Page 53 of More With You

Wear this tonight, my endless Summer. I wouldn’t dare to tell you what to wear, but you might want to dress up. To the nines, if you feel like it. I didn’t want to mention it earlier, as I know you don’t like surprises, but my family have invited you to come to their “Summer Soirée.” Ironic, I know. It happens every year but, this year, I hope it will be in honor of you, at least unofficially. It starts at 7:30pm and the gate code is 1112 (they 100% need to change that, but they won’t listen). Please come. I don’t want to face that crowd alone.

Love,

Ben x

It’s not what I’d call a nice surprise, and I was having such a good day, too. The last thing I want is to dress up and mingle with people who’ve already decided to hate me. Then again, if his parents are asking me to come to one of their annual functions, maybe that means there’s some hope. Ben’s dad dealt with Levi, after all, and if Grace really is talking about me all the time, perhaps they’ve decided to give me a shot. Speaking of which, I’ll need a few to get through a fancy party.

I take out my phone and dial Ben, wanting to get a better sense of what to wear tonight. This wasn’t what I had planned. In fact, what I had planned doesn’t involve any clothes at all.

The call goes to voicemail and I curse under my breath. Of course, he’s not picking up. It’s getting close to Grace’s dinnertime, and he has a “no phones at the table” rule, so she doesn’t make it a habit as she gets older. I’ve learned so many things about her and about raising kids in general, over the last few days, and I’m compiling something of a mental list, so I don’t forget anything.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” I groan, both annoyed and impressed by his ingenuity. This way, I don’t have a chance to back out. I guess it’s my own fault for telling him it’s not a bad idea to surprise me with this kind of thing, so I don’t overthink. Still, with two-and-a-half hours to go, there’s plenty of time to get caught up in my anxious thoughts.

Picking up the gift and the letter, I head inside and go straight for the shower. That’s where I do my best thinking, anyway, and I’m going to need to think long and hard about what to wear. It’s not like I brought any expensive evening gowns with me from Wisconsin, and my casino money doesn’t stretch that far.

Not to be dramatic, but this is definitely going to be the worst night of my life.

* * *

I’ve been sitting in front of the gates for so long, I’m fairly sure the cops are going to pull up any minute. I know Ben gave me the gate code, but I thought he’d be waiting for me, to give me a boost before I have to go in there. Although, do I really have to go in there? I could just as easily turn around and drive home and explain that I’m not ready for all of this.

Anxiety reaching white-hot levels, I take out my phone. I’ve texted Ben twice and called him three times, but there’s been no answer. He wouldn’t mess with me like this, would he? Accidentally bumping into Grace was one thing but throwing this at me is another ballgame entirely. Not one I’m eager to play.

I dial for the fourth time tonight. The trills jar in my ear, ringing emptily into the cyber void. No answer. Again. Just his voicemail.

“Hi, Ben, it’s me again. I’m… uh… outside the gates, kind of freaking out,” I say, drumming my fingertips on the steering wheel. “Let me know when you get this. I guess you’re putting Grace to bed or something.”

Ending the call, I toss the phone onto the passenger seat and take a deep breath. I’m overthinking. I’m making a mountain out of a mole hill. It’s not like I can hope for a long-lasting relationship with Ben if I can’t muster the courage to meet his mom and dad. I already know I’m not what they want in a… whatever I might be, but Ben and I decided that that doesn’t matter. Clearly, he’s putting the ball in my court, allowing me to decide if I’m ready without him putting pressure on me. He wants me here, he said so himself, but he’s not going to push it.

Plus, if his parents try to manipulate Ben by using his daughter against him, then that’ll just show they’re shitty people, but it won’t stand up in any court. Ben’s her dad, and he gets along well with her mom. They’re the only ones who have a say in that kind of thing, no matter how powerful Benjamin Senior is.

“Am I convinced, yet?” I ask myself, while my thoughts keep going around and around in circles.

Leaning over, I pop open the glove compartment and take out one of the little bottles of whiskey that I got in a Secret Santa a year ago, when I was in another place and another life entirely. I screw off the cap and down the bottle in one go, wincing at the searing burn that races down my throat. It’s cheap and acidic, but it’s still laced with liquid courage.

“Get it over with, Summer.” I pop a breath mint to cover any lingering evidence of the whiskey and wind down the window, jabbing in the gate code. It swings open to let me through. All I have to do is drive.

Huffing out a breath, I put my foot down and rumble up the winding driveway to the incredible mansion. I almost miss one of the curves, I’m so transfixed by the beauty and size of the place. If I were the architect, I’d swing by every now and again to marvel at my own genius, though the real architect is probably long-dead. Remember, this is old money.

I park out of the way, to the left of a towering fountain, but there aren’t many other cars. I can only see six, but maybe the rest of the guests are locals. Who am I kidding? They’ve probably got chauffeurs who won’t be back until they’re summoned.

Steeling my resolve, I get out of the car and slip my keys into my purse. I’m dressed the way I was politely nudged to, in a sleek, black satin dress that’s probably more nightclub than elite gathering material, but it’s all I had. I tried to stitch the thigh slit closed, but I can feel the thread unraveling, exposing more of my leg with every step I take toward the porticoed terrace at the front of the house. The dress is a little breasty, too, but I’m hoping the glitzy diamond might distract the eye.

Teetering as I head up the slippery marble steps to the front door, I begin to wish I’d downed a second bottle of last year’s miniature whiskey. Honestly, I feel like I’m about to go into a job interview, and I’ve always been hopeless at those.

“Pull yourself together. Ben is in there. He’ll steer you away from trouble.” I hold onto that thought as I ring the doorbell.

It’s answered, less than half a minute later, by a smiley woman with bright brown eyes and tightly coiled gray hair that seems almost silver against her dark skin, wearing a demure black uniform with a ruffled collar. It’s hard to guess her age, but she must be sixty, at least. Her smile fades a bit, as she looks me up and down. It’s not judgmental, just confused.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

I clear my throat, still hoarse from the whiskey. “I’m here to see Ben. I’m his… girlfriend, Summer.” I go for broke. We haven’t given ourselves those labels, but him saying “I love you” makes it pretty concrete. Maybe, thirty-six-year-olds just don’t use those terms, and that’s fine by me.

“Ah, you’re Summer!” The maid looks relieved, holding a hand to her chest. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you. Please, come in.”

I do, and I’m glad of the warm reception. “Good things, I hope?”

“Pardon?” She glances back at me, as she leads me through a short hallway into what must be the entrance hall.

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