Are there any other three words he could have said that would send this much fear coursing through me? Sure, it’s embarrassing that I talked light smack about his family, but I’mreallynot prepared to meet them even if I hadn’t made the off-color comments. I’m an onion, with layers of anxiety right now.
I thought the worst thing I would have to deal with was chickens wanting revenge for all the chicken nuggies I’ve eaten over the years without remorse or maybe a sexy (but sticky) peach fight. I didn’t think his family would even be here.
Which is ridiculous, since he’s talked about how he works at afamilybusiness. Apparently when your parents are always on another continent, you don’t consider that other people’s family members are just around them all the time, doing mundane things like all of them picking him up from the airport.
And by the look on Beau’s face, helikesit.
“Sonia, this is my mom, Eve, and my dad, Reed. My little sister, Annabelle, and her husband, Tucker. My niece, Harper, and nephew, Harry. Everyone, this is Sonia. She’s visiting the South for a bit.”
“Hi, everyone, whose names I definitely didn’t get.” Might as well admit it now; less embarrassing for when I forget it all later.
“Welcome to South Carolina.” His mother moves toward me like a Great White Shark. Okay, she looks perfectly nice and non-sharklike on her approach, but I am inherently wary about meeting the family, ready to paint her as a dangerous predator.
I extend my hand for a shake, but she’s faster than me, and I’m enveloped in a sea of red sweater fabric. I get a bit of gingerbread man beard, or maybe a bit of his hat, in my mouth before she pulls away.
“Thank you,” I mumble to her, getting ready for the greetings from the rest of the family. Forewarned is forearmed, and I’m ready for the rest of these huggers. Prepared, I don’t ingest any more Christmas sweater fragments when they all move in for hugs, but I am too slow to avoid the half-eaten candy cane that Harry shoves in my mouth.
My eyes lock with Beau’s as I slide the sticky candy out of my mouth and force out a thank-you to the expectant child in front of me. The gross child in front of me. But still, potential for disease aside, sharing is something I should probably encourage in the young one with an acknowledgement of his sacrifice. Beau, my champion, my knight, my Southern gentleman...laughs at me.
And makes no move to help me.
I stand there with the treat in my hand as Beau’s family inundates him with greetings and questions. His dad is trying to talk about mulch-gate and his mom is asking how the Plaza was. His sister is asking what he got her, and his brother-in-law is saying something about a deer blind.
Does he have blind deer? Should someone call a vet?
The kids, on the other hand, are focusing their tiny but potent gazes at me like I’m an intriguing friend. Or an evil adversary. Who knows with small humans? They’re so mysterious.
I wave at them with the candy cane in my hand, and their eyes go straight to the treasure. I look at the adults but they’re all busy and I have no idea if these kids can plan a siege on me for the booty, so I slowly extend my recent gift. The little boy one takes the treat back from me, and then a fight promptly breaks out between both of them.
I look back at the adults, sure they’ll do something now, but they ignore the battle unfolding in front of them. I take a few steps toward Beau and avert my gaze from the kids so I can claim lack of knowledge later.
Not my circus, not my monkeys.
After Beau has fielded a few questions from the adults, he catches me looking at him. He looks at my hand for the candy, and I jerk my head to the kids. Or in the direction where I last saw them, since I’ve been avoiding looking at them.
“Come on. I need to feed my guest.” He puts his arm around me and walks toward the door.
I sigh in relief. I survived meeting his family, but I’m looking forward to some alone time with Beau. After we exit the airport, Beau leads us to a truck so large I look around for a ladder to get in. There’s a little step next to the door, but it’s kind of high up by itself.
“Apparently the giant trucks are not just a stereotype.” I have no idea how to get in that without putting on a harness and climbing up the side.
“Yes. But I want to note we have an actual farm and need the vehicle to haul things. But don’t worry; I’ve got you, Baby Girl,” Beau says from behind me as he puts his hand on either side of my waist. He lifts me up into the road-boat.
Oh. Well, that’s impressive.
I hope his parents can’t tell how wiggly I get downstairs at the display of strength from their son.
“Holding up so far?” Beau whispers in my ear so his parents in the front seat can’t hear.
“Hmm. Well, no one’s said ‘War of Northern Aggression’ yet, so I think I’m okay. I guess.” I joke, but there’s a bit of fear under there as well. Hard not to with my less than pale complexion and where I am. Something I didn’t really think about until now, being so concerned before with my relationship issues.
“And you won’t hear it,” Beau says, serious now. “Not from us. And no Confederate flags either, at least not from us. Or any of our friends. I can’t promise anything beyond that, as much as I wish I could.”
My eyes race to his with as much determination as Sherman coming for Atlanta. I know he can’t control everyone who lives in his state, and that good and bad people live everywhere. I am reassured that no one in his immediate circle is going to say anything that makes me want to punch someone and cry. But still. “This is going to be...different.”
Not that I can pretend all of New York state is racist-and Confederate-flag free. I know the warning about throwing stones from glass houses. But there do seem to be less of them at home. Or maybe they’re quieter about it.
I have time to obsess over the new worry during the long drive. As the sun goes down, I really think about what I agreed to for the first time; to get in a plane and follow a mostly-stranger to his remote house, with his family.
