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She assesses the situation like she does anything, with a cool head and a graceful smile. She doesn’t glare, doesn’t lay into me for not telling her which friend I was bringing to dinner. Because I was too big of a coward to tell her it was the man of my dreams.
“Nice to meet you. You can call me Beverly.”
I frown, not expecting that.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Beverly, you have a beautiful home. And if you don’t mind my saying so, an amazing daughter.”
She smiles and I frown deeper. What is happening? “I have to agree. On both accounts.”
My body goes slack in confusion and I give my mother an incredulous look.
Is she beingnice?
Before I can question anything, she says, “Shall we? Chef made steak and potatoes, that roasted kind you like so much, Jane.” And then leads us deeper into the house.
Can I just repeat…what is happening?
Chapter Thirty-Four
“I found a woman, stronger than anyone I know. She shares my dreams, I hope that someday I’ll share her home.”
-Ed Sheeran
Warren
Whatever notions I had for coming here to dinner tonight get washed away when Beverly Leads charms the whole group of us. I see the confusion in Jane’s eyes as she watches her mother all night.
Clearly, Beverly is putting on some sort of show.
Since that show is not grilling me on not having my future figured out like I expected, I’m just rolling with it, enjoying the amazing food—Enzo would be jealous as hell—the amazing company—turns out Paulie is pretty fucking cool and, if I gathered correctly, completely into Beverly—and the look of complete frustration on my girlfriend’s face.
“So,” Beverly starts, cutting into a piece of steak. “Where did you two meet?”
“Oh.” I frown. “Jane didn’t tell you?”
“No, I hadn’t yet,” Jane answers, stabbing a piece of potato.
“I work for you, technically,” I answer and smile. “I work in the mail room.”
“Oh, really? I had no idea.” She smiles softly and says, “Do you like that?”
“Yeah, it’s not so bad,” I answer with a shrug and take a sip of the beer she offered. Good, local brew that I’ve had before. I never would have guessed that someone like Beverly liked beer, but she was sipping one of her own across the table.
Maybe thiswasa bit twilight zone–ish.
“Is that what you do, then? You just deliver mail?” The question comes off a bit condescending, that tone was the one I was waiting for all night.
“For now, yes.”
“What else do you do then? What’s your future look like?”
“He’s a poet, Mom,” Jane answers with a proud smile, one that has my chest expanding. “And he’s an incredible artist. You should see his pieces.”
“Oh, I don’t—” I start, but Beverly cuts me off.
“I’d love to. I’m always looking for pieces.” She turns then to Paul and asks how his meal is. He’s been sitting quietly, enjoying his own beer and food and company.
Jane takes her distraction as an opportunity, leaning over to whisper. “Something’s not right.”
