Martha elbowed Jean and, in a loud whisper so we could all hear, said, “Hence the reason she isn’t married.”
Louise smirked. “Ha. Ha. Ha. Y’all are all so hilarious.”
“There’s just something about him,” Sally said. “I know they’re crazy about each other, but I just don’t trust him.”
They all looked at me again, and it took everything I had not to join in the Ben roast. I wanted not to think it, but I couldn’t stop the question from rising to my mind:Wonder how long it’ll last?I inhaled sharply, lecturing myself. It might not have been the future I had imagined for my girl, but she had done it. She had married Ben.
“Girls, all I know is that her ship is sailing straight without a cloud in the sky. And while it’s that way, we’ll all sail together.” I sighed and smiled, thinking about the way my Dan always used to give me these words of encouragement when we were having a hard time with one of our girls. That’s the most difficult thing about parenting: watching your children go down a path you’re unsure of, letting them make those mistakes. But, oh my goodness, those mistakes are one of the most important parts of growing up. “And when it goes down...”
Five heads, all in unison, clearly thinking of their daddy too, nodded as I finished my sentence. “We’ll swim to the bottom and bring her back up.”
Annabelle
Full-Throttle
The way a man treats his mother is the same way he will eventually treat you. That is something that Lovey knew well. Her mother-in-law was as difficult as they come, but, even still, D-daddy loved and doted on her until the day she died.
I couldn’t say how Ben was with his mother, because I’d never met the woman. I would venture to say that most people who have been married a year have met their in-laws. It’s a pretty firm prerequisite for saying those vows. But, since Ben and I had eloped and left for his tour the next day, that monumental dating ritual had never taken place.
And, let me tell you, the longer I waited, the more nervous I became.
“Do you know,” Ben said, as he flipped pancakes on the tiny stove in the corner of our RV kitchen, “that I am thirty-five years old, and you are the first girl I’ve ever introduced to my parents?”
I looked up from theYoga JournalI was flipping through. “What? That’s insane.”
He shrugged, his back to me. “Obviously, they met my high school girlfriends because they lived in the same town. But I never really had them over for family events or anything.”
I felt a little shudder run through my spine. What if he hadn’t ever introduced his girlfriends to his parents because they were so judgmental? Or crazy? Or both?
“So,” I asked, “why do you think that is?”
“I always knew I’d know when I’d found the right one—just like what happened when you walked in to hear me play that night. Until then, it seemed sort of pointless.”
I stared at Ben’s shirtless back, the muscles in his shoulders rippling as he turned the spatula. I couldn’t see the long, diagonal lines that peeked out from over the belt of the khaki shorts slung low around his waist, but I knew they were there. And I couldn’t believe that this man was even sweeter and more romantic than he was startlingly sexy.
I got up and put my arms around Ben’s waist, pressing the side of my face into his back. I leaned into him and breathed deeply, like I could suck his scent into my lungs and never have to be without it again. He turned to kiss me, and I smiled. “I’m meeting your parents today.”
I sat back down in a black-and-white-striped Sunbrella dining chair at the tiny three-person table. The RV (“coach” as the salesman had called it) was actually pretty swanky. Housed within quartz countertops and wood cabinets we had painted white were a stainless stove, microwave, sink and oven. Across the wall was a double refrigerator with freezer drawers. Truth be told, we ate out so much onthat tour that we filled one refrigerator with groceries, and I took the other one for my shoes. Those were the only cold feet I had that year. The king-sized bedroom with the beautiful flax-colored linens may have been large by moving vehicle standards, but, any way you sliced it, closet space was minimal.
Ben handed me a plate of pancakes and stretched out on one of the couches that we had re-covered in white faux-ostrich leather with tufted backing, and said, “They are going to love you so much they aren’t going to know what to do.”
I nodded and furrowed my brow. “I sure hope so.”
Ben winked. “Doesn’t much matter. If they don’t, it’s too late now.”
Two hours later, we pulled up to a house that I never could have expected. Knowing Ben like I did, his nonchalance about anything material, his pronouncement that money makes him uncomfortable, I was nowhere near prepared for this place. The huge RV slid right in the front driveway, and ten more would have fit. A black iron gate, complete with camera and keypad entry, ensconced in a huge gray wall led to one of the most gorgeous displays of French-style architecture I had ever seen. A flowing fountain stood in the center of a double-story middle with two curved wings, a beautiful U that made the entire compound, instead of seeming cavernous, envelop me and make me feel right at home. “Wow.” I smirked. “So you’d rather live here than in the RV?”
“Don’t be silly.” Ben winked. “We’re going to live in the RV in the driveway.”
Before I could react, Ben’s mother came running out the door, ringlets of auburn hair flying, lifting the bottom of long layers of chiffon so they didn’t catch the wooden wedges underneath them. Driving up to this home, you couldn’t help but picture the lady of the house in an austere Chanel sheath, heels, pearls and pristineblowout firmly in place. She would be lounging on a fainting couch, sipping a gimlet, while the butler opened the door.
I thought she would run to Ben, but, instead, before I could even get both feet out of the car, she had her hands on either side of my face and planted a kiss right on my lips. Coming from a family where a total stranger was lucky to get a lukewarm handshake, this full-throttle introduction felt a bit foreign. She pulled away, then embraced me in a hug and said, sincerely, “My daughter is so sophisticated and beautiful.”
“Oh,” I stuttered. I looked around, finally realizing she meant me.
I looked back at Ben’s mother and studied her face, trying to find pieces of my husband’s in it.
“Yoo-hoo, Emily,” a neighbor shouted.
