Chapter 10
BLAIR
Itold Liv the truth about my mother and brother in North Carolina. Well, most of it, anyway. What I didn't tell her is that my family is very wealthy.
Yes, my brother works, but he works for fun; he does it because he loves bagging groceries and talking to people.
He certainly doesn't need the money. Danny's weekly paycheck amounts to what most people spend on coffee, but he deposits it religiously into his savings account and he's so proud of it.
The family fortune came long before my tech success, and I got my entrepreneurial spirit from them.
Dad built his construction empire from a single pickup truck and a willingness to work eighteen-hour days.
Mom turned her hobby of refurbishing antiques into a chain of boutique shops across three states.
I guess taking risks is easier when you have something to fall back on—though I didn't realize that luxury until I was old enough to understand that most families don't casually own vacation homes in the Outer Banks.
It's interesting being in a real "charming and modest" country home, as Mom would call it.
The Barnes farmhouse is genuinely beautiful in a way that money can't buy. There’s this authentic comfort that comes from generations of the same family living in the same space, wearing the floorboards smooth and filling every corner with memories.
We're settled on the wraparound porch now, the four of us arranged in wicker chairs. Liv's mother, Moira, has supplied us with iced tea and homemade quiche.
The introductions went smoothly enough—hugs, genuine smiles, and what felt like immediate acceptance. They’re happy to see their daughter in love. Or what they think is love. Moira fussed over my height ("Oh my goodness, you're even taller than Livvy said!"), while Bill assessed me curiously.
"So, Sailor," he says, leaning back in his chair and fixing me with a direct look. "I have to ask. Are your parents marines? I've never heard that name before."
I see Liv tense slightly beside me, but I'm prepared for this question. Who wouldn't inquire about such a silly name? It's still something of a struggle to keep a straight face, though.
"Actually," I say, "my parents never even owned a boat.
They named me Sailor because I was born in North Carolina during a bad storm the locals referred to as Hurricane Sailor, back in '89.
They figured if I could survive being born in that chaos, I could handle anything life threw at me.
" I shrug with a self-deprecating smile.
"Jury's still out on whether they were right. "
Bill chuckles and takes a sip of his iced tea. "Hurricane Sailor, huh? I don't remember that one, but it's certainly a good story."
"Isn't it!" Moira exclaims, clasping her hands together.
She's been in constant motion since we sat down—adjusting the pillow on her chair, smoothing her dress, reaching over to straighten a vase on the side table.
"I love names with stories behind them. Bill is named after his grandfather William, and Livvy gets her name from my great-aunt Olivia, who was quite the character.
Ran off to Paris in the twenties to be an artist. Drove the whole family absolutely wild with worry, but she came back speaking fluent French and married the richest man in three counties. "
She takes a breath—barely—and continues.
"Emma, Liv’s sister, is named after Emma Goldman, the anarchist, which probably seems strange for a farm family, but I've always admired women who refuse to be told what they can and can't do.
Though between you and me, I'm hoping our Emma's rebellious phase peaks at choosing daisies over roses for her bouquets instead of trying to overthrow the government. "
"Mom," Liv says with fond exasperation, "you're rambling."
"I'm not rambling, I'm providing context," Moira protests, but she's smiling as she turns back to me.
"We're so happy to meet you, Sailor. I've put fresh sheets on Livvy's old bed and cleared out some drawer space for you.
I hope you don't mind that it's still decorated like a teenager's room—we've never had the heart to change it. Liv’s motivational posters are still on the walls.
You know, 'Dream Big' and 'The Sky's the Limit'—that sort of thing.”
"Mom," Liv groans, covering her face with her hands. “I asked you to take those down.”
"What? It's sweet!" Moira continues cheerfully. "Though I should warn you, the bed creaks terribly. We keep meaning to replace it, but..." She waves her hand vaguely, then grimaces when she realizes how awkward this conversation has suddenly become.
The implication hangs in the air, and I watch Liv's face turn the same shade as the red barn.
Bill nearly chokes on his iced tea.
"Well... I don't move much in my sleep," I say, enjoying Liv's mortification. "But Liv... well, I'm sure you know she's a restless sleeper. She sleepwalks a lot too."
"Oh, she still does that?" Moira asks. "She used to sleepwalk all the time as a kid."
I nod, feeling smug that I remember this small detail from her file. So far so good. I think I make a pretty convincing girlfriend. "A few times a week." Unable to resist teasing Liv, I continue. "Last night I caught her practicing some kind of acceptance speech in the bathroom mirror."
Liv shoots me a warning look but I ignore it. The opportunity is too good to pass up. "Sorry, sugar plum. I know I promised not to tell anyone, but I swear, it was so cute."
Her eyes widen at 'sugar plum', and for a moment I'm worried she might punch me. But then her mouth stretches into a forced smile and she gives me a playful nudge.
"Stop teasing me, Sailor, or you'll be sorry you ever came along."
"Oh, aren't you two just a wonderful pair!" Moira looks from Liv to me and back. "Speaking of wonderful pairs, you'll have to excuse us if we're a bit busy tomorrow. Did Livvy tell you the rehearsal dinner and wedding will be here?"
"Yes, that must be quite the undertaking."
"Don't get me started," Moira says with a dramatic sigh.
"The caterer is handling the food for the wedding of course—Morrison's Catering from Frederick, they've done three weddings in the county this year and they're absolutely wonderful—but I'm doing all the cooking for tomorrow night's rehearsal dinner myself.
Forty-three people, can you believe it? I've got two casseroles in the oven right now, potato salad chilling in the refrigerator, and I still need to make the cornbread and green bean salad.
Bill needs to set up the long table under the oak trees and string the lights we borrowed from the church, and we've got to move the picnic tables from the barn, and—" She pauses to take a breath, her hands fluttering as she counts off tasks on her fingers.
"Moira," Bill interrupts, placing a hand on her arm, "breathe."
"I am breathing, Bill. It's just there's so much to do, and Emma keeps calling with last-minute changes which means we might need to move some things around, and—"
"Please," I say, cutting into her spiral, "just put me to work. Any help you need, let me know. I'm not great in the kitchen, but I can try my hand at just about anything else, and Liv is an amazing multitasker so between us, I’m sure we’ll pull it off."
Moira's face lights up. "Oh, bless you! We might take you up on the offer tomorrow, but tonight you need to rest." She turns to Liv with renewed energy. "Why don't you show Sailor around the farm while I make us dinner? We're having chicken and rice casserole. Is that okay with you, Sailor?"
"Sounds delicious, Moira."
"Great. Liv, give her the full tour—the barn, the fields, the animals, the house and your room, of course. Take your time and have a shower before dinner if you want."
"Sure, Mom." Liv stands, looking relieved to have an escape route from her mother's tornado. "Come on, babe. Let me show you where I learned to drive a tractor."