“This isn’t funny, Xendria,” her mother said. “I know you’re upset with me, but this isn’t how—”
“No, mommy. Mommy! None of this happened because I was upset with you. Was it a rushed, spur of the moment thing? Yes, but you have to trust me, okay? He’s a good egg.”
“Put this good egg on the phone, then.”
“I can’t. He’s halfway across the farm.”
“Well, when he’s done serenading the sheep or whatever, you go find him and you put his ass on this phone. She got married,” her mom grumbled.
“I’ll explain everything when I get home.”
“Is he coming with you?”
You fool!, her better sense screamed. “We haven’t worked all that out yet.”
“Oh, so you got married and you don’t know if your husband is going to come back to L.A. with you?”
“Mommy. Please. Just trust me.”
“Mmm,” she grunted.
“You called,” Xeni said, scrambling to change the subject. “You needed something?”
“I was just trying to figure out when you were coming home.”
“Soon. Next Sunday at the latest.” One week. She had one week. “I’ll let you know exactly when.”
“Okay. We’ll get you from the airport.”
“Thank you.”
“You really got married?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm,” her mother’s grunt was filled with disappointment. “What’s he look like?”
“I’ll send you pictures.”
“I still don’t believe you.”
“Let me go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll call me back as soon as Matthew’s little concert is over.”
“Mason, mom.”
“Mason. Fine. And he’s a musician, too? Lord. I know your aunt’s involved in this somehow.”
“I’ll call you back.”
“Fine.” Her mom hung up on her. Xeni let out a deep breath and realized she had maybe fifteen minutes to prepare Mason for the most uncomfortable conversation he might have in his whole life.
“Everything okay?” Liz asked when she came back up the porch.
“Yeah. I fucked up and told my parents about me and Mason.”
“Eeeyow. How did they take it?”
