“That’s fine. We’ll meet him another time,” she finally responds.
“Yep, we’ll definitely figure it out,” I say.
“So, I made a rather large taco salad and I’m grilling some skirt steak for dinner. Do you two eat meat?”
“Yes,” I answer brightly for the both of us. “That sounds delicious.”
“We weren’t sure if you guys do dogs,” Peter adds. “So we put Bonsai in the den. Would you mind if I let her out for a second? She probably needs to pee.”
“Oh, we love dogs,” I say. “You need not confine her on our account.”
Roman is strangely quiet as Bonsai comes out to greet us. She’s a spunky terrier mutt with soulful eyes and a friendly disposition. She takes a liking to my handbag and keeps trying to sniff inside of it.
“No, Bonsai!” Peter reprimands her.
“Oh, it’s fine. She must smell our dog,” I say to let them know it’s all right. “The name Bonsai fits her. She’s so cute.”
“Can we get you a drink or something?” his mother asks. “Dinner will be ready in five minutes.”
There’s a flat screen on the stone wall above the fireplace which I continue to stare at in amazement. What do they do when it rains? We don’t see outdoor spaces like this as much over on the East Coast because of the weather.
“I’ll take anything with rum if you have it. I’ve stopped nursing recently and am excited to have cocktails any chance I get.”
“Peter, can you grab the drinks please?”
“Coming right up,” Peter says. “Rum for you, Roman?”
Roman isn’t paying attention to any part of this conversation because he is busy watching the dog sprint around the yard.
“Juice for him. He’s still taking pain medication for his injuries.”
“You want me to put her away, Roman?” Peter asks, probably wondering if he’s uncomfortable.
Roman bends down to scratch behind her ears, and Bonsai licks his hand.
“You told me I couldn’t have a dog,” Roman says in a sorrowful voice.
It’s so quiet now that I think I just heard a hawk call from a mile away. I desperately wanted to keep this visit light and breezy, but I should have known… Roman does nothing light and breezy.
“You said you were allergic,” he continues.
Frances places a plate of the grilled steak onto the large farmhouse-styled dining table then responds.
“Did I say that?”
“Yeah, you did.”
“I probably didn’t want to admit that we couldn’t afford one,” she says apologetically. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”
“Well, what were you spending all of Joseph’s money on then?”
We haven’t even had an appetizer and he’s going straight for the jugular. It rocked him to the core to discover that he had been lied to his entire life by his mother. She lied to him for years, telling him that Joseph was his “dead-beat” biological father when that wasn’t the truth at all. That kind of lie is not a simple thing to just get past. Your mother is the first woman you trust. If you learn that you can’t depend on the person who gave you life, then how do you trust anybody?
An uneasy look conforms on Peter’s face as he keeps his eyes trained on Roman. He is clearly very protective of Frances and doesn’t like the direction of the conversation. Hell, I don’t like it either, but this is a discussion that’s overdue, and I will stand by my man to make sure he gets what he needs.
“I thought I explained things to you in the letter,” she asserts.
“Yeah, but now I want you to tell me to my face.”
