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Justin is driving because even though Remi can, in theory, he’s spent his entire life with a driver. Justin did too, but Justin also had a hands-on father who insisted his son learn how to handle a vehicle and the maintenance that goes with them.
Justin got the BMW out of long-term parking yesterday and changed its oil in the building’s parking garage, earning a scowl from management and a blow job in the shower from Remi when J returned upstairs with grease up to his elbows.
I offered to sit in the back, but Remi slid right in and stretched out his long legs in the middle of the back cushion, his arms.
“Is that—” I roll down the window and stretch as much as I’m able, carrying around an extra twenty pounds of baby fat. “Is that a tent in the back yard?”
Remi makes a choking sound from the back seat, so I twist in his direction instead, giving him my best glare and using my eyes to demand answers. He’s blushing, which is weird and running his hand down his chest to flatten the tie he’s not wearing, which is not. One of the most apparent of Justin’s influences on Remi is the fact that he doesn’t wear a suit every day to every event any longer. But you can’t take out a lifetime of soothing techniques in a day, so the invisible tie patting has remained.
He’s saved from having to answer, though, when Mrs. Williams and Mrs. Jones burst out of the front door.
“You’re here!” Justin’s mother yells arms open wide to accept me into her embrace. I sag into her touch, two hours in the car wreaking havoc on my back.
“Oh, my sweet girl,” she whispers into my hair. She pulls away and cups my face, her gaze flickering between my eyes and down the line of my body, where her grandchild is making her presence known by dancing a jig. She hugs me again, and I welcome it, but it—
Weird.
The Williams are a physically affectionate people, make no mistake about it. But this is…a lot.
“Come, come, my sweet darling.”
She adjusts her grip on me so are elbows are linked and begins to lead me through the house. It looked like a cottage outside. An enormous cottage, but a cottage nonetheless. The inside is an open-concept rustic chic sort of style that would look at home in Savannah Architecture Digest.
Not that I’m getting the opportunity to explore. We don’t even take a swing by one of the half bathrooms I’m sure this place has, which is a shame because I desperately have to pee. She drags me straight through the house and out the back door, power walking as much as I can past the pool and into the—yes, a tent.
The boys hover behind me, whispering to each other low enough that I can’t catch more than the low hum of their words and not actual substance.
“Let me show you whats been done. Justin and Rem did the responsible thing by putting the celebration into mine and Amelia’s hands. I do hope you approve of what we’ve done. There isn’t a ton of time to change things before the ceremony tomorrow afternoon, but I can make it happen.”
There’s a cream-colored tiled floor and tables lining the walls with candle and flower centerpieces. There’s a table and speakers tucked away towards the front in a corner, obviously set up for a DJ. Bundles of flowers are everywhere, in vases and pots mixed in with the tables and outlining the dance floor.
Because that’s the only thing, the open space at the back of the tent can be. A dance floor. There’s a table at the back with a sign-in book, probably for the guests to place their gifts.
It’s beautiful, but way more than what we need for a baby shower.
“I had wanted to do chairs for the ceremony, and then do cocktails out by the pool while the staff brought in tables, but Amelia and Justin told me that was too much. You’d be happier if we kept it simple. So we’ll have the whole shabang inside the tent, and we’re starting late enough in the afternoon that we have lamps to bring in to light the inside in case we’re still partying when it gets dark. The tables are set up so that everyone should be able to see from their seats, but I’m sure it’ll be standing room only anyway.”
There are actually people inside the tent, tucking away cables under flat, plastic protectors so they won’t be seen and possibly tripped over. There are four people setting up what looks like a runner in the middle and a beautiful off-white rug thing in the middle of the dancefloor.
Mrs. Jones is directing them, hands having as she makes them move over three feet and start again.
My stomach is doing summersaults, and not because of the still unnamed baby taking up most of the space in there.
“It’s beautiful,” I assure Mrs. Williams. “So beautiful. But—” I turn in a circle again, hands on my stomach, and try to count how many chairs there are. Probably close to a hundred. Twelve tables, I think, eight chairs a table…” Isn’t this a little obscene for a baby shower?”
Amelia whips around from where she’s hovering over the people helping set up.
“You haven’t told her yet?” she gasps. “You were supposed to tell her ages ago! Your mother and I have been here for days setting up and you haven’t even told her!?”
“TOLD HER!” Justin’s mother screeches. “You haven’t asked her?!? I raised a gentleman! You don’t tell her she’s—” she chokes on whatever she was going to say, backtracking both physically and with her voice. She steps back as if she can’t stand to be so close to her son. “I left one thing in your control and you boys promised me you had it under control!”
“We wanted it to be a surprise,” Justin all but pouts in his mother’s direction. He and Remi stand shoulder to shoulder, Justin scuffing his shoe, Remi flexing his hands at his side.
Oh no. What in the world did they do?
“Well, plan successful! Now get on your knees and do it right!” she snaps.
Literally.
