Page 56 of More With You

“Horse manure? Nice.” I nod sarcastically. “Most people would just say “shit,” but I guess you’re too refined for that.”

Ben shakes his head in warning, but I’m way past that. No one calls me crap or a floozy or “that woman” and gets away lightly. I’ve been tamping down my reactions and feelings for most of my life, but when something comes along that really, really grinds my gears, there’s no stopping me. I suppose it’s everything I wish I could’ve said to my mother, while I had the chance, spewing out at once.

“I’m not Ben’s bit-on-the-side—or your husband’s, for that matter. This isn’t some Nathaniel Hawthorne crap, and I’m not your scarlet woman. I’m not white trash, I’m not a gold-digger trying to snare an older man, I’m not a piece of shit rolled in glitter, but I am a woman who doesn’t take any,” I seethe. “Do you even know how much courage it takes to come into a house like this? Sure, I gave you a fright, but this wasn’t the reception I was expecting either. I was told by someone that I was invited, but it looks like that person decided to play a nice little trick on me. Probably wanted me to get arrested for wearing your priceless jewels, too. Had me thinking that was a gift. Obviously, it’s not. Right, Mrs. DuCate?” I eyeball Ben, to see if he’s putting the pieces together. His brows are knitted together in thought, so I’m hoping the other shoe is going to drop soon.

Mrs. DuCate snorts. “How did you get into a house like this, that’s what I want to know?” She ignores my question and the rest of my little speech. It likely went in one ear and out of the other, as it does with anyone that she deems to be beneath her.

“The prankster gave me the code.” I beckon for my ally, and Mae comes rushing in. She gives the letter to Mrs. DuCate the same way she might offer up the day’s mail, though there’s no silver tray to make it especially satisfying.

Mrs. DuCate pinches the letter away from her face, as though it’s tainted, and squints at the words. “So, you did do this to try and annoy us.” She whirls around to face Ben; my scheme going awry. “Now, we’re going to have to change the gate code, so all manner of waifs and strays can’t get in whenever they please. Honestly, Ben, if you weren’t our son…” She trails off, but it sounds like she’s said the same thing a thousand times throughout Ben’s life. His eye roll gives it away.

“It wasn’t me, Mother.” Ben snatches the letter from her and reads it himself. With every passing second, his body stiffens and his eyes flare. Any moment, he’s going to figure it out.

Meanwhile, Mr. DuCate yawns, like this entire debacle is boring. I feel like insulting his polo shirt or his beloved country club a little more, but that would just be petty. Satisfying, yes, but petty. I probably shouldn’t push my luck any further.

“I dabbled with a few firecrackers in my time, son.” Mr. DuCate claps his son on the back. “You don’t end up with the firecracker. You take them for what they are—good-time girls with an expiration date. Why don’t you do your mother’s blood pressure a favor and let her set you up with one of her friends’ gals, eh?”

I’m slack-jawed at the audacity of these people. Can he not see that I’m right here? I get that he’s probably trying to make a point, while I am here, so that I don’t make the mistake of coming here again or, you know, thinking that I might ever be welcome. My one major takeaway from this, and there are a few, is that I should never ignore my gut instinct again. I knew something stank about the letter and Ben’s radio silence, but I was so blinded with nervous excitement that I might actually be allowed behind the curtain, so to speak, that I didn’t listen. I guess that’s taught me.

Screw this! It looks like Ben is two seconds from grabbing his dad by the scruff of his polo shirt, but I’m not letting my boyfriend fight my battles for me. This one’s mine.

“You can see me, right?” I snap, waving a hand in front of Mr. DuCate’s face. “You don’t speak about people like that. You sure as hell don’t speak about me like that. I’m in this for the long haul, so I suggest you get used to my name, even if you can’t stand the sight of me. For one thing, I’m going to stick around for that sweet girl, because she needs good people around her. For a second thing, I love your son. It's not a fling, it’s not dabbling. I love him.”

Ben’s eyes light up, and I realize what I’ve said. It sucks, honestly. I’d imagined a way more romantic setting, with way less clothes, and no stuck-up parents trying to call me an interloper, but the words are out there now. I can’t take them back and hold onto them for a more suitable occasion. Watching Mr. DuCate’s face flit through a kaleidoscope of emotion—confusion, disbelief, horror, doubt, and a bit of contemplation—I wonder if, actually, I’ve picked the perfect moment. Ben gets to hear that I love him while I stick a figurative middle finger up at his father, which I know Ben’s completely on-board with.

“Are you going to let her talk to me like that?” Mrs. DuCate dives back in, playing the victim even though none of what I’ve just said was directed at her.

Mr. DuCate seems to be floundering. Maybe, no one has ever fought back before. I let my gaze flit between him and Ben, seeking solace in the latter. He’s grinning, now, and there’s pride in his eyes. If Ms. T were here, she’d be whooping and hollering and threatening to throw me a parade. I suppose, if I’m being honest, I’ve evolved a lot since first arriving in this town. Twenty-six-years, and I’ve finally grown a backbone.

“That’s rich,” I mutter. “Look, you’ll be pleased to know that I’m not staying much longer. I just came in here to show you that this wasn’t what I or Ben had planned for a first introduction, though I heard plenty from your little henchman that you’ve hated me from the start. You don’t just look down on what I’m wearing, let’s be honest, it’s everything else. But I like who I am, and your son loves who I am, so I’m going to go and I’m going to take him and his daughter with me. Your week is up, and you’ve only got yourselves to blame.”

I’m not sure if I can make executive decisions like this, on Ben and Grace’s behalf, but he’s nodding effusively. I’ll take that as a good sign. All I need to do now is storm out of here without anything else ripping, and I might actually make the impact I want to. This is the start of us, of me and Ben. The rest of our challenges and hurdles were just preliminaries and tests, to see if I was worthy of this exact moment.

He takes my hand. “She’s said everything I was going to say,” he announces, smiling. “But I’ll reiterate, in case you’re struggling to understand—I love this woman, and she adores Grace. I’m sticking by her, and if you don’t like that, well that’s your choice.” He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it, flashing me a wink before guiding me out of the door.

Mae is there, out of sight of Mr. and Mrs. DuCate, clapping discreetly. It’s the audience I need to steel my resolve, and I’m riding a wave of euphoria as I float out of the dining room and along the depressing hallways to the grand foyer. It’s only when we get to my car that Ben brings me to a halt, catching my face in his hands and pressing a fierce kiss to my lips. I kiss him back, pulling him by his t-shirt, feeling completely invincible.

He pushes me further into the driver’s side door, his tongue flicking against mine, his hips making an urgent promise that this is going to be continued later. Then, with the same intensity, he breaks away, breathing hard.

“Start the engine,” he growls, smiling. “I’ll be as quick as I can. If I’m not back in half an hour, call the cops because I’ve been kidnapped.”

I smack him on the arm. “Don’t say that!”

“Just kidding. I’ve got Foster and Mae for backup if I need it.” He dips to kiss me once more and runs off up the steps to the house. The door closes and I’m left feeling the same way I did when I dropped him off at the gates. Like I’m an alien, on a tiny planet where I have no place. Unlike that time, however, I don’t care anymore. Who’d want to belong here anyway? Ben sure doesn’t, or he wouldn’t have done everything within his power to get out.

Bolstered, I get behind the wheel and wait. We’re not out of the mahogany wood yet.

* * *

It’s almost an hour before Ben reappears with Grace, and he’s not alone. Mr. and Mrs. DuCate are the crazed fans chasing him down the steps, yelling things I can’t hear properly through the wound-up windows. All I can concentrate on is Grace’s scared face, as she clings to her dad’s neck. The poor girl is crying, and I know who’s to blame. I bet grandma and grandpa have been laying the guilt on, buttercream thick.

A few moments later, Ben flings open the back passenger door and places Grace gently onto the seat. I twist around and offer what I hope is a reassuring smile.

“Hey, it’s a swan!” I gasp, as Ben hurriedly clips her seatbelt.

Grace peers over the purple fuzz of a stuffed duckling. “I’m not a swan, silly.” She puts her finger to her lips. “It’s a secret. Shh!”

“Oh, sorry.” I put my own finger to my lips. “I mean, there’s no swan in my car! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

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