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And she didn’t bring four aunts this time. If the number of cars is any indication, she brought a whole damn army. I drop my head against the steering wheel as I debate driving away from the invasion.
Before I can throw my stick shift into reverse, a full-figured woman sprints toward me, her short hair flopping over her ears. She’s wearing a blue dress, sensible black pumps and a thunderous expression on her pudgy, wrinkled face.
Mama.
She hurls herself in front of my vehicle. Throws her arms out. Stares me down like a bull about to impale a matador.
So much for running away.
Unless I plan on running her over.
With a sigh, I pull my keys from the ignition and climb out.
Hands lifted like a thug getting pulled over by the cops, I speak in a calm, non-threatening manner. “Hi, Mama.”
Mama growls, “Is it true?”
“What?”
Her eyes dip to my hand.
To my ring finger.
To my ring.
I slide the offending arm behind my back.
Oh.
Her lips curl in a furious scowl. “I can’t believe this!”
“Why didn’t you call, Mama? If you did, I would have explained.”
“You mean you would’ve lied?”
“Mama, how could you say that?” I pretend to be offended. Inside, I cringe. Of course I would have lied. The last thing I need is my mother finding out that I’m married and didn’t tell her.
Which seems to be exactly what happened.
Damn it.
Mama’s mouth does that trembling thing. It’s a familiar twitch that happened back when I was a teenager and she caught me sneaking out to meet a boyfriend I wasn’t supposed to have.
I wilt against the car. “Mama…”
“Did you really rush off and marry some stranger behind our backs?”
My fingers twine in my blouse. “I… we…”
Yes.
The answer is yes.
Even worse? He’s not just a stranger to my family.
He’s a stranger to me too.
A stranger with the most wounded blue eyes in history.
