That’s when Mom finally goesthere.
“Have we heard anything from Stella and Ellis about Christmas?”
I start to say no but Jordan speaks up first. “I talked to her staff this morning and they said someone would get back to me by tomorrow.” He glances over his shoulder, smiling in that disarming, innocent way he has. “I get the impression they’re short-staffed because of the holidays. I’ll make sure to follow up if I don’t hear from them.”
“Let her miss it,” Dad gruffly says, startling me. “She wants to throw a snit fit because we won’t let her parade us around like trained poodles? She and Ellis can go do whatever they’re going to do. Screw them.”
Wow.
Mom offers me a smile. “He’s not wrong, El. If your sister wants to act like that it’s her decision. I’m not going to beg her to spend the time with us if she doesn’t want to.” Then she lightly pokes me in the arm. “Will we meet your ‘friend’ this week?”
It takes me a moment to understand what she means when I remember our phone call from a few weeks ago. “I’m sorry. They have family plans.”
Technically not a lie.
Dad pipes up. “That’s probably why Stella’s mad,” he says. “That you won’t let her fix you up with her friends. I know she once hoped she could get you to date Grace Martin.”
“She actually told you that?” I mean, it’s not a surprise to me but it surprises me that he’d know.
“Grace’s father said something to me about it once. You know. Before.”
Meaning before Grace died. “Ah.”
“Frankly, I’m glad you didn’t get involved with her,” he continues. “Someone like that, with a lot of skeletons in her closet? Definitely not someone you need complicating your life, son.”
My stomach tenses and Jordan, as always, saves the day. “I think we’re just about ready. Did you want to eat in here or out in the dining room?”
“Oh, in here’s fine, sweetie,” Mom says. “Don’t go through any special trouble for us.”
I get up to set the table and Mom insists on helping.
Dinner is delicious—of course. Jordan settled on a simple pork tenderloin with a couple of side dishes, nothing fancy but good food my parents love and feel comfortable with. Dad even seems to loosen up a little, finally, and while we’re talking about the farm at least he’s talking and even smiles every once in a while.
Part of me wants to blurt out that Jordan is one of my partners but I don’t want to spoil this moment.
Mom’s happy, Dad’s…well, in a good mood, at least, and Jordan appears relaxed and at ease.
An hour later we’re all riding together in the Beast and on our way to the museum. Mom stares out the window, her eyes wide.
“Goodness, all this fuss just to drive a little ways? No wonder you don’t go out much.”
“Yeah. It’s a wholething,” I say. “Kind of the protocols now, for security.”
Dad nods. “I can understand why your girlfriend doesn’t want to go public,” he says. “No offense, son.”
“None taken, Dad.”
I mean, she’s not even real, for crying out loud. Why would I be offended?
“We carefully protect everyone’s privacy,” Jordan says, sparing me further response.
Mom offers him a smile. “You’re a good friend, Jordan.”
Jordan’s gaze lands on mine. “I try to be, ma’am.”
“What do your parents think about you working for the president?” she asks.
Jordan shrugs but I spot the way his smile now looks a little too tight, too practiced. “I don’t have contact with my parents,” he says. “And here we are.” He points, and of course Mom and Dad both look.
