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Libby grinned and kissed her again. “Maybe we can be late next year,” she said before biting the inside of her cheek, making Reagan’s entire body pulse with desire.
Once they willed themselves apart like industrial-strength magnets fighting an inescapable pull, Libby opened the passenger door to her SUV so Reagan could set her things in the backseat next to two boxes wrapped in matching brown paper and twine.
“What’s that?” Reagan asked, gesturing toward the boxes with her head.
“Something I really hope your mom likes,” she replied with a nervous laugh.
After Libby fixed her lipstick in the visor mirror and they’d set out for Reagan’s parents’ house, Reagan asked the question that had been forming in the back of her mind. “My mom? Not my dad?”
“I know this sounds so old school, and it is a generalization, but women usually have to impress mothers.
It’s kind of a competition thing. Like a rival testing the mettle of an opponent they don’t deem quite worthy,” she explained as she drove.
“That sounds so Oedipal,” she decided, reaching for the lip gloss she’d stored in her pants.
“I don’t think most people are even aware of it. And, of course, it’s not always true. I just want to err on the side of caution.” Libby’s smile faltered as she took an audible gulp.
“I really want them
both to like me. They probably think I’m some drama-filled lunatic—”
“Hey,” Reagan flipped the visor up and put her hand on her forearm. “First of all, my parents are so disconnected from social media and all that stu they have no idea about your ex and all that. They only know you from the Spanish TV segments you do with your grandmother. Plus, all they care about is that I’m happy. And my mom is desperate for me to settle down,” she added with a lopsided smile. “She’s very excited that I’ve been dating the head of a matchmaking empire.”
Libby dropped her shoulders and exhaled. “I’m sure other people in your family know about all the attention I’ve gotten. About the accusations that I’m using you.”
“I’m sure they have. My cousins are nosy as hell, but once they meet you,” Reagan slid her hand down her arm and intertwined their fingers, “once they see that I’m legitimately crazy about you,” she admitted as her heart hammered in her chest, “they’ll have nothing to say.”
Libby glanced at her before returning her attention to the road. “You really think so?”
“I know so,” she replied, squeezing her hand tighter.
Forty minutes in tra c later, Libby parked her SUV on the side of the residential road packed with cars. “Are all these
people here for your party?”
“Nah, maybe half of them,” she replied, slipping out of the car and grabbing the bottle of palm wine out of the back as Libby grabbed one of the boxes.
“Somehow I didn’t imagine so many people,” she said, her face pale as she met Reagan around the front of the car.
“Don’t worry. They’re going to love you,” Reagan promised as she took her hand and they started for the simple, one-story house at the end of the block.
LIBBY STARED AT THE HOLIDAY WREATH ON THE FRONT DOOR BEARING
a hand painted The Sotos Give Thanks sign and tried not to panic. She’d only ever met Davis’ parents, and that had been so long ago she couldn’t remember what it was like to meet family for the first time.
She’d made a rookie mistake. I should have suggested lunch before today. Meeting the family all at once had some benefits. With their attention diverted by other guests, there was only so much focus they could place on her. On the flip side, just about everyone in Reagan’s family would be meeting her at once. She didn’t have the chance to ingratiate herself with any of them. She’d be way more dependent on Reagan for conversation and socialization than she’d like.
“Sorry I forgot my key,” Reagan muttered before Libby could spiral any further down the panic attack blackhole.
“They’re probably in the back.”
Following Reagan around the front of the house and to a wooden gate on the side, Libby realized her second big mistake. Uncomfortable shoes. Her advice was to always wear something comfortable if going to a new environment where seating might not be plentiful or the terrain not
paved. She tried to keep her high heels from gouging holes in the lawn as she walked, but it was impossible.
The scent of roasted pork and loud salsa music guided them through the gate and toward a score of people milling about banquet tables covered in plastic tablecloths and surrounded by rented white chairs.
As soon as a tall man with a salt and pepper mustache and nicely coi ed hair spotted them traversing the uneven stone pavers, he dropped the platter of cubed cheese on a table and bounded toward them. “My baby!” he shouted before enveloping Reagan in a crushing hug.
