Page 83 of What I'm Looking For

Hopefully, having Steve around will prove more of an asset than a liability.

* * *

A couple hours later,we’re home. My dad leaves the car running in the drive since he’s not sure where Steve’s staying. Before I can get to it, Steve’s carrying my enormous suitcase up the front walk. “Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

He just takes my elbow, escorting me and my bag up the steps.

My mother opens the door. She smiles graciously, her slim figure clad in preppy pink and green, from Izod shirt to Bermuda shorts. Even the whales on her belt and the bobs on her ankle socks are color coordinated. Frosted blond hair wings away from her subtly made-up face; she’s the eighties version of June Cleaver. “Who do we have here?”

Steve sets my bag down, and I make introductions.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am. I’m a big fan of Kate’s. Honored to be invited.”

“Well, how lovely. Nice to meet you as well. I’m afraid we don’t have room to put you up here, but the groom’s brother has a guesthouse. It’s just a few blocks away. Will that be all right?”

“That sounds perfect.” He flashes his broad salesman smile. “I guess I’ll see you at the dinner later?”

“You will indeed,” she answers, her voice like butter.

I pull at the neck of my tee. It’s not the heat or the humidity but the company that has me sweating. I pat Steve on the upper arm. “You don’t have to come to the rehearsal dinner if you don’t want to.”

“I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll get settled, and then I’ll be at your disposal.”

My dad shuts the trunk of his car. “How about we hit a few balls on the driving range?” he asks as Steve jogs down the front steps. “I’m sure somebody has some clubs you could borrow.”

“Sounds great.” Steve slides onto the front seat. My dad’s probably ecstatic to have a reason to escape again.

“You need to be ready to go by five o’clock, Jack!” my mom calls. A quick beep of the horn and they’re off.

I follow her inside the house where we’re greeted by a welcome waft of chilled air.

“He’s awfully good-looking,” she says over her shoulder. “How nice of him to step in as your date.”

I drag my suitcase inside. “It is. But we’re not dating. You got that, right? No talking to him about his intentions or anything.” I grab the newel post. “I’m going for a run.”

“Kate.” My mom’s wounded tone has me stiffening. “Don’t you want to join us for manicures?”

“Not really.” I wince. “Sorry. Not my thing.”

“Oh, Kate. Sometimes you have to make an effort.”

“Mom, my nails are fine.” I hold them up for inspection. They aren’t painted, but they’re not chewed either. “And I need a run and then a shower after that flight. Please?”

She studies my face. “Well, you could use a little color on those cheeks. Maybe some time in the tanning booth tomorrow morning?”

“Mom.” I grip the handrail and beg the universe for enough patience to get through the weekend.

“Alright. But be ready to leave for the dinner at five. Your sister stopped by to see you, but she left again. Something with one of the kids.” She waves vaguely as she heads toward the kitchen. “I suppose you can catch up with her and your cousins at dinner.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be ready at five, I promise.”

When I open the door to my room, I’m hit with a riptide of emotion that I cannot give into. It would not be good for my mom to hear me crying over a man again. By the time I’ve wrestled my bag inside and closed the door, the hurt has morphed to frustration. Flopping face first on my bed, I growl into the mattress before punching it as hard as I can multiple times. Weirdly, it’s good to feel the pain. And the mad.

But really, the situation is all very reasonable. Will just couldn’t come. Life gets complicated. We’re taking the weekend to think things over.

Snagging one of the colorfully coordinated throw pillows carefully arranged on my bed, I roll over and shove it behind my head. Imagining Steve teeing up with my dad, I have to admit Will’s right about one thing: Steve does fit in. That’s why I brought him, after all. If everything goes as planned, he’ll keep the nosy relatives distracted and I won’t have to answer awkward questions.

Then, after the weekend’s over, I’ll return to Boston, despite the fact that it’s way north of the Mason-Dixon line, and refocus on my career. With a little luck, I’ll be running my own fund by this time next year.

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