Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths #4)(37)
Chapter 13
REESE
“Not what I expected,” I murmur as Ben’s Jetta turns past the large “Bernard Morris Grove” sign and creeps along one of the longest driveways I’ve ever seen, lined with oak trees big enough to create a tunnel-like cover. With strands of Spanish moss hanging elegantly from their limbs, it looks like something out of a movie setting. One of those dreamy places that feels magical and you’re sure has been doctored heavily by a stage crew.
“It looks like more than it is,” he denies.
“It looks like a giant house on an orange grove,” I retort as the sizeable white house with two levels of wraparound decks and stately pillars comes into view, windows flanked with black shutters staring down at us. The Confederate flag hangs limply from one corner, reminding me of a soldier, standing motionless as it awaits our approach.
“It is a big-ass house,” he agrees. “My mama’s great-grandparents, the Bernards, moved here from Louisiana and wanted to feel like they were back home, so they built a plantation house. Kind of out of place, but it was a cool house to grow up in. Needs a lot of work, though.”
As we get closer, I see what he means. The exterior is in bad need of a paint job, shingles have begun to lift, and the front porch leans just slightly to the left. Still, it’s beautiful in a historical, haunting way. And I’ll bet it’s brimming with all kinds of stories to tell—both joyful and heartrending.
Turning the ignition off, Ben half-turns in his seat to regard me with a rare serious expression.
“You’re nervous about me meeting your mother, aren’t you?” I knew the second he didn’t answer his mother’s call what was up. When he blows a mouthful of air out, I can’t help it; I laugh. “Please don’t tell me you have your mom convinced that you’re a virginal disciple of Jesus.”
“No, pretty sure that ship sailed when she caught me with the neighbor’s daughter behind the barn,” he answers with a wry smile, adding, “but please just don’t give me any grief, MacKay.” His eyes flicker over to the front door in time to see a small woman in a floral sundress and apron, identical to the photograph on Ben’s desk but older, emerge.
I follow his lead and climb out of the car as a hound dog lets out one long bay before it waddles down the porch steps and toward Ben, its belly almost dragging on the ground.
“What are you feeding this dog, Mama? Hey, Quincy!” Ben crouches down to let the dog put its front paws up on his knee. He grabs both ears and scratches, mumbling something under his breath about a “good girl.” With that greeting out of the way, the dog turns her attention on me, a little more cautious as I bend down to offer my hand. After taking a few sniffs and accepting a friendly pat, she turns and sways back toward the house and Ben’s mother, who’s watching me intently.
I wonder what this woman is going to think of me. I wonder why I suddenly care. I certainly didn’t when I willingly walked into this trap.
I haven’t done a lot of “meet the parents” scenarios. In fact, there was only one: with Jared’s parents, just after we eloped. Considering their son hadn’t had the heart to tell them that he had broken up with Caroline—the future daughter-in-law they would have hand-picked for their only child—I’d say that meeting went exactly as expected. A catastrophic explosion.
As discreetly as possible, I reach up to finger-comb my hair, left to air dry after the speedy shower earlier. There’s not much I can do about my jeans and T-shirt right now.
“Now who’s nervous?” Ben throws over his shoulder with a smug smile as I watch him saunter toward his mother. He’s in a blue and yellow Dolphins T-shirt and worn blue jeans, so I’m not exactly underdressed. The difference is, Ben still looks good.
“It’s been weeks!” Ben’s mom scolds, though there isn’t an ounce of bitterness in her voice. He answers by scooping her tiny body up in his arms and spinning her around, much to her howls and laughter. It’s hard to believe such a slight woman created something as big as this man. She can’t be more than five feet tall. “Benjamin Morris! You put me down before I have another heart attack!”
His smile falls off at that comment, but he does as asked. She proceeds to ruffle her skirt gently before turning to regard me with eyes as blue and kind as Ben’s. “And you must be Reese.” A small hand shoots out and I take it immediately.
“You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Morris.”
She waves her hand. “Oh, please! Call me Wilma, and this old house is all but falling apart. Sometimes I wish a bolt of lightning would burn it down because it needs so much work. Come on in. I have some sweet tea and sandwiches ready.” She pats her son’s stomach. “Benjamin’s favorite.”
He catches me pursing my lips together tightly to stop the burst of laughter from escaping. Flinging an arm over my shoulder, he asks, “What?”
“You are such a mama’s boy!” I hiss, earning a giant grin.
Wilma steals a quick glance back and beams.
And it clicks. I know what Ben is nervous about. It’s not about me teasing him in front of his “mama.” It’s about her getting the wrong idea about us.
Ben has made it pretty clear to the world that he has no intention of getting serious with anyone. Ever. And if he were anyone other than Ben, an arm over my shoulder might constitute misleading people into thinking we’re dating. But it is Ben, and so I don’t make the effort to push it off.