Page 29 of Marriage (Red, White &) Blues

“It’s Kowalski, actually.”

“Kowalski?” She threw her hand to her chest laughing out loud, but somehow, I didn’t think it was at my name or my expense. “That’s a hoot. Only you, brother, would come home from an African safari with awifenamedKowalski. Whatever will you tell the women at the club, Mother? Yes. A delicious, delicious scandal.”

“That’s enough, Jupiter,” Mrs. Parker said and if she didn’t stop frowning, she’d wrinkle her beautiful face. “Let us all retreat to the dining room. Brunch is waiting.”

Jupiter smiled big, linking her arm through mine as she started to walk to the dining room. “You’re sitting next to me,” she said, but Blake moved to my other side, dropping his hand to the small of my back again.

“She’s sitting next tome,” he replied.

“Simmer down, brother. She has two sides.”

“Why does that make me feel likeI’mbeing served up on a platter for brunch?” I asked, but Jupiter only laughed. Blake gave a reassuring tug to the back of my dress. Well, I hoped he meant it as reassuring and not “you have no idea.”

Robert Parker sat in his big boy chair at the head of the table. Apparently, given our meeting last night, he saw no reason to greet me today. The man didn’t actually look at me. He looked to Blake, though. “Took you long enough. We’ve been waiting forever.”

Blake smiled at his father while he pulled out a chair for me at the opposite end—and by the opposite end, I didn’t mean the foot of the table. Mrs. Parker sat there. I meant just farther away from his father. Blake took the chair closest to his mother. I sat down in the offered chair next to him, and Jupiter elegantlysettled into the chair next to me on my right. Lauden took the chair next to Jupiter. That left Blake’s brother to sit closest to Mr. Parker across from his son. There was an empty chair, then little Corrine sat in the next chair. Her mother sat closest to Mrs. Parker.

“Well,” Brockton said to Blake. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Nothing. I feel no need to say anything for myself,” my husband answered.

“For Christ’s sake, you kept us all waiting over an hour.” Mr. Parker folded his arms over his chest in a way I suspected was supposed to look intimidating. I wasn’t intimidated. What could he do? We were married. At least by semi-nomadic tribal law.

“Glory got in last night on a red-eye flight. We didn’t get to bed until late. If you were that hungry, you could have started without us. You could have even uninvited us. We have better things to do with our day.”

“Don’t be crude, son,” Mr. Parker said at the same time Brockton muttered, “Jesus.”

“I said nothing crude. Get your head out of the gutter.”

“Let’s just eat,” Mrs. Parker said. “Henrietta,” she called, and immediately, a mousey, young woman in a gray maid’s uniform entered the dining room. She had brown hair and a room-temperature stare. Like she shone neither heat nor cold at the family sitting around the table. “We’re ready for the food, Henrietta,” Mrs. Parker finished.

The woman nodded once and backed out of the room before turning around and walking in the direction, I presumed, of the kitchen.

“Where did you go to school?” Mr. Parker asked me. “I assume that you’ve graduated college, at the very least.”

“I graduated Magna Cum Laude from the University of Michigan.”

“A state school.” He grunted. “Of course.”

“Celebrities send their children to U of M. It’s a very good institution,” I defended myself.

“It’s not Ivy League,” he countered.

“I got into Harvard. I received full scholarships to several schools including Princeton and Yale. I chose to go to school closer to home because my mother needed me. My father had been sick with cancer and he passed away.”

“Cancer?” he asked, then he turned to Blake’s brother. “Can we spin that? It’s not genetic, is it?”

It very well might’ve been genetic, given my grandfather passed from cancer as well, but hell if I’d tell him that. “No, it’s not genetic. My father was a chemical engineer. He most likely developed cancer from the chemicals he was exposed to. My genes are fine,” I replied. “And I may not have attended Harvard by choice, but my best friend, Sierra Winthrop, did. My other best friends, Penelope Von Dutton and Stanton McCain, both attended Brown. Does that work for you?”

“You know the Von Duttons and McCains?” Brockton asked incredulously.

“Yes. I stood up at Penelope and Stanton’s wedding last year.”

“Where did you meet them?” Mrs. Parker asked. “Does your mother work for them?”

“No, her motherdoesn’twork for them,” Blake practically shouted. “She met them at Cranbrook Prep. Glory graduated from there. Not that it’s any of your business or makes any impact on the person she is.”

I placed my hand on the top of his. “It’s okay, Blake.”

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