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Seven
THE NEXT MORNING,I drove west out Interstate 10 with Jack Stapleton in his shiny black Range Rover to meet his parents—fully in character as his pretend girlfriend.
Glenn had sent over a pretend wardrobe for the pretend girlfriend, courtesy of a personal-shopper lady friend of his. No pantsuits allowed.
Fair enough.
That’s how I wound up wearing an embroidered sundress with sandals, my hair wrapped in a messy bun.
I guess it’s hard to feel professional in a sundress with puffy cap sleeves. It was late October, I should mention, but that can mean anything in Texas, weather-wise—and it was a solid eighty degrees outside. Even so, I felt underprepared, a little bit chilly, weirdly naked, and uncharacteristically vulnerable.
I missed my pantsuit, is what I’m saying.
And yet.
I could see why Jack would want to do it this way. When my mom was sick, I’d been all about bolstering her spirits, and keeping her hopes alive, and protecting her from despair. I got it. The idea that Jack might be in danger could be very stressful. It’s hard enough being sick.
I’d thought about it last night as I’d driven the freeway—doing a quick route assessment out to the ranch and back—and I decided I was fine with it.
In theory, at least.
Now, today, as it was actually happening, I was less fine.
I sat primly in the passenger seat with my knees pressed together, feeling not myself.
Jack Stapleton, in contrast, positively lounged in the driver’s seat, steering with one hand and manspreading like a champion. Hair unbrushed defiantly. Chewing gum. Wearing aviator sunglasses like he’d been born in them.
We were going to a ranch, so I guess I’d expected a cowboy look from him. But he seemed more like we were heading for a weekend at the Cape—a snug blue polo and stone-colored khakis with loafers and no socks.
True, I grew up in Houston. You might guess I’d been to a ranch before. But, honestly, no. I’d been to the Eiffel Tower, the Acropolis, the Taj Mahal, and the Forbidden City in Beijing, but I’d never been to a Texas ranch.
I guess I was always too busy escaping.
Until now.
I touched the skin of my knees and worried about how naked they were. Should I have worn jeans? Did I need to worry about rattlesnakes? Fire ants? Cacti?
I had a pair of stop-sign-red cowboy boots that my mom had given me for my eighteenth birthday, saying every Texas girl should own a pair of boots. I’d never had a good reason to wear them until now. They weren’t part of my official girlfriend wardrobe, but I’d packed them on principle. Right? If I wouldn’t wear them on a ranch, I’d never wear them anywhere.
Maybe I should put them on. For tarantula protection, if not for style.
Behind his shades, I saw Jack glance over at my hands. “Are you nervous?” he asked.
Yes.“No.”
“Good. This won’t last long. My parents will be glad to see us, but my brother hates me, so he’ll get rid of us pretty fast.”
“We’re probably going to need to talk about that.”
“My brother?”
“Yep.”
“Nope.”
“I’m just saying, the more I know, the better I can help you.”
“So therapy is included?”
