He turns his head left and right, wondering where he’s misplaced me, so I duck under his arm to show myself.
His fingers graze the bare skin of my shoulder. “Girls, this is Jess. My girlfriend.”
The room goes so quiet so fast that at first I think I’m suffering some kind of audiological anomaly. But then I see the surprise crisscrossing all the women’s faces. One of Blake’s not-pregnant sisters has her hand on the refrigerator door, but she’s forgotten to open it. Instead, she’s staring at me, jaw dropped like a hungry grouper.
The silence is as deep as the Pacific, and I use the time to study all the shocked faces. Besides the sisters, there are two or three more women gaping at me. One in particular—she’s got springy curls that frame her pixie face—has slapped a hand over her mouth in dismay.
“Uh, girls? Hello?” Blake prompts. His palm strokes my shoulder absently. “Come over here and meet Jessie. Cheezus.”
“Sorry.” The sister at the fridge recovers first. She crosses the room on giraffe’s legs and grabs my hand, giving it a bruising shake. “I’m Britt, the youngest of us four. It’s so nice to meet you,” she says, pumping my hand. “Blake didn’t tell us he was seeing anyone.” She lifts big eyes—green like her brother’s—to Blake, and there’s a question in them.
“I’m doing that now,” he answers, sounding grumpy. “Let’s not make a mountain out of a molehole.”
“Molehill,” I correct.
“Nah, J-Babe. That can’t be right. Moles dig underground, they don’t build shit.”
Oh for God’s sake. “But the dirt they kick up out of the lawn gets…” I see at least a dozen eyes on me, and they’re burning with curiosity. “Never mind,” I mumble, and Blake chuckles.
“Beer?” he asks. “There’s probably some girly white wine around, too.”
“Beer would be awesome,” I say quickly. And keep ’em coming.
I meet both of his other sisters and then Blake’s dad. To say that Mr. Riley isn’t what I expected is an understatement. Blake is six inches taller than his father, and he outweighs him by at least a hundred pounds. Mr. Riley shakes my hand as politely as a school principal, and then he steals a sperm cupcake out of the box and slides quietly out of the room.
Just when I’m ready to declare the science of genetics a fraud, there’s a great pounding of feet and an enormous woman launches herself at us.
“BLAKIEEEEE!”
“Oof,” my faux boyfriend says, catching her. “Easy, Ma. Good to see you, too.”
“It’s been NINE DAYS since you came home for dinner!” she hollers.
“But who’s counting?” He grins.
“I MADE BRISKET! You need protein if you’re gonna POUND MONTREAL INTO TINY BITS OF DUST.”
“Awesome,” he says. “Hey, Mom? This is Jess. My girlfriend.”
I brace myself as Blake’s mother turns to inspect me. Unlike Blake’s sisters, she doesn’t gasp or express shock and dismay. She does, however, look me over from head to toe, as if I’m a brisket she might purchase, depending on whether or not I’m worthy.
“Nice to meet you,” I say in a shaky voice, extending a hand.
Her giant mitt closes over mine. She has a handshake like Mike Tyson’s. “Welcome to our home, Jessica. How long have you known my boy?”
“Um, since March. He and my brother are friends.”
“Six months. Hmmm…” Mrs. Riley muses, arching an eyebrow. “And what is your favorite thing about him?”
Just as my traitorous brain offers up a truly inappropriate image, Blake jumps in to rescue me. “Mom, Jessie hasn’t gotten the tour yet. We’ll catch up with you in a little while?”
His mother frowns, unhappy with this interruption. I get the feeling she’d rather pull me into a windowless interrogation room for a little truth serum and waterboarding.
Blake’s hand closes around mine. He passes me one of the two beers he’s collected, and I take a deep swig as we make our escape out a pretty set of French doors and into the backyard.
“Cheezus,” Blake gasps when we make it outside. “J-Babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t know they’d go all DEFCON 4 if I brought someone home with me.”
“When’s the last time you had a girlfriend?” I ask.
“Uh. Five years ago.”
“Okay…” The puzzle pieces are sliding together in my head. “So you broke up with whatsername and then stopped dating entirely?”
“Pretty much,” he says gruffly. “Check this out.” He sweeps his hand across a gorgeous yard with a shimmering pool at the far end. “We dug this ourselves the year I was fourteen. It was a blast.”