Just then, the front door banged open, and a frazzled Brenna hurried in.
“Sorry I’m late.” Barely out of her coat, Brenna looked up and got the same half-crazed, far-off, dreamy look as my mom. “So, you’re Murphy?”
Oh no. I could practically see her wheels turning as she took up where Mom left off, planning my wedding in her mind.
Although Murphy was used to nonstop cocktail parties and blue-blood fundraisers, now she looked like she’d swallowed a fly when faced with my overbearing family.
Deciding we’d gotten the introductions out of the way, I took charge. “I’ll be right back. Bren, can you take Murphy to the kitchen and get her something to drink?”
As I made a beeline for the door, I heard my sister saying to Murphy, “Oh, sure. Do you like wine?”
When the fresh air hit my face, I wasn’t so certain I should even go back inside.
28
Murphy
Ben found me after delivering the cupcakes in the kitchen amongst a rainfall of hushed whispers.
Glass of wine in hand, I tried to look comfortable perusing the photos lining the wall of the staircase. Little Ben climbing a tree, medium-sized Ben eating a stack of pancakes drizzled with syrup, Brenna with her arm around Ben in his Pee Wee football uniform, and a distinguished Ben at his Harvard graduation.
“I see you found the wall of memories.” Ben came up behind me, pulling back my hair to place his lips on my neck, sending chills down to my toes.
“And I see you were always a fan of breakfast food,” I said, pointing at a framed photo of him eating pancakes.
“Always, but especially now that you had your first breakfast for dinner with me.”
Silence fell between us as we took in the photos on the wall, snapshots of Ben’s life before and after Pressman.
“There’s none of you while you were at Pressman,” I said.
Ben shook his head, pressing it closer to mine. “My parents never came up to visit.”
“Why? That seems ... out of character.” I turned to look into Ben’s blue eyes. “You know, now that I remember, they never did come up for any games or parents’ weekends.”
Ben swallowed, a lump of something undetermined passing by his Adam’s apple. “I asked them not to. I barely fit in as it was, and my mom ... Well, she’s just my mom and was never interested in being something she’s not. They didn’t have the right clothes or anything.”
“I’m sure they would have loved to see it.” I ran my palm down Ben’s arm and wove my fingers through his.
“They did from their car when they dropped me off. Just picturing me there was enough for my dad, and he cautioned my mom, making sure I paved my own way there.”
“And Brenna?”
“She got pregnant my freshman year, and then she wasn’t exactly in a position to visit.”
“I’ll bet she regrets that. You can tell she loves you.”
“Yeah, when she’s not trying to run my life. I swear if she had a man, she’d be less concerned with me.”
That made me laugh. “Somehow I think she’d find room in her life to boss both of you around. By the way, what’s the deal with her and Scott? Your mom seemed to think there was something more.”
“Who knows. They dated in high school. Brenna’s a long way from there now, raising a kid by herself and trying to make ends meet. Who knows what my mom is angling at.” Changing the subject, he said, “Since you saw the wall of shame, want to see my room?”
“Of course. Are we allowed to go upstairs?” I teased.
Ben tossed me over his shoulder and ran up the stairs to his room. The floorboards creaked under us and I punched his back, hoping he’d put me down. This was hardly how I wanted to get to know his parents, slung over his shoulder caveman-style.
Inside his room, he set me down, and I spun around taking it all in—blue plaid wallpaper, bunkbeds, and a huge lineup of trophies on the bureau. “I see it’s pretty much untouched.”
