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Our citizenship and accent set us apart in this country, and Portia leaned into the rock and roll aspect to make sure no one forgot she was different, she was cool. She’d come over when she was young, but she carefully nurtured her accent so she’d never lose it.
And when it came to the American version of her that she wanted to convey, she was Miley Cyrus, not Taylor Swift.
She threw her arms around me and hugged me.
I was so surprised by her appearance, I had to force myself to return the gesture.
When she broke away, she grabbed both my hands, beamed up at me and said, “I’m so glad you’re here.”
I opened my mouth but didn’t have the time to say anything before she let me go, turned to Lou and greeted disinterestedly, “Hey, Lou.”
“Hello, lovey,” Lou replied, sounding choked.
At the note in her voice, I glanced in her direction to see she wasn’t injured by Portia’s attitude (she was very much used to it). Her eyes were wide and aimed at Portia’s outfit.
Yes, this version of Portia did not jibe.
“C’mon, they’re going to be bringing tea in soon, we need to talk before they get here.”
She dragged me to the porcelain-white sofas and completely ignored Lou.
I didn’t, capturing her gaze as we moved, holding my hand her way.
When Portia noticed Lou coming with us, she instructed, “You can sit over there,” and gestured to the couch across from us.
Lou was much better at hiding the hurt Portia’s behavior caused her, so she didn’t balk before she shifted her trajectory to the other couch.
“Okay, so, you have to be, like, really cool with Daniel and his folks, all right?” Portia demanded before I’d even settled into the sofa.
“Hey, thanks for taking off for a week and driving over four hours from London to meet my new boyfriend and his family in the middle of nowhere. And by the way, you both look lovely, but do you need anything? I know you’ve been in the car for a really long time, so would you rather stretch your legs or something?”
I spoke these words and they were an admonishment because Portia should have said them.
Portia’s eyes narrowed, and she stated, “Yes, things like that. Don’t say things like that in front of Daniel and his parents.”
She didn’t miss my point, so I didn’t belabor it.
“What are you wearing?” I asked instead.
She peered down at herself. “I’m trying a new look.”
“For Daniel?”
She didn’t quite catch my eyes. “He likes more feminine clothes.”
“What do you like?” I pressed, even though I knew what that was, and it wasn’t a ruffled, tulle skirt, as pretty as it was.
She caught my gaze.
“Daniel,” she stressed.
“Portia—” I began, but I got no further because she leaned into me.
But it wasn’t with anger or attitude, as it usually would be.
It felt like what had been filling the car from Lou on the way there.
Fear.
