“I can certainly believethat,” she says, and we both laugh.
Laughing with Mom feelsgood. I don’t get to laugh very often anymore. Not unless it’s in private with Leo and Jordan, or Casey-Marie and Declan.
This is a serious job and I am always mindful of being under a microscope.
“Are you and Dad all packed and ready?” I ask.
“Yes, I suppose. Are you sure you don’t mind us spending Saturday night with you?”
“Mom, I wouldn’t have asked you to spend the night if I didn’t want you here. I’m looking forward to some quiet time with the two of you.”
Not only did I manage to talk my parents into flying down to Florida with me onAir Force Onebut I also convinced them to spend Saturday night with me here at the White House after we fly back.
That in and of itself is a minor miracle.
I think Stella might be a little pissed off about that, too. Mom mentioned last week that Stella invited them to stay in Florida for a few days, and that they would put them up at a ritzy hotel there, even though Stella and Ellis are leaving immediately on their honeymoon to Maui.
I guess Dad told them thanks but no thanks.
Maybe for once I’m the favored child.
Petty?
Heck, yeah, I am. I’ll also take the small wins wherever I can get them and be grateful for them. I can’t wait to have Mom and Dad sitting with us at breakfast Sunday morning.
Is that weird?
Jordan’s already told me he’s cooking for us. Leo’s staying over, too. Although we’ll stage it so it looks like Leo’s in a different bedroom, and both he and Jordan can sneak into my bedroom after Mom and Dad turn in for the night.
Hey, they’ll be down at the far end, with their own en suite bathroom, and they’ll be fine. Besides, as POTUS I can always make excuses for why my staff is around.
Even if the deception grates on me for a variety of reasons.
Yeah, yeah. Only myself to blame. Preaching to the choir, you know.
“You sure you don’t want me to fly you down on Friday for the rehearsal dinner? They can bring you back to DC so you don’t have to spend the night down there.”
“No. Stella told me they aren’t having a rehearsal dinner. This is fine.”
That sounds sus, that my sister is turning down the opportunity to be the center of attention, but whatever.
“I hope what I’m wearing will be good enough,” Mom adds.
“Mom, I saw the pictures. You two will look fantastic.”
“Jordan never did tell us how much we owe you, El.”
“Mom, youdon’t. Seriously. That’s a gift from me and I won’t hear another word about it.”
Stella might be pissed off about this, too. Jordan flew out to Nebraska a few Saturdays ago with my personal credit card and took my parents shopping. I don’t know what magic Jordan used to get them to agree to do it, but they hit a department store where my parents didn’t object to the prices too much. By the time Jordan returned to DC late that night, he showed me pictures of my dad modeling the nice suit Mom approved of, and Mom smiling in a beautiful turquoise dress that looked stunning on her.
This was after two months of Stella haranguing them that they needed to “go buy something nice” and she’d reimburse them for it.
My Sir has a subtle way of nudging people in the direction he wants them to go. It’s part of his charm and one of his many secret superpowers.
And it’s one of the many reasons I love him so much.
“Well, if you say so, sweetheart.”
