"I see," his mother said, looking down her nose at me. She was wearing heels, and she was so much taller than me that I had to crane my neck to look into her eyes.
"Do you have any ambitions?" Jack's father asked.
We were all still standing in the foyer. If they had been at myoma's house when she was still alive, she would have already brought them into the kitchen, sat them down in the least rickety chair, and served them an array of snacks and drinks. Yet Jack's parents were quizzing me about my mediocre life.
"I'm a baker," I explained. "I'd like to open a café one day."
"A baker," Diane said, a slight frown around her mouth. "Not what we hoped for our son."
Well. What can you say to something like that? As my oma would say, "Beauty is only skin deep, but ugliness goes to the bone." Did I really want to invite them to Jack's Christmas party?
"I didn't want to bother you," I said. "I only stopped by to pick up some of the cookie cutters, ornaments, and other special decorations Jack talked about."
"Is he having a party?" his mother asked, finally leading me out of the foyer and back into the house. The rest of it was just as beautiful and just as cold. There wasn't a pillow out of place, nor was there anything to inspire warmth.
"We keep the boxes of Christmas things in the storage room," she said, leading me to a door near the kitchen.
I expected the basement to be cluttered, but it was neatly organized, like an industrial warehouse. All the storage boxes were the same size and placed neatly on identical shelving units.
She pulled out five large plastic boxes labeled CHRISTMAS. I picked up one, she took two, and Jack's father took the two heaviest, and we carried them upstairs.
"So, a party," he said.
"You're welcome to come. It's on Christmas Eve," I said.
Jack was probably not going to like the fact that I had invited his parents. In fact, Iknewhe wouldn’t like it.Ididn't even like it. These were the last people I wanted to spend Christmas with.
I was a little winded from carrying the box to the foyer. Jack's mother didn't seem fazed at all.
"You should lift weights and work out," she told me. "And stop eating so many carbs. I'm not surprised you didn't go to college and you like sweets. Did you know that several studies suggest that a woman's risk for diabetes and heart disease goes up as her level of educational attainment goes down?"
"I did not know that," I replied.
"I want my grandchildren to be healthy," she said as I followed her to a sitting room.
"Which means the mother of our grandchildren needs to be healthy as well," Jack's father added.
"Oh, well, I…"
"That’s why we want Hartleigh to be Jack's mate."
His mate? Was this a Steve Irwin show? I wanted to call an Uber and leave this cold, strange house, but I didn't want to be rude.
"Yes, she is the perfect person to be Jack's wife," Diane said. "She is well educated, we know her family, she grew up in this very fine neighborhood, and she is thin but not anorexic."
"I'm sure he'll take your opinion into consideration," I said.Not. No wonder Jack didn't much care for his parents. I was starting to regret coming here.
"May I be blunt?" his mother said. I thought shewasbeing blunt but, okay. I braced myself.
"I don’t care for you. You disgust me with your roundness and your baking and all that sugar. How much can we pay you to go away?"
"Go away?" I exclaimed in disbelief. "Where?"
"Away. Away from Jack," his father said.
"Would you take a hundred thousand dollars?" Diane asked me, pulling out a checkbook.
"Um…" They wanted to pay me to stay away from Jack. I was tempted to agree, take the money, and then shack up with Jack anyway.
