“Well, I’m grateful,” she says, easing out of my embrace to return to her unpacking. “And I was brought up to never take anything for granted, so you’ll have to get used to me thanking you until the end of time.”
Monica pops her head through the bedroom door. “Are you staying for dinner, Garrick? We can order in. I won’t subject you to my cooking. I’d probably poison you, and my only daughter would hate me for eternity.”
“That’s not an exaggeration.” Stevie grins at her mother over her shoulder.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m heading to Medina to see my mother.” I rub at the tightness in my chest. “Under duress,” I mumble under my breath, and Stevie’s head whips around to mine.
“Another time then.” Monica smiles before leaving us alone.
“I don’t want you falling out with your mother over me,” Stevie repeats, linking her pinky in mine. “She hasn’t seen you for weeks, and it’s not too much for her to ask.”
“She needs to stop being such a bitch to you.” I clutch her hand, bringing it to my lips to kiss her knuckles. “I have made so many excuses for her over the years, but this is the final straw,” I admit, releasing her hand.
“Babe.” Stevie steps in front of me, moving her hands up my body to rest on my chest. She peers at me through pleading eyes. “Don’t go to war with your mother because of me. I’m begging you. She will hate me forever if she thinks I’m the reason you’re pulling away from her. The best way to alter her opinion is through perseverance and patience.”
“She won’t even meet you,” I grumble, hating how horrible my mother has been to my girlfriend. “If she did, she’d see everything I do.” I grip her hips, hauling her in flush against me. “Maybe you should come tonight. Just show up on my arm and force her to interact. She won’t make a show in front of the snooty rich crowd or the press.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” Stevie says, “and besides, I have nothing to wear to a charity ball and no way of getting gala ready in time.”
“I swear that’s why she sprung this on me at the last minute.” She knew Stevie wouldn’t be able to attend without notice, so she waited until I was getting on a plane to demand my presence tonight. “It’s not like she gives a shit about Autism Awareness. It’s all about schmoozing with the right people, trapping Winston into marriage, and shoving me at Pepper any chance she gets.”
I’m lucky my girlfriend isn’t the jealous type. Mom has tricked me into attending two other events over the summer, knowing full and well that Pepper would be there with her father, and she was as subtle as a brick with her matchmaking, ensuring Pepper and I were seated together and deflecting anyone else from approaching us so we spent the night talking alone.
I told Stevie all about it, and I’m grateful she’s cool with the situation.
I’m not sure I’d be so understanding if it was the other way around.
I’m an insufferable jealous prick when it comes to my girl, and I won’t apologize for it.
When you find the one, you hold on tight with everything you’ve got.
Stevie tilts her head to one side, sympathy splaying across her pretty face. “I know it’ll be a nightmare, but she’s your mother, and it’s only one night.” She pats my chest. “You’ll survive.”
* * *
“You look miserable,” Pepper says, walking up to me with a crystal tumbler in each hand.
Around us, the gala is in full-on party mode now the boring dinner and speeches part of the night is over. I’m hoping I can make an escape shortly. I showed up, smiled, and made nice with people. Mother cannot throw shade at me for ditching early when I played my part. Especially when I’m still on Cypriot time, and it’s basically the middle of the night according to my body clock. It’s a miracle I’m not curled in a ball sleeping in a corner someplace. Not that Mom would give me a free pass. I’m seriously getting tired of her excessive demands and questioning why I always bow to her whims.
“Please tell me one of those is for me,” I plead, tugging on the collar of my pressed white shirt. I hate wearing a tuxedo, and I’m on a countdown until I can get this damned suit off.
“Of course.” Pepper hands me a tumbler of whisky with ice. “It’s Laphroaig 18. They don’t have any Macallan.”
“Bloody heathens.”
“Don’t be ungrateful. This is a rare bottle. They discontinued making the eighteen in 2015. I had to promise the bartender a date to get us these.”
I swirl the nectar in my glass and raise it to my nose, inhaling the woodsy scent with a hint of fruity citrus and sharp pepper hidden underneath. I’ve learned a lot about wine this summer, and my nose is better trained now to sniff out the essence of any alcohol. The Laphroaig reminds me of the cabin. Currently my most favorite place on this earth. “You should always prostitute yourself for good scotch,” I tease, clinking my glass against hers.
“Asshole.” She nudges me in the side with a smile on her face. “I bet you wouldn’t say that to Stevie.”
“Hell no. Although the punishment might be worth it if she tried.” I let loose a grin as Pepper drops her head and fixates on her drink. I take my first sip, letting the full, rich, sweet flavor roll around my tongue. A sharper smoky taste hits the back of my mouth as it glides easily down my throat.
We might be known for our wood and our wines, but Dad is somewhat of a whisky connoisseur, and I’ve tasted more than my fair share in recent years.
“I thought she might be with you tonight,” Pepper adds, lifting her head and nodding at an older couple who walks past us.
“Mom sprang it on me at the last minute, but even if she didn’t, you know Stevie wouldn’t get an invite.”
