No worries. Pick you up at 6.
Then I called the inn to cancel my own dinner and room reservations. Normally, they’d be sticklers about me canceling so late, but I mentioned being a doctor and needing to sleep at home tonight. It wasn’t a nice trick, but I wasn’t in a nice mood.
My despondent mood only grew worse when I knocked on Murphy’s door and a way-too-made-up version of her opened it, wearing a pressed blouse and sleek pants and mega-high heels. Her hair was blown out so straight it looked hard and brittle, and an inch of makeup she didn’t need was layered on her face.
Seeing how she’d changed herself to suit her parents, I felt my blood boil.
“Hi,” she said with a small smile.
“Happy birthday,” I said softly, trying to ignore Society Murphy as I leaned in for a kiss. Thinking about the cake, I decided we could salvage the day later—in bed. Just Murphy and me, and icing, and all the makeup long gone.
But then Murphy surprised me by saying, “Lipstick. Can’t kiss.” Waving me off, she didn’t even offer me a cheek to kiss. Instead, she secured her purse over her shoulder and stepped outside to shut the door behind her.
Even though I was physically outside her place here in Vermont, I was mentally transported back in time to our days at Pressman, where our relationship wasn’t meant to be public. When I was just the kid Murphy sometimes talked to. A shudder ran through me.
No, this is now. Murphy invited me to dinner. She wants me there. She said so in front of her parents.
Yet, we walked toward the Jeep in silence. Chatty Murphy was long gone—no sign of the retro combat boots or her freckled nose anywhere.
She let me open the door for her before she slipped in and checked her reflection in the mirror, not noticing the giant cake box in the back seat or whether I walked in front or back of the car. Sneaking a peek at Murphy after I closed her door, I found she was entirely consumed with herself, wiping some invisible smudge off her cheek.
“Christ, what did I get myself into?” I whispered to myself as I rounded the back of the SUV.
As I slid into the driver’s seat, Murphy finally acknowledged me and gave me an apologetic look.
“If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. I know ... it’s my fault. I volunteered you for dinner, but please don’t think for a second that this will be anything but work. It won’t be a fun and relaxing evening. This isn’t a fun social date. But this is my life, working for my parents. I can’t seem to escape it, even here in Vermont.”
“Of course I’m going,” I said against my better judgment, accepting that this wasn’t going to be an evening where I’d leave feeling good about myself or successful in my own right. “I’m your guy,” I added, not knowing if it was for my benefit or hers.
Murphy sighed. “Again, I’m sorry. I know you were trying to surprise me for my birthday, but my parents swooped in and now it’s ruined. I just can’t discuss it, though. I have too much on my plate. They’re going to try to convince me to leave, and you don’t get it. Theyalwaysget what they want.”
It was an added benefit that I had to keep my eyes on the road, because it kept me from staring at Murphy’s lips painted with an expensive red lipstick that didn’t even suit her as she talked like this.
“It’ll be okay,” I said. “We’ll celebrate your birthday on our own another time.”
Murphy gave me a slight nod, and we endured the rest of the ride in uncomfortable silence. The damned cupcake cake taunted me from the back seat, and even Mozart couldn’t calm my nerves.
Pulling up in front of the inn, I swallowed my pride. I could have paid to bring Murphy here all by myself for a month or longer, but allowing her parents to bring me (us) here was a bitter pill to swallow. I didn’t like feeling like the scholarship kid again. I’d played that role for too long, and now I was my own man.
The valet opened the door for Murphy, and I wanted to deck him. That was the kind of mood I was in. It only worsened when he asked me, “Does the box go inside?” He nodded toward the giant box from Gigi’s bakery that Murphy had yet to notice.
Blowing out a long breath, I said, “I’m not sure.”
Turning on her heel, Murphy saw the label for Oh, For Heaven’s Cakes and quickly whirled back to me. “What’s that?” she demanded, venom lacing her words rather than the excitement I’d expected.
“It’s nothing. A cake. Someone once told me never to show up emptyhanded.” We spoke in hushed tones next to the car with the valet waiting patiently nearby, pretending not to listen.
“Please don’t bring that.” She flung her arm toward the car. “Whatever it is, I can’t eat it in front of my mother. This isn’t Vermont. Well, physically we’re in Vermont, but my parents never leave their little bubble. Unless it’s an aged bottle of Scotch or a vintage red wine, they don’t care, okay? Just drop it. It’s time for me to eat a salad with the dressing on the side and salmon for dinner. Is breakfast for dinner better? Yes. But you have to understand, that isn’t my parents’ scene. That’s not even in their world. It. Does. Not. Exist.”
She paused between each of her final words, for effect I assumed, but I wasn’t a stranger to the curiosities of her world. It’s just that I’d thought she wanted out of it.
Refusing to make eye contact with me after her choppy monologue, Murphy wrung her hands until she’d transformed her entire demeanor—fake smile, perfect posture, ready for a photo opportunity.
“I didn’t get it for your parents,” I said. “I got it for you. For you, Murph. I don’t care what world they live in. I live here, and so do you. In the real world.”
Rather than argue with me, Murphy just gave me a short nod and made a beeline for the entrance. With no further discussion on the cake, I followed behind her, trying for small talk. I couldn’t stand the mountain of silence between us. I was a hiker, but this was an incline I couldn’t seem to climb.
“It’s cool, right?” I asked her, taking her elbow in my palm, trying to touch her any way I could. The inn was an old Victorian that had been restored, and was well known in the area as the nicest place to stay.
