“I thought you knew. I thought everyone knew.”
“Future reference?” She pointed a finger at Alex. “When your boss is dating a gazillionaire, don’t assume she knows he’s a gazillionaire.”
Alex nodded. “Duly noted.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
In the end, Kate was the one who persuaded Gen to go. Over coffee one morning in Gen’s apartment, while Jackson was sleeping in upstairs, Kate told Gen she was being a coward for avoiding the invitation. Though she said it much more politely.
“You’re good with people. I don’t see why this has you so freaked out,” Kate said. They were sitting on the Adirondack chairs on the patio outside Gen’s sliding glass doors, sipping from steaming mugs and looking off toward the ocean, which glowed a soft, silvery blue in the morning light.
“How can you not see? Ugh. Weren’t you freaked out when Jackson wanted you to meet his parents?”
“Not really. I thought it was sweet that he wanted to take that step.”
“See?! See?! It’s a step! That’s my whole point! It’s a step!”
“Well, of course it’s a step,” Kate said, scowling slightly. “And it’s sweet that Ryan wants to take that step, just like it was sweet of Jackson. Gen. Calm down, honey. This is a good thing.”
“I know.” Gen sounded miserable. She felt miserable. She knew Ryan was putting himself out there in a way that was important, that meant something, but the happiness that made her feel paled in comparison to the terror of facing the scrutiny of the senior Delaneys.
“You have to suck it up and do this,” Kate said simply.
“Why? Why do I have to?”
Kate looked at her pointedly. “Because Ryan is offering to take this thing between you to the next level. And if you decide not to do it—not to go to the next level—you’re making a statement about how you feel about him. And I’ll tell you what: He is a kind man with a soft heart. If you don’t have dinner with his parents, you’re not just rejecting dinner, you’re rejecting the whole next level. And that’s going to hurt him.”
“I … Oh.”
“You should bring a nice bottle of wine. Or maybe a pie,” Kate said, closing the subject.
Later that day, Gen took a deep breath, sucked it up, and called Sandra Delaney. She accepted the invitation and asked whether she could help in any way. Sandra shooed off the offer, saying she would take care of everything.
Gen thought it was still probably a good idea to bring a pie.
By the time Gen arrived at the Delaney house on the Sunday evening in question, the butterflies in her stomach had turned into hawks, or maybe falcons, flapping their massive wings and inadvertently scratching her with their talons. She didn’t know how to act. What kind of demeanor would say, I genuinely care about your son and I’m not in it for his fortune?
She’d carefully selected her clothing for the visit. Her usual gallery attire said I’d rather be in New York, so that was out. She knew the Delaneys were casual people; every time she’d seen Sandra at home, the woman had been wearing a football jersey and fuzzy slippers. So Gen opted for jeans, a pair of soft leather ankle boots, and a heather grey cashmere sweater.
She showed up at their doorstep bearing a pie she’d baked herself. She hoped that the fact she’d made the pie, rather than picking one up from a bakery, would make some sort of statement. What that statement might be, she wasn’t sure.
Breanna opened the door to Gen’s knock. Breanna was tall, like Ryan, with the same dark eyes and thick, dark hair. She looked slightly frazzled—probably from chasing the two boys around all day—but she greeted Gen with a smile that seemed warm and genuine.
“I’m so glad you could come,” Breanna said, ushering Gen inside. She leaned toward Gen and said conspiratorially, “I’ll bet you tried to think of ways to get out of it.”
“What? No!” Gen said.
“Right.” Breanna grinned. “The first time I had dinner with my husband’s parents, I was terrified.”
And there it was. That word. Husband. Is that where this was headed? Toward Ryan being her husband? The weight of it all bore down on her, and her knees almost gave out.
“You look kind of green,” Breanna observed.
“What? No. I’m good. It’s good.” She was babbling. She handed Breanna the pie. “Here. There’s pie.”
Breanna peered down at the pie, which was apple crumble. Gen was a pretty good baker, but she considered the apple crumble to be her best.
“Homemade,” Breanna observed.
“Um … yeah. I just … you know. Threw it together.”
“Sure.”
Gen entered the house and was immediately surrounded by noise and chaos. Lucas and Michael were running around the living room, playing some kind of game the rules of which probably only they knew. An older man Gen recognized as Ryan’s uncle Redmond was sitting in a recliner in front of the TV, watching a baseball game and intermittently grumbling at the screen. Through the doorway that led into the kitchen, Gen could see Sandra bustling around in her fuzzy slippers. She came to the doorway to yell at the boys to stop yelling, then vanished into the kitchen once again. Ryan’s father, Orin, was padding around in socks, looking for his shoes.
“Sandra? Where are my shoes? We’ve got company coming, and I can’t find my damned shoes!”
“Well, it’s not my job to keep track of your shoes! You’re a grown man. Though sometimes I doubt it. I swear!” Sandra yelled back.
“Mom? Dad? Gen’s here!” Breanna called out, bringing the disorder to a temporary stop.
Sandra came to the doorway of the kitchen, pressed her fists to her hips, and said, “Well, I guess you’d better come on in instead of just standing there.” Then she vanished into the kitchen again.
Orin looked up from where he’d been hunting all over the floor for his shoes, saw Gen, and grinned sheepishly. “Oh. Heh heh. Don’t mind my feet.” He wiggled his toes inside his socks. “I seem to be having a shoe crisis.”
“Oh. Um … Are those yours, over there?” She pointed to a spot next to the fireplace, where a pair of Timberland work boots were sitting askew beside the hearth.
Orin followed her finger to where she was pointing, and noticed the boots with a start. “Oh! Well.” He hurried over to the boots and snatched them up.
Lucas and Michael, apparently attracted by the presence of a new person, ran over to where Gen stood.
“Michael, Lucas, this is Gen. Do you remember meeting her when she was here to have tea with Grandma Sandra?” Breanna spoke to them in a tone of love and infinite patience.
“I like your hair,” Michael said. “It’s all curly and bright.”
“Well, thank you,” Gen said.
They ran off again, chasing one another around the coffee table.