Sticking to the truth.
Does that mean she’s honestly having fun?
Even being gone all week? Maybe I should have cut our trip short? Maybe I should cut back on traveling.
I shake my head and change the subject, “Smells grand, Mum.”
“I had Anya go with the lamb since all you boys love it.”
We all bang on about the view and the food and more easy, surface level nonsense. We sit for dinner and Dad ignores Byron, makes comments about Emerson being a general disappointment, and throws dig after dig at me about my immaturity, incompetence and so on. Janelle bristles, watching it all. Samantha makes side comments to her or tries to change the subject. Mum’s face twists up further and further with anxiety, then I make a few jokes at my own expense. Give my mother a wink and Dad a glare and feel everyone settle down again.
There. Back to normal. Why on earth would I cut back on traveling?
The stunning woman letting me grip her thigh under the table, she prefers me gone. She prefers her solitude, her routine. I’m good for a laugh from time to time but more than that and I just muck all her routines up.
She’s a homebody and she's not going to change. I'm a wanderer, an adventurer. I’m not changing. Even if, I realize suddenly with a stab of grief straight in my chest, I’d love the excuse to do so.
36
JANIE
Clown.
That is what he meant. He’s the family clown. He makes himself the brunt of every joke, diffuses every conversation, lightens every load. I guess I should have expected it but it’s just…there’s something else. Samantha, another skilled diffuser, tried to help. She’s so great with people and conversation, she was like Benedict’s wingman. But there’s something deeper going on.
But it’s none of my business.
I’m not actually marrying into this weirdo, quasi-royal richer-than-God family.
No need to pry.
Then I watch as Ben hugs his mother goodbye, scanning her face quickly before going in for a second hug. It’s not that he’s a momma’s boy. I’ve dated those. He doesn’t go on and on about her, doesn’t call and text her all the time. Doesn’t seem all that worried about her opinion or approval.
“What is it?” I blurt out loud, unable to hold back anymore.
“Sorry?” He asks as we climb into the back of another giant, fancy car.
“Is there a partition thing in here? Surely.” I say, eyeing the driver.
Ben pushes a button to raise said privacy screen, then turns to me.
“This is getting exciting,” he wags his eyebrows.
“Down boy. I want to know what the hell is going on in your family,” I say.
“I told you, I’m…”
“The class clown, I get that. Jack is ours. Every family has one. But it’s more than that. Something with you and your mom? Is it related to your panic attacks?”
He smirks and tries to brush it off, looking pointedly at my thigh-high boots. “I can think of much better things to discuss with the partition up…”
“You really thought I wouldn’t pick up on it?”
He sighs, “I did, yeah. As I said, most people aren’t paying that close attention to me.”
“Well, I was. I am.”
He looks at me, finally, with something gooey in his eyes that make me feel a deep, warm joy, accompanied by the kind of gripping fear that makes me want to jump out of this moving vehicle. He looks away, though, and slumps.
