Chapter 9 #2
With parents who loved winter sports, Mo had grown up on ice rinks and ski slopes. But his parents’ destinations of choice had all had a certain cachet to them—they catered to the upper crust. Even the rustic atmosphere was cultivated to be luxe.
Fredericton didn’t have the dramatic landscape to be a ski destination.
It was positioned in a valley with a river running through it, the slopes on either side too gentle to draw an elite crowd of thrill-seekers.
A few homes, particularly along the water, looked like the kinds of places the Du Ponts could have deigned to stay in or maybe even compliment.
Between the hills and trees, the river, the snow, and the stately buildings of the old town, it looked like a perfect Christmas card.
A few of the big houses even had homemade ice rinks in the front yards.
Maybe the river was too big and didn’t freeze?
Or maybe it did, but the ice wasn’t smooth enough for good hockey.
Chelsea chattered away as they crossed the bridge over the water. The banter had given way to updates on family members whose names and faces Mo would soon have to learn.
“Oh, and Uncle Ian got a new tattoo—he went all the way to Halifax for it. It’s so fucking ugly. Chuckie loves it.”
“What did he get this time?”
“It’s a monkey riding a tricycle. Right here.” She tapped the side of her neck.
At least Uncle Ian would be easy to identify.
Finally, Chelsea pulled the car into the semicircular driveway of a large, modern stone house set back from the road, screened by tall pines, and put the car in Park.
Then she turned around and addressed Mo.
“Adam’s gonna get mobbed as soon as he walks in.
Nothing I can do about that. But I can sneak you in through the garage if you’re shy. ”
“You’re never this nice to me,” Adam protested.
Chelsea flicked his nose, causing him to recoil. “You’re used to this madness. Look at him; he’s barely said a word since we got in the car. And you let him sit by himself in the back seat like a neglected dog.”
Mo opened his mouth to protest, only to stop short when Adam flushed with shame and shot him an apologetic look. “Okay, there’s no way my legs would fit in the back seat, but I’m so sorry. Chels and I can get a little carried away.”
Mo waved this off, uncomfortable with the sincerity. He wasn’t actually Adam’s boyfriend, after all. “No, no, it’s fine, I’m tired from the flight anyway. I’ve just been trying to get a handle on the accent. Uh, what’s a bootlegger’s?” The usual definition didn’t seem to fit.
“Oh, an old joke about the crowd,” Adam said sheepishly, with a wave toward all the cars.
Then one of the big wooden double doors at the front steps flew open wide and a trio of red heads appeared. One of them yelled, “They’re here!”
The thundering of their footsteps as they pounded back into the house carried all the way to the car.
Looked like Mo wasn’t getting the option of a sneaky entrance after all.
“So much for subtlety.” Chelsea unclicked her seat belt. “Best get inside before the heathens let all the heat out.” She went ahead, presumably to corral the children, leaving Mo and Adam behind to gird themselves.
“Hey.” Adam reached into the back seat and put his hand over Mo’s. Mo didn’t understand how it was so warm compared to his own. “It’s going to be fine. They’ll like you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Not just because he felt a sudden, unexpected pang of regret for letting these people get emotionally invested in their sham of a relationship, but also because Mo didn’t have a filter between his mouth and his brain, and if someone tried to banter with him, he might cross a line and commit some horrible faux pas.
But he couldn’t sit in the car forever because he’d freeze to death, so he let Adam open the door for him and lead him up to the house.
“How many people are we expecting, exactly?” Mo’s airplane-appropriate shoes slipped on a patch of ice. Adam caught his hand and righted him before he could do more than exhale gustily, and didn’t let go as they climbed the stairs.
“I don’t usually count. My parents, Chelsea and her family, a couple of my aunts and uncles and their kids, maybe my grandma. I don’t think my brother’s coming until tomorrow or the day after.”
Was it too late to throw himself down the stairs? That sounded less terrifying.
The front door led onto a large, open entryway with clear sightlines into the open-concept living room and kitchen. Those were a lot of eyes on them.
Chelsea’s prediction proved accurate. Adam had barely stepped across the threshold before he got reeled into a hug.
First in line were an older couple that had to be his parents—he was tall, pale, and ginger; she was almost as tall as her husband, but solidly built and with bright eyes matching Adam’s.
As soon as they released Adam, they turned to Mo.
“It’s great to meet you, son.” Two large hands encased Mo’s, giving a strong pump and patting the back of Mo’s hand. “We’re so happy Adam brought you.”
“Thanks, Mr. Mur—”
“None of that, now, we’re not in the classroom. Call me Duncan.” He wouldn’t stop smiling.
His wife hip checked him out of the way with a scold. “Don’t hog the boy. Mo, it’s lovely to meet you. I’m Katie, Adam’s mum.” The pronunciation must be a regional thing.
She pulled him into a hug, and good Lord, she was several inches taller than he was. Suddenly alarmed, Mo cast a quick look around the room and breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed there was at least one woman shorter than him.
Still, he was going to scold Adam as soon as he could for not warning him he came from a family of giants.
A child—excellent, someone else shorter than him—barreled down the hallway in a blur of ginger curls, and straight into Chelsea’s arms. “Mum, Mum, Mum!” Chelsea scooped the kid up as they began a rapid-fire retelling of everything that had happened in her absence. Something about cars and boys?
Not that Adam or Mo got to listen, because as soon as their shoes were off, they were tugged further into the home and installed into some sort of informal greeting line.
These people sure did love handshakes and hugs.