The truth would be: I don’t trust your son, but don’t feel that’s a reflection on your parenting; I don’t trust anyone to stick around besides Priya and to a lesser extent Ajay, and that’s only because I’ve known them since I was an impressionable child. Instead, I would like to get frisky with your son until I get him out of my system and we can part, never to see each other again. Meeting you was an accident and I consistently find myself wanting to run away into the sunset to avoid this very conversation.
I don’t think she’d appreciate that.
“You don’t have to hang out with Mom if you don’t want to.” Beau stands by the door, watching me check my purse for the third time to make sure I have my charger.
I look up at him, the man who has the nerve to look great while I’m an internal mess of nerves over how to interact with his mom.
He’s done with the suits now that he’s back on the farm, and he’s got on faded jeans and a plaid button-down shirt. Everything fits him like he bought it before he got all those muscles, and now they’re stretching the fabric past the bounds of what it signed up for. At the same time, the shirt is worn, making it look soft. The combination makes me want to stroke it. Stroke him.
Thisis what I was picturing him wearing the entire time we were together in New York. The image in my mind of the relaxed farmer: comfortable, sexy, functional clothes, but with less dirt than I imagined. No complaints on that last part.
I dressed for the occasion by throwing a plaid shirt over some leggings.
“No, it’s cool. I’ll just hang out with the mother of the man I did X-rated things to and I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“It’ll be great.” He doesn’t react to my characterization of the situation.
I give him a dirty look. I should have made him spend more time with Priya. One-on-one time. Then he wouldn’t be quite so sanguine about leaving me alone with relatives.
Not aware of the torture I’m planning for him, Beau walks me to the office jauntily, dropping a kiss on my lips before I can avoid it. Not that I don’t like his kisses, but now I can’t exactly claim we’re just friends to his mother. If she somehow didn’t realize we slept in the same room last night.
He also leaves me alone before he has to deal with the repercussions of the kiss. I turn around and face his mother, who thankfully is looking at her computer like true city folk, minding her own business. Good to know you can take the girl out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the girl.
Assured she’s not watching me, I look around the office. The large room is built for function, with three desks, one in front of three of the walls, and a table in the middle surrounded by chairs.
Two of the desks are covered with stacks of papers and older computers, and what I think is farming equipment. Work boots, dusty shirts and more farm equipment are all thrown in haphazard piles under and around those desks.
Eve is sitting at the third desk, one that’s drastically different from the others in the room. Hers is the biggest, and it’s dominated by a large, shiny new computer. Her space has mason jars, lace, vases of flowers, and pastel-colored books and binders piled around her.
“Feel free to grab a seat wherever. The center table might be the cleanest space available,” Eve says without looking up from whatever she’s typing. This I feel comfortable with. It’s just like having a conversation with Priya: her talking to me while half her brain is busy on work.
I set up my iPad, open my email and get started. Eve doesn’t try to start up a conversation to grill me about my relationship with her son, so I relax enough to get some work done. Or I can after the first half hour. Initially, I flinched every time she moved or sighed, sure that was the moment she was going to grill me, but I relaxed a little more each time she didn’t ask me any questions.
I’m able to find some more pieces that Beau would like and send them his way. Even though Chacha said I can’t do the interior decorating service, I’m not leaving Beau’s project incomplete. I said I would help him and I’m seeing it through.
Bubba wanders into the room, lying down next to me and resting his huge head on my foot. He makes a very comforting coworker. Once I get past the fact that my foot is asleep. I proofread some exhibition blurbs while sending off some emails asking for updates on current projects from the team.
Priya, after getting some of my emails, now knows that I’m free and by a reliable Wi-Fi connection. And the interrogation begins.
How is it going? Do you need rescuing? Are you a horsewoman now?
Great. No. No.I hope the short answer will dissuade any further conversation, but Priya’s much nosier ever since she got married.
How would I know if you need rescuing? You could have Stockholm syndrome. Even if getting it in a day is a bit much, even for you, drama llama. Either way, give me details on the visit!
FINE. He lives with his parents.
?? I thought we were the Indians. What else?
We just got here. There’s nothing to tell except for it’s kind of hot down here for winter and I had some fried food and liquid sugar. And he made me sit outside.
Ew. But that does sound accurate. From the TV.
I don’t answer, knowing Priya and I can go on like this for a while if one of us doesn’t stop. And since it’s me getting the probing questions this time, I’ll take that step and cut it off.
A few hours of uninterrupted work time later, I finish everything that I need to do for the day. A light day since I am on vacation. Well, a Gupta vacation. Then I start scrolling social media, not wanting to interrupt Eve since we’re in a comfortable silence.
“I’m ready whenever you are,” Eve says a half hour later, standing up from her desk to stretch.
