His Good Girl (8 page)

At least, that's what I told myself at the time. My mind went back and forth on the subject many, many times before the weekend rolled around, not that I had much of a choice with regards to backing out. I'd said Saturday, and barring any life-threatening illnesses—or at least a fever—I wasn't going to get out of it. So when Saturday dawned bright and sunny, I rolled out of bed and got dressed to face the day, my expression sullen despite the beautiful weather.

Part of me wished I had the guts to sit him down and explain. But the truth was, there just weren't enough words to tell him exactly
why
I would rather he didn't meet my mother—at least, not until he'd said, "I do". She was… eccentric, but that wasn't right. Colorful… but that was being generous. The truth was, if I'd had the words, I probably would have said them, but I simply was at a loss when it came to her.

"You're quiet," Kevin observed, glancing over at me as he turned down the country dirt road. "You haven't said much since you got into the car. Is something wrong?"

This. This is very, very wrong.
"Just thinking, I guess."

"About flower arrangements again?" he teased. I gave him a small smile, and regardless of whether he believed that was the reason or not, he let the question drop.

Turning my head to stare out the window, I watched as we drove past houses I'd grown up running in and out of as a kid. They all still looked the same. Paint peeling, maybe a new flower bed—or the withered remains of an old one—but mostly the same. The occupants would be the same, too, because that's how things are in a small town where no one leaves. When Old Mr. Brown died, his house would pass to his son Robert, who might marry or might not, and who would continue the same day-to-day routine of his father before him. It was so boring it made me want to cry.

Not that anyone else seemed to see it that way. I was the first person in more than a decade to leave, and my Mama hadn't thanked me for it. She said it made her look bad—when she bothered to talk about it at all.

When he pulled into the driveway behind her powder-blue Oldsmobile that was going on thirty-five years, I felt my stomach tighten into knots.

"This is it?" he asked quietly.

"Mmm-hmm."

I could feel him beside me, wanting to say something more, but in the end he pulled the keys out of the ignition, walked over to the passenger side and opened my door. I tried to smile at him as I stepped out, but it fell flat.

"Everything's going to be fine." He pulled me into a side-hug, giving me a little squeeze. "You'll see."

"Okay." This time I did manage to smile, but it faded the moment he took his arm from around me.

"Come on."

"Time to face the music," I deadpanned.

"Behave yourself," he said, aiming a swat at my behind that was more of a love-pat than a warning. I glared at him anyway.

I hadn't been to visit my mother in about eight months, since last Christmas. The house looked about the same; the same ferns hanging from the roof of the porch, a mere day or two from death. The same collection of odds and ends that somehow always managed to accumulate on her porch, no matter how many times I removed them. There was an ashtray cradled on the arm of the lone chair that sat on the porch. It was close to overflowing, as usual. I suppressed a sigh and turned to Kevin with a raised eyebrow.
Have you seen enough yet
, I asked him silently.

Seeing that he would get no help from me, he reached forward and opened the screen door. It groaned as he pulled it open, barely hanging on by the one metal hinge that kept it attached to the door frame. He knocked firmly on the door and took a step back, at which point I moved past him and opened it. Mama liked a warning; that was all. She'd never actually get up to answer the door, which was why she never kept it locked.

"Ma?" I called out as I crossed the threshold. I didn't bother to look behind me to see if he'd followed—since we'd made it this far despite my pleas and warnings, I knew he'd be right behind me. "It's Cara! Ma?" I could smell her before I saw her—all my eyes had to do was follow the heavy scent of cigarette smoke and there she was, leaning against the wall, eyeing me with something akin to disdain.

"'Course it's you," she said, blowing smoke out of her mouth. "Who else would it be?"

I tried to smile, tried to think of something nice to say, but both attempts were useless.

"Woulda been nice if you'd called to say you was comin', though."

I could feel Kevin's eyes on me, but didn't turn to meet them. "Ma, I came because I have some news." With anyone else, you'd say good news, or great news, even. With my mom, you portioned everything out in only the information you had to give. "I'm getting married." I extended my arm, my fingers splayed for her to see the gleaming pearl, but she hardly glanced at it before turning her attention back to her
Virginia Slim
.

"I see. And I suppose this here is your fella?" she said.

I nodded, smiling tightly at my husband-to-be.

Kevin acted as if not a thing in the world was wrong as he stepped toward my mom and embraced her.

She laughed, which I'm sure surprised the mess out of both of us.

"He's certainly a…
handsy
thing, ain't he? Say there, handsome, why don't you scoot to the kitchen? There's a nice, cold pitcher of iced tea in the fridge. Cara and I's gonna excuse ourselves to the patio and have us a little talk."

Kevin nodded agreeably and went to do her bidding, because that was the kind of gentleman he was. Not that my mother would appreciate it.

She didn't even wait until we'd reached the backyard, nor did she trouble to lower her voice. "Why'd you go and get
engaged
, huh? What do you want to get married for?"

I sighed. I hadn't expected any better, but it still hurt. "I know you think all men are evil and marriage is a clever ploy of the Enemy, but—"

"What are you talkin' about? I was married, wasn't I?"

"He's a nice man, Mom."

"Oh, I can see that. I can see that from right here." She was craning her neck to look into the kitchen, and I could feel my hackles rising.

"Mom, please. I'm begging you, be nice."

"Nice?" she echoed, with her trademark wide-eyed innocence. "Who said a
thing
about not bein' nice, Darlin'? I'm always nice, baby girl."

Yep, I thought, smiling tightly. Always—to everyone but me, it seemed.

When Kevin slid the door open to join us, he was carrying two glasses of iced tea which he set down on the table. "I'm sorry," he said, "I looked for some lemon to slice up, but couldn't find any."

"Why, aren't you the sweetest thing?" My mom practically purred as she leaned forward and touched his arm. "I'm afraid I need to do some grocery shoppin'."

"I could run out and—"

"No, y'all just got here, I don't wantcha runnin' around and tirin' yourself out. Never you mind, just have a seat here, next to me."

I struggled not to roll my eyes. That was my mom; sweet southern belle to every stranger she met, but a vicious critic where her only daughter was concerned. That summed it up in a neat little package. Suddenly, I desperately wished I'd opened up to Kevin about my mother. If I'd told him, maybe he wouldn't be looking at her like he was eating out of the palm of her hand. Right then, I didn't know who I was more irked at; her, for being her usual charming, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth self, or me, for not warning him it was all an act.

What began then might have looked like small talk to someone who didn't know better— except I did. It was more of an inquisition, but with such sweet aw-shucks eyelash-batting that you'd never know it if you didn't have the same DNA flowing through your veins.

"So, when's the weddin'?" she asked.

"Ah…" Kevin and I exchanged glances, grinning at each other. "We're still talking that one out, but we're thinking soon," he told her.

"And how long have you two known each other, exactly?" She shot me a cutting, sidelong glance. "Cara hasn't mentioned you, but then again, it's not like she's a real regular caller."

Kevin's brow furrowed and I kicked myself. I could only guess what he was thinking, and I longed to turn to him and tell him that he was assuming wrong, that it had nothing to do with him. But I didn't dare risk giving her more ammunition to use against us, so I kept my mouth shut. "Um, it's been a little over six weeks," I admitted.

"Six weeks, huh?" She flicked her cigarette and the ash sailed down to the old, discolored patio. "I might be mistaken, but that's not a real long time, is it?"

"Uh, well—"

I moved beside Kevin and took his hand, squeezing it in a show of support. "You'd known Daddy for about the same amount of time, if memory serves," I said.

Despite the smile on her face, her eyes narrowed, and I knew she would have loved to backhand me if there'd been a chance. "Yeah, and you know how well
that
turned out," she said.

I wanted to turn around and leave right then and there. If not for Kevin's comforting presence beside me, I would have. "Well," I strived to keep my tone light, "I'm not eighteen, either."

"No." She smiled through a haze of smoke. "You're not." She sat back and surveyed the pair of us, her big, fake smile firmly in place. "Soon, you say—after knowing each other for six weeks. Well, I reckon that makes about as much sense as titties on a potted plant."

The baffled look Kevin shot me at that would have made me laugh, under different circumstances. "Mama, please, stop."

"I'm sorry if the truth offends ya, darlin'."

"Ma—"

"Don't let anythin'
I
say bother ya, Cara," she said, her voice implying I should do the exact opposite. "If you're determined to do this thing, I'm not gonna try to stop ya."

"Mrs. Jones—"

"Don't bother, honey," I told Kevin in a terse voice. "For Mama, that's a high compliment."

He gave me an uncertain look before plunging ahead anyway. "I'm sorry that I haven't met you before now, and I can definitely understand your concerns. We haven't known each other very long, but I love your daughter. I promise you I will do everything I can to take care of her and make sure she never wants for anything."

"Well then, I guess that makes it all right, doesn't it?" She flicked her cigarette carelessly as I winced from the sarcasm.

Kevin looked at me, his face questioning, but there was no advice I could give him. There was no way to handle my mama; all you could do was buckle up and ride it out until it was time to go—which, as far as I was concerned, was always the sooner the better.

"You love her, you say? Let me give you a piece of advice: love just don't last. Sure, it seems mighty nice right now, when you've not even known each other long enough to have a good knock-down-drag-out. But when that time comes—and I promise ya, it will—then you'll see how much you
really
love each other. And take it from me, son—Cara's not the easiest person to live with."

My face felt like it was on fire, and I was sure beet red wasn't exactly becoming on me. "I think we should go," I mumbled in my fiancé's direction, wincing as I tried to swallow the hurt.

Kevin was sitting up, straight as a board, and even though he gave me a small nod, his eyes were fixed on my mother. "With all due respect, Mrs. Jones, I'm surprised you'd talk to your daughter like this. We were hoping you'd be happy for us, and want to be a part of our big day, but if not, you could at least not be so critical. If you want Cara to call more, this isn't the way to accomplish it."

I looked at him in surprise. Though my mother had embarrassed me in front of more than one boyfriend, Kevin was the first to ever take up for me. Though part of me wished he hadn't bothered, I couldn't deny that part of me was also very touched.

Mama didn't say anything. She never did, when she knew she'd already made her point. Instead, she looked straight ahead at the tall grass, her leg bouncing as she inhaled on her cigarette.

"Let's go," I whispered again, and this time Kevin stood up. With one more parting glance toward my mother, we walked out together.

***

Things were noticeably quieter on the drive back to my apartment. I turned on the radio and mindlessly flitted through the stations, not really caring what we listened to so long as it covered the obvious silence. There was no denying that Kevin was upset. Though he didn't react to frustration the way I was used to, with yelling or cursing, it was clear in his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, in the way he was studiously looking at the road in front of him and avoiding my eyes, that he wasn't his usual happy self.

I tolerated it for as long as I could, sneaking little glances at him out of the corner of my eye. Every time I saw his stiff posture, the hard line of his mouth, the knots in my tummy tightened just a bit more. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and shut off the radio, leaning back into my seat with a loud sigh. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Sorry for what?" he asked, his voice gruff.

"She's my mother. There's really no excuse I can make for her, and I'm sorry that she made you uncomfortable." I glanced across to see if he was listening to me and nervously licked my lips. "I kind of thought something like this would happen. That's why I didn't want to go, to tell you the truth."