Murphy’s hands fluttered uselessly as she tried to compose herself. “Mom, Dad, this is a surprise. Truly. And not necessary.”
I’d never met her parents because Murphy always traveled to school by private town car. If she saw her parents, it was when she went home to fill out their family’s pictures at an event they had to attend. In fact, I recalled Murphy’s parents not attending her graduation because they were on a grand tour of Europe.
“Of course it is. It’s your birthday,” Mrs. Landon said, “and it’s been over six months since you’ve gone. Time’s up, darling. It’s time to come home.”
Blinking wildly, Murphy stammered, “I—I’m not sure.”
“And you are?” Her mom abruptly turned to me, her lip curled in distaste as she took in my jeans, hiking boots, and flannel shirt, along with the scruff on my face and my hair in desperate need of a cut.
Although it was obvious she’d decided I was nothing but a country bumpkin, I offered my hand and said politely, “Ben Rooney. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“Very nice to meet you too, but we’re trying to talk with our daughter. Honey,” she said to Murphy, “I thought you said you were doing marketing. Then why are you wearing an apron and back behind that counter?” She waved her hand toward a scowling Zara.
“Ben and I are seeing each other,” Murphy said, not bothering to explain her employment status.
“I came to wish your daughter a happy birthday in person and surprise her with dinner at the High Hill Inn.” I spoke as if they knew the place and would be impressed. In a flash, I was once again the scholarship kid at Pressman, desperately trying to impress everyone around me in the hope I’d make it big one day.
“Oh, that’s where we’re staying. I heard it’s lovely,” Mrs. Murphy said, disregarding the rest of what I’d said. “We plan to dine there with Murphy tonight. Marshall’s assistant made the arrangements.”
“You know what?” Murphy said quickly. “I’m working now. Maybe we can discuss this all later?”
Murphy’s mom looked her up and down again with a sniff. “You will need to clean up.”
“Yes, Mom, I know what I need to wear. And we’ll be four, so can you handle changing the reservation? Or should I text Betty or maybe Dad can? Ben will come since he planned to take me there.” Murphy let out a short breath and turned to me. “I’m sorry. Rain check on just the two of us?”
“Um, yeah.” I stumbled over my words, not sure why she was agreeing to go with her parents so easily. But family was family.
“Zara, is my break over?” Murphy called over her shoulder toward her boss. “Doesn’t Nicole have that show at school you wanted to see?”
I didn’t know if Murphy was lying, but Zara went along with it and nodded.
Turning back to her parents, Murphy said firmly, “Mom and Dad, I’ll see you later.”
“Seven. Don’t be late, darling,” her mom said, failing to register the tension building inside the café. “I’m going to the spa this afternoon and your dad is golfing, so we’ll be busy. Thanks for texting Betty to make a change in the reservation.”
With one more quick once-over of me, the couple glided out of the Bean as though they hadn’t just turned Murphy’s world upside down.
30
Ben
I didn’t hear from Murphy for the rest of the day.
After leaving the Bean, I downed my Americano in one gulp and headed over to Brenna’s to do a little handiwork. I was off and had nothing to do other than obsess over how today was going completely wrong. This was supposed to be my day to spoil Murphy.
And then I remembered. I had to pick up the cupcake cake.
How could a dumb cupcake cake ever be enough for Murphy with family resources like hers?
Not entirely sure Murphy really wanted me to join her with her parents, I decided to give her space. Of course, I wanted to text or call, reach out, run over and hold her while she told me I was enough, but I fought the urge.
My phone finally dinged as I was changing a light bulb at Brenna’s.
I’m sorry I ruined the day. Do you want to drive? I don’t need my parents to see my car.
That was it. No mention of her really wanting me there or needing me to be with her, but I chalked it up to her being stressed. Imagine being embarrassed about your car when it came to your own parents? The excuses I made for her might have been more for my benefit, but I needed to tell myself something.
I texted back, trying to sound as businesslike as she did.
