.”
Her mom sighed. “I already have the discussion snacks ready.”
Every single family meeting they’d ever had took place in the family room.
They’d painted the walls robin’s-egg blue and decorated them with photos in sterling silver frames.
Her parents were the only people she drew portraits of—she gave them a new one every year on their anniversary.
They’d hung the most recent up, front and center, impossible to miss.
There was also an entertainment console with a TV and two matching love seats, suede and cream-colored.
Zinnia always sat in the one facing the window and that day was no exception.
Her mom placed the over-the-top vegetarian charcuterie board on the coffee table—hosting was a way of life in the Sims household—and sat down next to her dad on the other sofa.
Zinnia started at the beginning with her marriage-merger proposal and ended with arriving at the Zaffre estate. Jordan conquered his nerves, concisely explaining who his family was, what they did, and where they were now.
He reached for her hand as they invited her parents to their vow renewal ceremony.
“Well. That was quite the story.” Her mom raised her eyebrows and exchanged a look with her dad, who then said, “I’ll take him.”
He suddenly stood up and charged out of the room.
“Jordan, could you please follow Matthew?” her mom asked. “We’d like to speak to you individually.”
Zinnia sighed until her lungs were empty—much better than screaming. Her parents volunteered as marriage counselors at their church. “We don’t need to be counseled!” she argued.
But then Jordan kissed her cheek. “You know I love therapy,” he whispered, before running off to find her dad.
He would be into this. Granted, excitement was an improvement from petrified. Even if he had no idea what he was getting into.
“Let’s go see Shelby,” her mom suggested. “She’ll be happy you’re home.”
They stopped by the kitchen to pick up the sizeable vegetable and fruit platter first. Shelby was their family’s sulcata tortoise. She had her own wooden hut but ran their backyard with an iron shell. Squirrels didn’t even visit anymore because she’d somehow found a way to run them off. Birds too.
“You’re a wife now. How’s it feel?” her mom asked conversationally.
“Pretty good. I’m sure it’ll get harder as time goes on.”
“Seems like there’s been plenty of hardship already.”
“Well, yes, but Jordan’s great. He gets me. He’s very committed to our marriage and our future.” She felt like she was reading a script. “I know it seems like he tricked me and suddenly whisked me away—”
Her mom held up her hand. Interrupting while someone was speaking was a Sims violation. Either you waited until the speaker finished or requested the speaker cede the floor.
“Go ahead,” Zinnia said.
Her mom tapped the hut twice, the signal to come eat, but Shelby had always stubbornly followed her own schedule. She might decide to make an appearance if she heard them talking, though. That tortoise was surprisingly as sociable as she was mean.
“It’s not hard to see that all he did was point you in a new direction only slightly different from where you were already heading. I know a good feeling was more than enough to help you make up your mind,” her mom said. “What I don’t understand is why you felt the need to keep all this a secret?”
Zinnia used to hate the way her parents talked to her. Everything sounded understanding and the words were complimentary, but they used this matter-of-fact tone that felt like subtle condemnation. How could something so flat and without affectation slash at her like knives?
She’d lost years being angry at them until she realized she was projecting. All they’d ever seen her do was fail—at school, at church, making friends—and be miserable. She believed she was a lost cause. They had to believe she was one too.
That couldn’t have been further from the truth.
“I didn’t tell you because he doesn’t love me,” she said. “We didn’t fall in love and run away together. We had meetings to discuss our options and make sure our values aligned. I know that’s not what you were hoping for.”