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“Broccoli! Heaven!” his mom exclaims after a bite. “You are a miracle worker.”
“Doubtful.” I’m not sure miracles can be performed with the grossest of all vegetables.
“Ha!” His grandma waves a fork at me. “I’m not going to buy that for a second. Not when you cheffed up the most perfect breakfast. Do you know how hard it is to successfully make an omelet, let alone in a cast iron frying pan on a gas stove?”
“I did notice that it was challenging.”
“But you didn’t burn a thing. And this cheese is perfectly melted. You even found the glaze I asked for, and the tomatoes are literal perfection. Whoop, whoop, good job!”
She actually says whoop, whoop. She doesn’t just make the sound, and somehow, she still looks cool doing it. Also, the matching tracksuit thing? Pretty badass, I have to say.
Thaddius blows out a harrumph that lasts for an eternity before he cuts his omelet into four pieces and jams one into his mouth. He pretends to hate it, but I can’t miss the slight narrowing of his eyes that is fromoh god, this is cheesy, and cheese is good,not from still being pissed about the cameras.
And the marriage contract.
And the fact that I showed up here.
And how much both of our lives have been tampered with so far.
And despite sleeping in the barn last night.
There go my ovaries as his eyes close, exploding into stardust and wishful thinking. Heavens to Betsy and back, I never imagined I’d like the smell of farm, but Thaddius makes me realize I could if it was clinging to him.
“Why don’t you marry her now that she’s here? Look at her. She’d make the perfect wife,” his mom starts off, shattering the perfect peace.
When they walked into the bedroom this morning, they literally stood there in their matching tracksuits and bowl cuts, grinning at me.
I’m the mother. And I’m the grandmother. We know who you are, sweetheart. Your parents called. Good to see you safe and sound.They both looked far too pleased with themselves.
Now I get why they knew I was here. The cameras and all. I can feel the heat rising under my skin, and it’s not a good heat. It’s the anger of being spied on, manipulated, and forced into doing something. Of being meddled with and messed with. I wonder if the sink has a grinder in the drain. Just wetting all that tech doesn’t seem like enough.
“Mom!” Thaddius drops his fork and lets it clatter. “That’s intensely awkward, given that we’re both sitting right here.”
“I know you’re both sitting right here. Why do you think I’m trying to have this conversation? Why do you think we came over in the first place?”
“We’renotgetting married.” His jaw ticks stubbornly.
My stomach tightens. I like that jaw tick. That jaw tick is fabulous. I also wish I could protect him from this, which is a new feeling for me. I’ve never been protective over anything or anyone in my life.
“I actually came here to—” I start, trying to defuse the bomb about to go off.
“To be convinced. Romanced. Swept off your feet?” his grandma suggests, her voice filled with hope. “To find the good in the bad. To un-shock the shock. To reclaim your life. Absolutely. But I think you might be surprised.”
“We’re not getting married,” I state flatly. There’s clearly no room for error here.
His mom gapes at Thaddius. “She’s so sweet!”
“And beautiful!” his grandma adds.
His mom’s bob nods along in unison with his grandma’s. Her hair is a lighter color, while his grandma’s hair is fully grey, but the comical effect is absolutely the same. “You couldn’t ask for a better wife.”
“You really couldn’t. Darn it and a half, we did well. Picked this one out before she was even born, and look at her now! Hoo-ee, we picked you a winner.” This time the hoo-ee is actually yelled out, a real hoooooooooooo-eeeeeeeeee that nearly makes me leave my seat.
Thaddius doesn’t even react. “Fine. You marry her then.”
“I can’t. I’m already married to your grandpa.”
“Thenyoudo it, Mom.”
