Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“Archer Cox.”
“My husband says you prefer to be called Cox.” Her hand falls into her lap. “Is that correct?”
“It is. Jaye’s really the only one who’s ever called me Archer.” He places a hand lovingly on my thigh. “I prefer to keep it that way if possible, ma’am.”
“Like I’m the only one who can call you Mags,” Dad warmly reminds on a gentle nudge to her side.
She giggles at his flirting and blushes the tiniest bit.
I don’t how he does it. I don’t know how he can just calm and charm any situation he’s in. My uncle Teddy can too. Come to think of it…so could Grandpa. I wonder why that gene just skipped me?!
“So, I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a couple appetizers,” Mom nonchalantly announces. “Their stuffed mushrooms are superb, plus they’re great for protecting brain health and promoting healthy cholesterol levels, which I think is safe to conclude that that’s something that everyone at the table can benefit from.” Her stare lingers a little too long at me revealing who that statement was truly intended for. “I assume you’re not allergic to them. Given that Chris, Jaye’s fiancé-”
“Deceased fiancé,” I quietly correct.
“-wasn’t allergic to them, I can’t imagine that whoever she replaces him with would be.”
Yup. So far…about on par for what I expected.
“I have not replaced Chris, nor would I ever try to replace Chris, Mom.” My hand slides on top of Archer’s for support. “I’ve simply moved forward.”
“I know, sugar.” She swiftly states with an untrusting smile prior to meeting Archer’s stare. “Forgive my…poor word choice.”
My boyfriend flashes a polite grin on a small nod.
“You two feel free to order whatever your heart desires. It’s on us.” Mom doesn’t pause long enough for a rebuttal. “We’re just so excited to meet you and get to know you better.”
“Agreed,” Dad lovingly echoes and grabs his glass of wine.
“Obviously, we’re having red – it’ll pair better with the steak – and I know my daughter will probably order a glass of Moscato even though it’s riddled with sugar she shouldn’t be having.” Her head tilts in a lecturing nature. “Chris was always great about keeping an eye on how many glasses she had to keep the extra weight off-”
“Mom.”
“Mags.”
“What?” my mother scoffs as if she doesn’t understand what’s just left her mouth. “I’m simply explaining to the new person at the table our family’s patterns and routines.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, you’re informing me of things I already know about your daughter – her preference for Moscato – and trying to assign me a task that is not yours to assign.”
Her jaw cracks a little lower and so does my own.
“Jaye is more than just her body type or how she looks or does not look in certain things. She’s her own person. With her own food preferences – something I don’t always agree with-”
“Skittles are better than M&Ms.”
“No, they’re not,” Dad and Archer state in unison.
Who do you agree with?
“Nonetheless,” he resumes speaking in a calm tone, “I don’t make choices for her. She makes them for herself. And I support them because that’s what a real friend, a real partner does, ma’am. Not criticize or control.”
I’m not entirely sure who looks the most surprised among us. Me, Dad, or the woman who I’m still learning to stand up to the way he effortlessly is.
Thankfully, the waiter arrives to welcome us to the restaurant, explain the unique setup of their open kitchen which allows the consumer to see directly into how their food is being handled, and grab our drink orders. I opt for having water rather than ordering something that could be used to start World War Boyfriend while Archer does the same simply announcing he’s just not in the mood for alcohol.
Between you and me? I kind of think he wants to be sober so he doesn’t accidentally say some rude shit my mother probably needs to hear.
Almost the second he leaves, the mushrooms arrive.
My parents help themselves first yet when I go to reach for one Mom snips, “So, your new boyfriend doesn’t like mushrooms.”
“Or,” Dad interjects before I can, “he’s doing the well trained thing where he allows everyone else at the table to go ahead of him.”
“Chris never-”
“I am not Chris, ma’am.”
The statement startles her and damn near causes me to drop the mushroom off the side of my plate.
And here I thought I was going to have to be the one to say it.
“You’re right,” she quickly caves on an innocent surrender of the hands. “You’re absolutely right. I have got to let that go. I need to get to know you.”
This feels like a setup.
A setup that’s going to end with us not eating steak and having to stop for dinner a Gloria’s Grande Burger on the way home.
“Why don’t you tell us all about yourself? Where’d you grow up?” What do you do for a living? The rushing of words comes to an abrupt halt. “Oh! Oh! Better yet, why don’t you start with how you two met? I know all about the one involving Chris wooing Jaye with concert tickets to Fall Out Boy and Green Day and Flu Fighters-”