Pictures taken, we survive the trek to the car with minimal whining from the native New Yorker and a lot of sad sighs and shivering from the Southerner. Once we get to the parking lot, I stand on my side of the truck waiting for Beau to unlock the door.
“Oh crap,” Beau says from the other side of the truck.
“What happened? What’s wrong?”
I walk to the front of the truck and peer over the hood. And still can’t see anything. This is a very large vehicle.
“It’s going to be an icy drive out of here.” Beau unlocks the doors and gets an ice scraper. He scrapes the ice that I didn’t notice off the windshield as I get in and make myself comfortable for the road trip back.
I open my door and yell out the side, “Keys?”
Beau tosses them to me and I turn on the engine and turn up the heat, working like a team so that Beau can be nice and toasty when he gets back from improving our visibility in the cold. And for me. A nice situation when doing the right thing also means I get to be comfortable.
The best kind of altruism.
I have to remember I said I was turning the heat on for him when he opens the door and a burst of cold air races in before he can get in and close it again. I squelch the uncharitable thoughts about him as I shiver from the cold he lets in.
“It might take us a little longer to get home tonight,” Beau says.
“I don’t have anywhere else to be.” Plus I’ll probably get more Zaxby’s out of this.
I’m practically Southern already.
True to his word, it takes us five times longer to get down the estate mountain than it did to get up. If I was suspicious, I would say that Beau really did make this weather happen so we could take our time down this gorgeous mountain with its half-frozen rivers and beautifully manicured trees as the sun goes down. To further his evil plot to get me to appreciate nature over the magnificence of an efficiently planned-out city.
Joke’s on him, because I can always visit and enjoy this area, but it will never beat skyscrapers and the heaven of two a.m. pizza in the city.
Once we get off the mountain and out the gates of the estate, the roads get better, and we can drive the speed limit again. I guess I don’t have a reason to suggest another night away from his parents. Not a credible one besides wanting to have sex with Beau.
At least we do get some Zaxby’s. Maybe they need a franchise owner in New York, and I won’t have to say goodbye to them when I leave. I could have them cater every auction I lead, making my clients the happiest in New York.
We get back to Beau’s house at ten p.m. and I hope his parents are asleep. They’re nice enough but their relationship with their children makes me resent what I missed out on with my parents. Then the resentment turns to sadness in a way I haven’t been forced to confront in a long time.
Why couldn’t my parents have told the business to screw itself and stayed with me? Why didn’t they just tell me I was coming to India, despite whatever “opportunities” I’d be missing? Looking back, it seems like there were so many options they could have gone with that kept them in my life.
The anger toward my parents may be a recent revival, but it’s a welcome distraction from mooning over Beau, I guess.
Luck, having gleefully abandoned me at the start of this trip by making his parents live here, extends the olive branch over my way by making the house dark when we drive up. We unload the truck and make our way into the quiet house.
I feel very James Bond (and sober this time) as we sneak across the dark first floor to the stairs, but then the sound of puppy fingernails on a hardwood floor breaks up the peace. Bubba’s folds flap as he runs down the stairs, making as much noise as possible.
I watch, melting into a puddle at that big lovable face coming to welcome me home, er, to Beau’s home. Even knowing there’s no way his parents will stay asleep through that. Bubba puts on the brakes before he gets to us and then proceeds to slide the rest of the way into our luggage.
“Hi, Bubba.” Beau bends (not that far because the dog is a giant) and pets the dog. Bubba, being a smart cookie, turns so Beau can scratch his butt. And rubs his face on my hand, letting me know he wants ear scratches.
“I think he missed you,” Beau whispers from his position near the dog’s butt.
“He’s a dog. I’m confident he greets everyone like this.” But I scratch him because I’m not totally without a heart.
“Hey, guys, how was your trip?” Eve asks as she comes down the stairs in her PJs, yawning.
“Fun. Took Sonia to Biltmore on the way back,” Beau says.
“Ooh, that’s one of my favorite places in the US.”
“It was wonderful. We didn’t mean to wake you,” I say, still whispering in case Reed is asleep.
Eve waves away my apology. “Bubba’s the real culprit. He was sleeping with us and he used your father to launch out of bed when he heard the front door open.”
