I Do With You (Maple Creek)

Chapter 13 HOPE

Chapter 13

H OPE

“You sure about this?” Ben asks. “I can drop you off if you’d rather.”

“No,” I say too quickly. He lifts his brows questioningly, probably thinking I’ve gone crazy again. After all, we’re going to my parents’ house, a place where I’ve sworn I live, feel safe, and have no worries about.

Normally, that’d all be true. But they’ve been blowing up my phone since this morning, and when I finally answered, Joy brusquely informed me there’s a family meeting today, and my presence is mandatory.

Apparently, her reassurances that I’m okay and safe have worn paper thin and my parents want answers. Now.

A few days ago, I didn’t have any. I still don’t have all the answers, but I think I can explain myself enough to satisfy them that I haven’t lost my mind completely.

“I want you there, if that’s okay? You might be my emotional-support human at this point,” I tease, picking up his hand from the gear shift and holding it to my heart dramatically. But strangely, it’s true. “We could get you a high-vis vest with a little patch on the chest. Maybe a collar too?”

He chuckles. “That sounds kinkier than you’re implying, but I’m down for it if you are. I’ve definitely never been called anyone’s emotional support, though. And nobody’s ever wanted me to meet their parents. Usually quite the opposite, if I’m honest.” He sounds nervous but is still cracking dry jokes for my benefit. There’s no need for him to worry. My parents are great, and I know they’ll love Ben because they love everyone.

Besides, he saved me from the dangers of the forest. That alone will put him at the top of their book. Helping me escape the prison of matrimony? Well, that one I’m not so sure they’ll understand. I’m going to help them understand, though.

“You’re gonna love them,” I promise.

We pull into the driveway of my parents’ home, and I try to see it through Ben’s eyes. It’s nothing fancy, just a typical middle-class ranch house with red brick and ivory trim, about a week out from getting the lawn mowed. The bushes out front have tiny berries on them that attract birds, the light post in the yard hasn’t worked in years, and we’ve played more games of yard hockey out front than I can count. The driveway, which usually holds Dad’s work truck, Mom’s sedan, and my sensible Honda, is currently also occupied by Joy’s Mini Cooper. Shepherd’s stupidly jacked-up truck is parked on the street, literally with the passenger-side tires lifted up and onto the front curb area the way he always does. He says it’s to leave space in the street for cars to pass safely. Joy and I suspect it’s also so that the driver’s side is lower to the ground, because he basically has to hop out of the thing.

Yep, the gang’s all here.

“You ready?” Ben asks, his eyes checking out the neighborhood, the house, and then my face. If I said no, he’d pull out of here in a heartbeat, leaving twin smoking streaks of rubber on the pavement and taking the corner at the end of the street on two wheels. I can feel that level of reassurance radiating from him.

But I’m ready.

I need to explain what happened to Mom and Dad. They deserve that. And a good Dad hug would probably fix a lot of the turmoil inside me too. Besides, I can see everyone’s faces pressed to the front windows. There’s no turning back now.

In so many ways.

When we get out, the front door to the house bursts open almost instantly as my family dogpiles out like a herd of puppies fighting for breakfast to get at me first.

“Hope!” Mom shouts, nearly tackling me in a hug. She’s not a small or weak woman, and she loves big and hard. And I can only imagine how worried she’s been.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, hugging her back just as tightly. But then we’re both panting for air because Dad’s glommed on, wrapping his arms around us both to squeeze the stuffing out of us.

I was right: Dad hugs settle your spirit like nothing else can. But there’s a fresh sting in my eyes too. “I’m sorry, guys,” I sputter, but Mom and Dad both shush me, comforting me with soft murmurs.

“See, I told you she’s perfectly fine,” Joy says, feigning exasperation at our lovey-dovey display. “Maybe better than fine now that she’s finally got her head out of her ass.”

“Joy!” Dad warns, letting me loose. When I look at him, he’s got one eye on me and one on Ben, like he’s trying to decide what the hell’s going on in his front yard. And in his family. “Jim Barlowe,” he says, holding a hand out.

Ben shakes it firmly. “Benjamin Taylor. You can call me Ben.”

“Good to meet you. Joy tells me you helped my little girl. Thanks for that.” He tilts his head toward me, pointing with his left ear. In some ways, it’s a dismissal. Dad’s not being rude, but there’s some family business to take care of, and as far as he’s concerned, Ben’s an outsider in more than one way.

“She didn’t need help. Hope’s doing fine on her own,” Ben replies, smiling proudly at me. He’s not touching me, our hands are hanging at our sides, but I still feel his support and appreciate him being here. Unconsciously, I move a step his direction.

Those few inches change everything.

Dad looks from Ben to me again, new concern lighting his eyes. “Somebody needs to tell me what the hell’s going on, now.”

Mom puts a hand on Dad’s chest. “Jim, let’s go inside,” she says with a forced smile. “The whole neighborhood’s gonna be vacuuming their yards and mopping the driveways if we do this out here.”

“They’re all gonna know about it anyway,” Joy mumbles under her breath.

Their chatter has me looking over my shoulder at the house across the street. Yep, sure enough, the blinds jerk as someone releases them. Busted! The same thing happens at the house next to that, and even Mrs. Rellenos is on her porch, watering her fake dollar-store plants and leaning so far out to see us that I’m afraid she might fall right over the railing and into her prized mums, which would serve her right for being so nosy.

I swear there’s not a person in this town who knows how to be nonchalant. They’re all extra-chalant, all the time.

Mom shoos us toward the house, tutting. “Seems we’ve got quite a bit of catching up to do.” Her lips might be tilted up in a smile, but her eyes are jumping from me to Ben and filling with more and more alarm with each trip they make.

For a second, I consider running again. Maybe that can be my new coping mechanism. Danger? Scurry away like a mouse. It’d be better than fainting like one of those silly stiff-legged goats, I guess.

While I’m still deliberating, Ben puts his hand on my lower back, and I’m too distracted by his touch to pull a runner again. Before I know it, we’re settling in the living room—Mom and Dad in their respective recliners, me and Ben on the couch, and Joy sitting on the floor on the far side of the coffee table. Shep elects to stand near the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed at Ben before cutting to me, like he can’t decide who to demand answers from first.

Mom kicks things off. “Hope, honey ... first and foremost, are you okay?”

I nod. “Yeah, Mom. For the first time in a long time, I am.”

Mom’s head bounces up and down agreeably as I answer, but then she reminds us all that while Dad might be gruff, she’s the truly scary one in our house. “Okay then, what the hell’s going on?” She throws up her hands, and her brows climb her forehead. She’s not mad, but she definitely doesn’t like being out of the loop when it comes to what’s happening with us kids. Especially with something this major. We might be adults, but Mom likes to know everything, or at least think she does. “When you ran for the woods, it scared the bejeebies out of us! You looked so ... Then you called Joy, and we didn’t know what to think—” She’s gaining momentum, getting closer and closer to hysterical, and I can see how terrified she’s been.

I never meant to scare her. I never meant for any of this to happen. Being a runaway bride and having literal last-second thoughts about the entire direction of my life was nowhere on my bingo card. But here I am. Here we all are. B-I-N-G-O!

“And we’re hearing gossip from all over town. People spotting you here and seeing you there, like a UFO in the sky—but you can’t call your own mother?” Dad accuses. He’s on Mom’s side, 100 percent, always. And if Mom ain’t happy, Dad’s gonna do what it takes to get her there, even if it’s slinging some hard truths at me.

When my face scrunches up in displeasure at being the focal point of the gossip and my parents’ anger, Joy barks out a laugh. “Seriously? You’re not immune to the Maple Creek effect any more than anyone else is. The shine’s wearing off, Golden Child.”

“I know. Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” I snap back. But I can’t help but ask, “What’re they saying?”

I don’t know why I care. Force of habit, I guess. Maple Creek is a small town where everyone knows everyone’s business, and I’d be lying like cheap linoleum if I said I wasn’t usually part of the town’s grapevine. Goodness knows, people start treating me like their personal therapist while I’m scraping their teeth, so I’ve heard some doozies. I’ve just never been the focus of it. Gotta say, so far I’m not a fan.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Mom orders, waving her hands back and forth to hush me and Joy. “Let’s go back. To the wedding, or before, or wherever we need to go for you to explain what had you running like Usain Bolt for the trees, looking like you’d seen a ghost. I need to know about that.”

This is gonna be hard. I knew it would be. I don’t want to disappoint them, but I also can’t force myself to live a life I don’t want. And I’ve come to realize that I don’t want the life with Roy that I planned. The only thing left to do is admit that and pray they understand.

“I want you to know that Roy didn’t do anything,” I start. “And I’m glad you didn’t go after him, because I already talked to him.” I look pointedly at Shepherd, who lifts one shoulder dismissively, making me think there’s a real possibility he actually did do something. I sigh, rolling my eyes. I love my brother, but damn, he makes life hard sometimes. He has less than zero finesse and prefers a fight-first-apologize-never style. “I’ll admit it didn’t go well, but I think with time, he’ll see I did the right thing. For us both.”

“Your sister said you were having doubts about you and Roy,” Dad prompts. There’s a big teddy bear underneath his rough exterior, but he’s a no-nonsense kinda guy and is done tiptoeing around. He’s ready to get down to brass tacks and get those answers.

“Yeah, I’d been trying to talk to him about wedding stuff, and he didn’t ...” I struggle to find the right words and settle on, “I was doing everything, which was fine. I’ve always been the planner.” All four of them must be fighting back duh s because yeah, that’s a major understatement. “But I wanted it to be our wedding. I tried to pick things Roy would like, or show him options on things, and he didn’t care about any of it. I’d be talking about an important decision, wanting his opinion or advice or something, and his eyes would glaze over or he’d start looking at his phone, taking for granted that I would figure it out. I would take care of it, the way I do everything.”

As the words I’ve been stuffing down for too long come to the surface, pouring out of my mouth and spilling past my lips to flood the room, the overwhelming emptiness that’s been a part of me for too long comes back in full force. I have to blink hard to keep it from swallowing me whole, but then my eyes return to unseeingly searching left and right, left and right, for understanding that never comes. “I started having nightmares, obsessively checking and rechecking lists, and thinking What’s next, what’s next, what’s next? Until I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t breathe; I was numbly letting myself drown day by day, drop by drop, until I realized that what I felt was ... trapped.”

The outpouring of what I’ve been struggling with changes everyone’s mood instantly, making the room feel heavy.

“Why didn’t you say something, honey?” Mom asks gently, her hands clutched to her chest in pained sadness. “We would’ve helped you.”

I smile grimly. “I know, Mom. But that’s just it. It shouldn’t have been you helping. It’s this huge day that’s supposed to be so meaningful for both of us, signaling the start of our lives together, and I realized that’s what my life would always be like. Roy never engaging, never getting involved, or ever being excited about the things I am. If he cared at all, he’d simply say, This is what we’re doing , and I’d be left to make it happen. And if he didn’t care, well, it was still me. He always leaves it to me, and I end up doing everything alone,” I admit.

What goes on in the privacy of a couple’s relationship isn’t something other people are usually privy to, and I worked hard to make my relationship with Roy seem flawless. Not only to others, but mostly to myself. I can see now that I wasn’t doing anyone any favors by hiding the truth of our relationship. To outsiders, my running away is out of left field. For me, it’s been a long time coming, requiring courage I wasn’t sure I possessed but have been slowly building until it was enough.

“I got so caught up in us being the perfect couple, having the perfect life, being perfectly in love that I never stopped to consider, What if we weren’t?” I blink back tears, not at the thought of losing Roy but at losing so much time. “He doesn’t consider me. I’m like a table or a lamp, just a part of the scenery, and I don’t want to spend forever knowing that all I’m doing is sitting on the sidelines of his life. I want more than the same lonely day on repeat until all the boxes are checked, except putting me in a pine box that I’d probably have to come back from the dead to pick myself, too, because fuck knows Roy wouldn’t do it.” I mime marking that last box by drawing a check in the air.

“Hope,” Mom hisses, aghast at my dramatics.

But it’s true. Roy doesn’t want me, Hope Mercy Barlowe. He wants a secretary, a cook, a maid, a hole to use, and a trophy on his arm. I’m ashamed to say I’ve willingly been all those things for him and not much more.

“‘It ain’t always easy, but if you do it right, it’s the foundation for everything else in your life,’” Dad quotes, looking at me pointedly.

He lives by that saying. He loves Mom by that saying, and they’ve built a happy life on it, so it feels like a judgment being handed down from on high, like I’m the one lacking in my relationship with Roy. I look down at my hands, picking at my nails. They’re still picture-worthy, a classic wedding-day french manicure, which feels strange, given everything that’s happened since then.

Ben reaches over and stops my picking, wrapping my hand in his warm one. I stare at his fingers, long and strong, with calluses and jagged cuticles, toughened from his guitar playing. And when he runs his thumb over the sensitive skin on the back of my knuckles, the pounding of my heart slows because, like magic, he can settle me with a mere touch.

When I glance up, everyone’s eyes are zeroed in on our interlocked hands. Joy’s smiling wide. Everyone else, not so much.

“Dad, I—” I try to say, but he holds up a finger, silencing me.

“The most important part of that is the ‘do it right,’ you know?” he tells me. “Don’t try to build a forever on shaky ground. If Roy isn’t willing to be a partner when things are easy breezy, he sure as shit ain’t gonna do it when it’s hard. And as much as I wish I could tell you it ain’t, life’s damn hard, honey.”

“What?” I mutter. “You’re not mad at me?”

Mom and Dad lock eyes, then turn back to me.

Dad speaks first, his voice low and emotional, amused and angry but also full of love. He likes to claim he’s a simple man, but Dad’s got layers and levels that’d put the Empire State Building to shame. “Oh, I’m mad as hell that you didn’t come to us. That you didn’t tell that boy to man up and handle the cake, or the flowers, or whatever it is you needed him to do. That you pushed your own feelings so far down that you almost said I do to someone you don’t love.” He ticks the things he’s mad about off on his thick fingers and then points at me. “Yeah, I’m mad at you. But that don’t mean I don’t love you, Hope. It means I expected better from you.”

Shit. The only thing worse than pissing your parents off is disappointing them, and I can see the disapproval in Dad’s eyes.

“Hope ...” Guess it’s Mom’s turn to whack at my heart like a pi?ata. Spoiler alert: There’s no candy inside. Just broken glass.

“Hope, you’ve been with Roy for so long, and we’ve watched you both grow up. Sometimes, we worried about you; other times, we worried about him. But you’re not kids anymore. To make a marriage work, both of you have to be willing to grow together. It’s not always at the same pace or even in the same direction, but you do it together. Or you don’t do it at all.”

Mom talks like she’s baby-stepping me somewhere uncomfortable, like the time she asked if I was really sure I wanted to know the truth about Santa Claus. Another spoiler alert: I didn’t, and was mad at her for the whole month of December for ruining Christmas. But Christmas morning, instead of being awed by the magic of a mythical guy flying around the world to deliver presents, I saw Mom smiling at our reactions, and then I really understood. She was the magic. But I don’t think she can wave a wand to fix this.

“I loved him,” I confess quietly, the past tense coming naturally. Even as I say it, I grip Ben’s hand, not wanting him to let go.

“We know you did, honey,” Dad agrees. “But love changes too. Sometimes it’s white-hot and all-consuming. Other times, it’s cozy and comfortable. And everywhere in between, sometimes at the same time. But what it’s not, and should never be, is lonely. It sounds like you’ve been lonely for a long time.” He presses his lips together, then adds, “A relationship—a marriage—isn’t one person’s responsibility to bear. It’s too much; that’s why there’s two of you to carry that weight.”

He does understand. They both do.

The relief lets me breathe fully, something I don’t think I’ve truly done since long before the wedding.

Mom comes closer, sitting on the arm of the couch to grip my knee. “The look on your face when you were running ...” She pauses, her emotions bubbling up, and Dad clears his throat like he’s a bit choked up too. Tears glitter in her eyes as she confesses, “It scared us so badly. That moment reframed everything we thought we knew—about you, about Roy, about the two of you together.” She goes quiet, her eyes boring into mine. “All we’ve ever wanted was for you kids to be happy, and your unhappiness was obvious to anyone with eyes. We love you no matter what, and we want what you want.”

Their support means everything to me. I don’t know why I doubted it. They’ve always had my back and done everything with my best interests in mind. I guess I worried this would be the one thing that went too far and pushed them past the point of love.

Tears burn at the corners of my eyes as I look at Mom and then wrap her up in another hug.

She’s amazing. Both she and Dad are.

“We want what you want, to a certain extent,” Shepherd amends. It’s the first thing he’s said, and when I glance at him, he’s giving Ben the stink eye. To me, he asks, “What exactly did you mean when you said the conversation ‘didn’t go well’ with Roy?”

Leave it to my brother to turn a sweet family moment into something much more worrisome. “Shepherd, don’t do anything stupid,” I warn.

“Fine, I won’t beat the shit out of him,” he promises. I’m not sure I believe him. He likes to be overly specific because it gives him deniability. If he promises to not “beat the shit out of him” and Roy doesn’t literally poop himself in response to the fists thrown his way, then Shep upheld his vow. But that leaves a myriad of possibilities open, like beating him until he pukes, bleeds, or goes unconscious. To Shep, those would be fair game under the technicalities of the rules.

No wonder he spends so much time in the penalty box in hockey.

Ben’s been quiet for all my family drama, probably upping my rating to Kardashian-level mess, but Shepherd’s words get him to open his mouth. As he flashes a dark grin, he offers, “Or if you do, let me know and I can provide backup.”

“Don’t encourage him,” I tell Ben, but it’s too late. The line’s been drawn, and the two men lock eyes in an ages-old staring competition while they decide ...

Are we friends? Are we enemies? Is the enemy of my enemy my friend? Is the friend of my friend my enemy?

Did I miss any combinations of potential bromance or bro-hatred?

Joy fakes a Steve Irwin accent and holds up an imaginary microphone. “What we have here are two juvenile North American males, ready to fight for dominance and hierarchy. One, a local, known for his cold, calculated attacks. The other, an interloper, who may die tonight or be a surprise victor in the fight. Let’s watch.”

Shepherd digs a toe into her shoulder, sending her tumbling over to sprawl out on the floor. While she laughs, having cracked herself up, he tells Ben, “Don’t need backup. Who the hell are you, anyway?”

Is it wrong that I’m glad the focus is shifting to Ben? It probably is, considering I’m the one who dragged him here. But I’m so glad the drama of me and Roy no longer being a thing is over that even if it’s at Ben’s expense, I’m okay with the subject change. Especially since Ben shrugs like it’s no biggie to be the odd man out in a room full of Barlowes.

“Just a guy who was hiking in the woods, looking for titmice, when I got run over by this one here.” He jerks his head in my direction with a smile that makes my chest warm. He’s so much more than what he says. He’s the duct tape holding me together.

“Yeah, so this is Ben,” I add, knowing I sound foolish at the too-late introduction. “Like he said, I ran into him—literally—during my escape. I kinda, sorta invaded his cottage and then commandeered his vacation. He’s been nice enough to let me hide out with him.”

Joy sits back up, lifting her eyebrows at me pointedly. “I’m guessing there’s been some other invasions and commandeering happening too.”

“Joy!” I shout, staring at her with wide, horror-filled eyes. “Shut the fu-cupcakes.”

Why is she embarrassing me like this? Does she want me to talk about her back-seat-of-a-car, over-before-they-started “invasions”? Or the bossy boyfriends she’s had? If she wants to force me to spill some dirty details, I can return the favor with some of the intel I have about her that she’d rather not discuss in front of parentals.

“We’re all thinking it, sis,” Shep says. One second ago, he was giving Joy a hard time, and now they’ve ganged up against me. Typical.

I look at Mom and Dad for help, but they seem curious too. “He’s also not here to be interrogated by all of you. He came because we’re friends,” I say, scowling at them one by one.

“Friends who hold hands,” Joy corrects with a smug smirk. When I scowl harder, she has the audacity to laugh at me. “Hey, I already told you, I like him better than Roy, and that was after only a few minutes.” But then she sobers and pins Ben with a fierce glare. “Don’t make me regret saying that, Tourist Boy.”

“I’ve been showing him around Maple Creek.” I’m desperately trying to redirect the conversation.

“So we hear,” Joy taunts. She counts off on her fingers in a move reminiscent of Dad’s. “The diner; a boat tour; the top-secret, no-tourists-allowed beach ... People are a little salty about that one.” She purses her lips, then adds, “I hear the tour got a little interactive there.”

“You forgot the resort campfire,” Mom adds, speaking to Joy out the side of her mouth, like I can’t hear her plain as day.

“Hey! How do you know about that? It was just last night,” I say, both impressed and a little disturbed at the completeness of their checklist.

Mom drops her chin, looking at me like she raised me better than to be this stupid. “Hope, the only thing hotter than summer around here is the grapevine. There’s already been an article in the paper about you bailing on the wedding midceremony, which included newly declaring Roy the most eligible bachelor in town. My phone’s been ringing off the hook with people wanting to ‘check on us during our time of need,’ a.k.a. wanting the scoop from the horse’s mouth, but I’m no jackass, so I kept my trap shut. Not that I knew anything.” She slides that zinger into my gut clean as a scalpel. “And everyone knows about your little chat at the beach because Roy went bursting into the sheriff’s office afterward to whine to his dear old daddy. Apparently, he damn-near wanted the SWAT team called out to the lake because of it too. Fool tried to imply you were being held against your will. As if,” she scoffs.

She lets that sink in, watching my jaw fall farther and farther open as she tells me about what’s been happening in town while I’ve been incommunicado. Once I’m able to focus again, she continues dropping bombs: “Kaitlyn Williams texted her momma last night saying she was hosting you and the quote-unquote ‘hottie tourist’ at the resort social and that you were the cutest thing since the invention of Squishmallows, but she had to keep you from humping each other right there in front of God and everyone. So her mother called me this morning, asking if I knew what my daughter was up to, to which I said, ‘Of course I do,’ even though I still didn’t know a damn thing.” Ouch, another slice. She blinks slowly three times, her glare silently accusing me of the worst crime of all—not telling her what’s going on with me. “Which is about when we decided enough was enough and called this family meeting.”

Okay, so this is what being the flash point at the center of the gossip feels like. Gotta say, I’m not a fan—at all.

“Um, good friends?” I amend my earlier declaration.

“Harrumph,” Dad snorts. I think he’s hiding a grin at Mom’s guerilla-style approach to getting everything in the open. Neither of them are inclined to play games or hide their thoughts.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t tell them about my doubts about Roy. I knew they’d give it to me straight, and I wasn’t ready for it then. Now, hearing that they don’t think I’m crazy for running reassures me that I’m doing the right thing. For me.

“Ben, seeing as you’re such a ‘good friend’ of Hope’s, I assume you’re staying for lunch?” Mom says. It should be an invitation, but it’s most definitely not—it’s an order. He’s not getting out of here yet, and neither am I. Mom stands to head to the kitchen, but she pauses. “Hope, Joy, won’t you help me?” That’s not a question either. Given the arch of her brow and the abrupt change in conversation, I can expect an FBI-level interrogation in the kitchen.

But it also leaves Ben with Dad and Shepherd.

I look at him, making sure he’s fully aware he’s getting thrown to the wolves as a sacrifice. He flashes me an easy grin, completely fine. I hope he knows what he’s getting into. I’m still tempted to give him a quick kiss—on the cheek, of course—as a goodbye, just in case Shepherd scares him off, but something tells me that Ben’s made of sterner stuff than that and can not only withstand my brother but also possibly give him a run for his money.

Is it bad that I kinda want to see that? A sexy, sweaty, fighting Ben, I mean. Fuck knows, I’ve seen my brother fight more than is reasonable for any human.

In the kitchen, Mom is already pulling a casserole out of the oven. Of course she’s prepared. She and Dad are the ones who called the family meeting, and she probably went straight to cooking as a distraction from my drama. “Grab the stuff to set the table,” she instructs us. “Nothin’ fancy.”

Mom and Dad aren’t traditional types. Sure, Mom cooks, but Dad grills several nights a week. And they both clean up, dancing around the kitchen while doing the dishes together, or assigning one of us kids to do them if it’s a family meal. But it’s bigger than chores and household tasks. They’re partners in every sense of the word, which is what I expected with Roy. That, unfortunately, wasn’t the case at all.

A tiny elf in the back of my mind shoves forward the memory of Ben feeding me pickles and beer on what should’ve been the happiest day of my life but turned into a disaster. I’d gone to bed, too exhausted to worry about the mess, and he’d taken care of it. He’s taken care of me in so many ways. The difference is notable, and I like it.

“Now that Dad and Shep are interrogating your ‘friend,’ give us the scoop,” Joy demands as she lays out plates. Apparently, she’s playing the part of Mom’s lackey for round two of today’s interrogation.

I grab silverware and smile. “He’s great. I’m not jumping into anything, and he’s only here for a few weeks, but ... yeah, he’s great.” So, a wordsmith, I’m not. I’ll leave that to Ben, I guess. “Oh! He writes songs!” I add excitedly.

“So Ben the tourist writes songs, rescues runaway brides, and has no qualms standing up to me or Shep,” Joy summarizes, nodding as she considers the information. “Yep, told you I liked him, Mom. Better than Roy, for sure, though that’s not hard to do.” She makes a face, showing just what she thinks about that. It seems Joy’s been holding back a lot and is no longer going to do it.

“I had no idea you didn’t like Roy,” I tell her. “It feels like you’ve been hiding something really important from me.”

She stops her trip around the table to stare at me. I swear I can feel our twin-lepathy tingling in my head. “Sis, you wouldn’t have heard me. And keeping my opinion to myself isn’t the same thing as keeping secrets. Believe me, if I’d found out Roy was cheating, gambling, or doing shady shit, I would’ve been nose-to-nose with you, showing you proof in a hot second. Unfortunately, he wasn’t. Or at least, not that I could find—and believe me, I tried.” She rolls her eyes, and I wonder what journalist-level investigation she went through.

I can understand her reasoning. I probably wouldn’t have listened to her if she’d said anything bad about Roy or my plans. I was too stuck, wallowing in that deep rut and spinning my tires only to dig in even deeper. “Okay, forgiven. And in the vein of not keeping secrets, Ben’s also a really good kisser,” I whisper.

“Oh my God! I knew it!” Joy shouts, and I shush her by slapping my hand over her mouth. Luckily, it’s the one not holding the forks, so she keeps both of her eyes. “‘Friends,’ my ass!” she says behind my palm.

“Girls,” Mom scolds, but she looks pretty interested in that last tidbit too. Still, she’s a mother first, and she’s got to take the opportunity to give advice. It’s what mothers do. “Be careful, honey. I know you kids think a ricochet can help after a bad breakup, but you have to fix yourself before your heart’s ready for anything else.”

Joy and I look at each other in confusion. I mouth, Ricochet?

“ Rebound , Mom,” Joy corrects as she eventually catches on to Mom’s bad choice of words. “Not a ricochet. And her heart doesn’t need to be ready, just her kitty cat. If it was me, I’d be bounding, rebounding, and rebounding some more. Have you seen that man?” Joy points back toward the living room, pumping her hips and smacking the air like she’s in a Megan Thee Stallion video. “Me-owww!”

A zap of jealousy shoots through me. It must show on my face or she must hear the death threats in my mind through our telepathy, because she smirks. “Gotcha.”

I blush because there’s no hiding my reaction from Joy or Mom. “I don’t know. Things just officially ended with Roy, so I’m taking it slow.”

“Slow?” Mom repeats, her eyes so wide I can see the whites all around her blue irises. “Honey, a few days ago you were marrying another man. Now you’re going on dates all over town with Ben, staying at his place, kissing him, and bringing him home to meet your parents. If that’s what you call ‘slow,’ I don’t want to know what fast looks like.”

She might have a point, but I don’t want to slow down.