Accidental honeymoon, p.22
Accidental Honeymoon, page 22
reemerged in time to catch the tail end of the conversation.
“Would you like a tour of the grounds?”
“Definitely,” Monica’s mom assured her, “but tomorrow
when my legs are fresher. Right now, I can’t wait to hear all
about the wedding. Have you set a date?”
No, they had not, and Monica could see Ray becoming
agitated as she tried to answer. “November sixteenth.”
She’d plucked the date from her memory, having made
note of it as being the absolute latest they could tie the knot
before their license expired. Monica watched as her mom
pulled out her phone, her brow creasing.
“That’s a Monday. Who gets married on a Monday?”
“Weekends are the busiest time for tourists,” Ray
explained smoothly as she opened the door to the kitchen.
“Would you like to see what we’ve done with the old
farmhouse?”
I sure would, Monica thought. She braced for whatever she
might find, reminding herself that anything would be good
enough for now.
“Oh, yes.” Her mom placed a hand on Monica’s shoulder.
“Did you work on it together?”
“I let Ray handle it,” Monica replied hastily. Not that she
wanted to totally throw her fiancée under the bus, but if it
looked terrible inside, she didn’t want her mom to become
suspicious or anything. Better to make it clear the house was
all Ray’s doing.
“Well,” her mom said in a confidential tone, low enough
that only Monica could hear “I hope this place suits you
more than your last one did. The only room that had even a
spark of personality to it was the bedroom.”
As her mom slipped into the house, Monica’s eyes grew
huge.
The bedroom?
F uck.
She and Ray could keep up the charade that they were a
loving couple while they were outside, but her mother wasn’t
dumb. As soon as she saw their separate bedrooms, she’d
figure out in a heartbeat that something was up.
“The bedroom,” Monica hissed the moment she caught
Ray’s attention. “She wants to see our bedroom.”
“We need to distract her.” Ray disappeared into the
kitchen. A second later, she reemerged with a huge ball of
white fur in her arms. She opened her arms, and Mr. Flu es
dropped to the ground and made a dash for the bushes.
Monica’s mouth fell open. Had Ray sacrificed her cat as a
distraction?
“Oh no! The cat’s gotten out.” Ray called out in an
exaggerated tone.
“Mom, help!” Monica summoned the same level of fake
drama as a vaudeville damsel being tied to the railroad
tracks.
“Mr. Flu es?” Monica’s mom reappeared in the
doorway. “Oh dear. I think I see him under the bushes along
the fence.”
Yeah, no shit he was under the bushes. As her mother
scurried out to look for the cat, Monica was about to give
that infuriating fiancée of hers a piece of her mind when Ray
whispered, “Stall her. Five minutes and I’ll have the
bedroom fixed.” Then she marched o without giving any
indication of what her plan involved. Time travel? Magic?
It took fifteen minutes to round up the unruly feline, who
showed zero interest in giving up his new life in the great
outdoors. When he’d finally been cornered, Monica grasped
the squirming, cobweb-covered beast tightly to her chest
and followed her mom inside. When she had a chance to get
Ray alone, she was going to throttle the woman.
About five steps into the kitchen, all thoughts of killing
Ray had vanished. Monica looked around in awe, barely
recognizing it.
Her mom gave an approving nod as she scanned the
freshly whitewashed cabinets and the newly sanded and
oiled butcher block countertop with a silver vase of fresh-cut
flowers resting on top. “This fiancée of yours has amazing
taste.”
Yes, she does.
It wasn’t only the kitchen that had been transformed
during the seventy-two hours Monica had been away. There
was a charming maple hutch in the dining room with a
matching table surrounded by six ladder-back chairs. In the
living room, the single old couch had been replaced with an
overstu ed sofa and loveseat that looked softer than clouds.
An antique tea cart served as one of the end tables, and a
plump ottoman took the place of a co ee table, which
Monica had no doubt would double as a cat bed of epic
proportions for spoiled Mr. Flu es. In fact, the way a
blanket had been folded and left on top of it led Monica to
suspect Ray had set it up that way precisely for that reason.
Maybe she wasn’t such a cat hater after all.
By now, Monica was dying to see upstairs, but
remembering her mission to buy Ray time, she o ered,
“How about a nice cup of tea?”
“That sounds perfect.” Returning to the kitchen, her
mom groaned as she took a seat at the sturdy island that had
taken the place of the old Formica-topped table. “Oh, these
old bones.”
An electric kettle was plugged in beside the refrigerator.
Monica stared at the cabinets, wishing she had X-ray vision
so she wouldn’t have to guess where Ray had stored the
mugs. And the tea. After a quick eeny, meeny, miny, moe,
Monica selected the cupboard where she would’ve put the
mugs, the one in between the kettle and the sink, and was
surprised to find when she opened it that Ray had been
similarly inclined.
“So,” her mom said as Monica carried the mug over,
“how many people are you inviting to the wedding?”
Monica had to clutch the mug with both hands to keep
from dropping it. “We hadn’t really thought that far ahead.
Small, though.”
It was at this point that Ray reentered the kitchen, giving
Monica two thumbs up. Whatever she’d been doing upstairs,
the space was now prepped for Monica’s mom to see.
“What’s small?”
“The wedding guest list,” Monica answered.
Monica’s mom crossed her arms. “Define small.”
“Ten?” Ray responded.
At the exact same moment, Monica said, “Fifty, tops.”
“Fifty?” Ray looked like she might pass out.
“Fifty!” Her mother’s shrill voice was eardrum-busting
level. “There’s no way we can cull that many family
members from the guest list. You’ll start a feud worse than
the Hatfields and McCoys.”
“Now, Mom. We want to keep this cozy.” Like, no guests at
all, Monica added silently.
Her mom swiveled in her seat in search of an ally. “What
do you think, Ray?”
Though she tried to hide her face behind the mug of tea
she’d poured for herself, Ray couldn’t disguise her “deer in
headlights” expression. “I don’t have much experience with
family.”
“Well, let me tell you,” her mom said, “family and cozy
go hand in hand. The more the merrier when it comes to
Greeks. We’re such a peaceful people.”
Yes, because no one had ever heard of Helen and the
Trojan War.
Her mother continued tutting. “There’s no way we can
have less than three-hundred and fifty.”
Poor Ray. Not only was her chin dimple glowing, but her
neck was getting little red blotches all over, and Monica was
pretty sure if her eyes kept boggling like that, they were
going to pop out of her head completely.
“Stop, Mom,” Monica urged. “I think we’ve discussed the
guest list enough for one day.”
“You’re right,” her mom agreed, though something about
her tone made Monica not trust her. “We have more
important things to consider. Like bridesmaids. I can’t see a
way for you to have less than a dozen.”
“A dozen?” It was Monica’s turn to have her eyes nearly
pop out of her skull. “But, Ray doesn’t have any family, so I
think we should skip bridesmaids.”
Ray hopped up, moving in the direction of the kettle. She
either planned to make more tea, or perhaps she intended to
slip out the back door, never to return. Monica wouldn’t
blame her in the least.
“What about groomsmen?” Her mom demanded. “I know
Ray’s female, but if she doesn’t have her own bridesmaids
picked out, there’s always groomsmen.”
“A dozen of them? I mean, I’m not a recluse, but I don’t
think I could come up with that many people, men and
women combined, that I’d want to ask to be in my wedding.”
Ray o ered an apologetic shrug. “Sorry.”
Her mom tapped her fingers on the kitchen table. “I know
what we can do. We’ll reach out to the Chicago
Panagiotopoulos’s. They have a ton of boys in that family.
You two wouldn’t be opposed to them, right? It’ll only add
another hundred to the guest list.” Not waiting for input, she
barreled on. “This family hasn’t had a proper reunion in over
a decade. No time like the present, and isn’t that what
weddings are for? The joining of family to celebrate your
love?”
Ray had her back to them, but Monica could see the
tensing of her shoulders. Much to Ray’s credit, she was able
to hold it together enough to finish making her tea and
retake her seat. It looked like plain black tea in her mug, but
Monica wouldn’t have judged her in the least if she’d put a
shot of something stronger in it.
It was clear Monica’s mom had her head in the clouds as
she reveled in planning the family event of the century. “For
the junior bridesmaids—”
“Are those understudies in case one falls ill?” Ray asked
in all seriousness, leading Monica to wonder how many big
weddings Ray had attended, if any at all.
“You act like you’ve never been to a wedding before,”
Monica chastised.
“Not royal weddings, I haven’t. I’ve only been to normal
people weddings, like at city hall or on a beach.”
Her mom hooted. “I like you, Ray. This is going to be so
much fun. For the ceremony, I’m picturing—”
“We already have a location, Mom,” Monica interrupted.
“That’s right,” Ray added, looking relieved finally to have
something to contribute to the conversation. “The kit just
arrived, so I’ll be putting up the gazebo next week.”
“Oh, a gazebo.” Monica’s mom clapped her hands
together. “I can picture it now, overlooking a pond, with a
pair of swans.”
“We don’t have a pond,” Monica said.
“Or swans,” Ray added.
“That’s easily solved, though, right?” Her mom directed
the statement to Ray. “You’re so handy. Look how much
you’ve accomplished with the grapes.”
“Uh…” Ray answered, which under the circumstances was
not a terrible response.
By this point, her mom wasn’t really looking for
responses so much as a sounding board for what she clearly
considered brilliant ideas. “Do you know who we can hire for
hayrides?”
Monica shook her head, but Ray, perhaps hoping to score
a point or two for the pond disappointment, o ered, “I could
ask Sally.”
Monica’s mom’s face lit up much brighter than a possible
hayride seemed to merit. “I have the perfect idea. We should
set up Slip N Slides for the kids so the adults don’t have to
watch over them.”
Monica stared, aghast. “This is a wedding, not a
carnival.”
“The wedding’s in November,” Ray said gently. “It’s
pretty cold by then.”
“Right. That’s o the list.” Monica’s mom made an X in
the air with a finger. “That doesn’t mean we couldn’t look
into bouncy castles, cotton candy machines—”
“I think we have enough ideas for now.” Monica rose, her
chair scooting across the floor. “How about we continue with
the house tour?”
There were four bedrooms upstairs, and when Ray opened
the first door, Monica could see it had been set up as an
o ce, with a large, heavy wooden desk and a leather swivel
chair. Barrister bookcases lined one wall. If Monica hadn’t
known better, she would’ve thought she had wandered into
the private study of some nineteenth century country
gentleman. There was even a pair of hunting prints on the
wall.
“Monica’s o ce is across the hall,” Ray explained. “I’ve
put your bags in there for the time being, Mom. Once we
know where you’re staying, we can have them brought
over.”
“Where I’m staying?” The expression on her mom’s face
made it seem like she was trying to translate something
from a foreign language. “In your guest room, of course. Is
that this one?”
“No,” Ray called out as Monica’s mom reached for the
doorknob of the room nearest to her. “That’s, uh, our
room.”
“Look at that bed,” her mom squealed, barging into the
room before Monica had a chance to see. “It’s fit for a
queen.”
When Monica finally caught a glimpse, her heart caught
in her throat. The room was beyond anything she’d
imagined. It was feminine without being too girly, and
elegant without being too stu y. If Monica could’ve designed
her perfect bedroom, this would’ve been it.
“Is that an antique highboy?” Her mom plucked at
Monica’s sleeve. “And will you look at this painting?”
But Monica couldn’t tear her eyes away from the
centerpiece of the room, an intricately carved cherry four-
post bed with what seemed to be a handmade lace canopy
suspended above.
“What do you think?” Ray asked, her front tooth biting
down on her bottom lip.
“I think,” Monica’s mom answered before her daughter
had the chance, “that I need to excuse myself to find the
ladies room after all that tea.”
“Down the hall,” Ray directed. Once she’d gone, Ray
picked up one of her T-shirts from the floor. “Oh, sorry.”
“It’s your room,” Monica said with a shrug. “You can
leave clothes on the floor if you want. My only question is
how did you get all of my stu in here so fast?”
Ray gave her an odd look, half shyness and half
something Monica couldn’t place. “This is your room. I
must’ve dropped the shirt when I was moving my clothes in
here.”
“Mine?” Monica whispered, unable to comprehend that
she’d be allowed to sleep in a space so beautiful.
It was perfect for her in every way, the stu of dreams.
After years of sharing a living space with women who
insisted on their own style, Monica finally had a space that
could’ve been plucked from her dreams.
But in reality, the contents had all come from Ray’s
storage pod. This was her stu , not Monica’s, yet Ray had
clearly given her the very best. As she appraised the bed, the
other furniture, and the artwork on the walls, all Monica
could wonder was why.
C H A P T E R S I X T E E N
As she listened to the chatting coming from the hallway,
Ray realized she’d never known how truly exhausting
family could be. There had been nonstop talking for at least
six hours on everything from wedding plans to the state of
each cousin’s health in intricate detail, and even though
Monica had said she needed to go to bed twenty minutes ago,
she and her mother were still at it. What could they possibly
have to talk about at ten o’clock at night that couldn’t wait
for morning?
“Good night, Mom.” Finally, Monica slipped into the
bedroom, closing the door. When it clicked shut, she leaned
her back against it, sinking down several inches like she’d
had the air let out of her. “Oh, thank God. I thought I would
never escape.”
Ray felt for her, even as she marveled at how much
stamina she’d shown. As soon as Helen had arrived,
Monica’s demeanor had shifted, as if she’d become a
tightrope walker constantly balancing her own opinions with
what her mom undeniably wanted to hear.
“Now what?” Ray whispered, eyeing the door and feeling
more than a little grateful for Monica’s body barricading it.
“Do you figure if I wait an hour before I go downstairs,
that’ll be long enough?”
“Go downstairs for what?” Monica whispered back.
“To sleep.” Ray pointed to the canopy bed. “Afraid we
“Would you like a tour of the grounds?”
“Definitely,” Monica’s mom assured her, “but tomorrow
when my legs are fresher. Right now, I can’t wait to hear all
about the wedding. Have you set a date?”
No, they had not, and Monica could see Ray becoming
agitated as she tried to answer. “November sixteenth.”
She’d plucked the date from her memory, having made
note of it as being the absolute latest they could tie the knot
before their license expired. Monica watched as her mom
pulled out her phone, her brow creasing.
“That’s a Monday. Who gets married on a Monday?”
“Weekends are the busiest time for tourists,” Ray
explained smoothly as she opened the door to the kitchen.
“Would you like to see what we’ve done with the old
farmhouse?”
I sure would, Monica thought. She braced for whatever she
might find, reminding herself that anything would be good
enough for now.
“Oh, yes.” Her mom placed a hand on Monica’s shoulder.
“Did you work on it together?”
“I let Ray handle it,” Monica replied hastily. Not that she
wanted to totally throw her fiancée under the bus, but if it
looked terrible inside, she didn’t want her mom to become
suspicious or anything. Better to make it clear the house was
all Ray’s doing.
“Well,” her mom said in a confidential tone, low enough
that only Monica could hear “I hope this place suits you
more than your last one did. The only room that had even a
spark of personality to it was the bedroom.”
As her mom slipped into the house, Monica’s eyes grew
huge.
The bedroom?
F uck.
She and Ray could keep up the charade that they were a
loving couple while they were outside, but her mother wasn’t
dumb. As soon as she saw their separate bedrooms, she’d
figure out in a heartbeat that something was up.
“The bedroom,” Monica hissed the moment she caught
Ray’s attention. “She wants to see our bedroom.”
“We need to distract her.” Ray disappeared into the
kitchen. A second later, she reemerged with a huge ball of
white fur in her arms. She opened her arms, and Mr. Flu es
dropped to the ground and made a dash for the bushes.
Monica’s mouth fell open. Had Ray sacrificed her cat as a
distraction?
“Oh no! The cat’s gotten out.” Ray called out in an
exaggerated tone.
“Mom, help!” Monica summoned the same level of fake
drama as a vaudeville damsel being tied to the railroad
tracks.
“Mr. Flu es?” Monica’s mom reappeared in the
doorway. “Oh dear. I think I see him under the bushes along
the fence.”
Yeah, no shit he was under the bushes. As her mother
scurried out to look for the cat, Monica was about to give
that infuriating fiancée of hers a piece of her mind when Ray
whispered, “Stall her. Five minutes and I’ll have the
bedroom fixed.” Then she marched o without giving any
indication of what her plan involved. Time travel? Magic?
It took fifteen minutes to round up the unruly feline, who
showed zero interest in giving up his new life in the great
outdoors. When he’d finally been cornered, Monica grasped
the squirming, cobweb-covered beast tightly to her chest
and followed her mom inside. When she had a chance to get
Ray alone, she was going to throttle the woman.
About five steps into the kitchen, all thoughts of killing
Ray had vanished. Monica looked around in awe, barely
recognizing it.
Her mom gave an approving nod as she scanned the
freshly whitewashed cabinets and the newly sanded and
oiled butcher block countertop with a silver vase of fresh-cut
flowers resting on top. “This fiancée of yours has amazing
taste.”
Yes, she does.
It wasn’t only the kitchen that had been transformed
during the seventy-two hours Monica had been away. There
was a charming maple hutch in the dining room with a
matching table surrounded by six ladder-back chairs. In the
living room, the single old couch had been replaced with an
overstu ed sofa and loveseat that looked softer than clouds.
An antique tea cart served as one of the end tables, and a
plump ottoman took the place of a co ee table, which
Monica had no doubt would double as a cat bed of epic
proportions for spoiled Mr. Flu es. In fact, the way a
blanket had been folded and left on top of it led Monica to
suspect Ray had set it up that way precisely for that reason.
Maybe she wasn’t such a cat hater after all.
By now, Monica was dying to see upstairs, but
remembering her mission to buy Ray time, she o ered,
“How about a nice cup of tea?”
“That sounds perfect.” Returning to the kitchen, her
mom groaned as she took a seat at the sturdy island that had
taken the place of the old Formica-topped table. “Oh, these
old bones.”
An electric kettle was plugged in beside the refrigerator.
Monica stared at the cabinets, wishing she had X-ray vision
so she wouldn’t have to guess where Ray had stored the
mugs. And the tea. After a quick eeny, meeny, miny, moe,
Monica selected the cupboard where she would’ve put the
mugs, the one in between the kettle and the sink, and was
surprised to find when she opened it that Ray had been
similarly inclined.
“So,” her mom said as Monica carried the mug over,
“how many people are you inviting to the wedding?”
Monica had to clutch the mug with both hands to keep
from dropping it. “We hadn’t really thought that far ahead.
Small, though.”
It was at this point that Ray reentered the kitchen, giving
Monica two thumbs up. Whatever she’d been doing upstairs,
the space was now prepped for Monica’s mom to see.
“What’s small?”
“The wedding guest list,” Monica answered.
Monica’s mom crossed her arms. “Define small.”
“Ten?” Ray responded.
At the exact same moment, Monica said, “Fifty, tops.”
“Fifty?” Ray looked like she might pass out.
“Fifty!” Her mother’s shrill voice was eardrum-busting
level. “There’s no way we can cull that many family
members from the guest list. You’ll start a feud worse than
the Hatfields and McCoys.”
“Now, Mom. We want to keep this cozy.” Like, no guests at
all, Monica added silently.
Her mom swiveled in her seat in search of an ally. “What
do you think, Ray?”
Though she tried to hide her face behind the mug of tea
she’d poured for herself, Ray couldn’t disguise her “deer in
headlights” expression. “I don’t have much experience with
family.”
“Well, let me tell you,” her mom said, “family and cozy
go hand in hand. The more the merrier when it comes to
Greeks. We’re such a peaceful people.”
Yes, because no one had ever heard of Helen and the
Trojan War.
Her mother continued tutting. “There’s no way we can
have less than three-hundred and fifty.”
Poor Ray. Not only was her chin dimple glowing, but her
neck was getting little red blotches all over, and Monica was
pretty sure if her eyes kept boggling like that, they were
going to pop out of her head completely.
“Stop, Mom,” Monica urged. “I think we’ve discussed the
guest list enough for one day.”
“You’re right,” her mom agreed, though something about
her tone made Monica not trust her. “We have more
important things to consider. Like bridesmaids. I can’t see a
way for you to have less than a dozen.”
“A dozen?” It was Monica’s turn to have her eyes nearly
pop out of her skull. “But, Ray doesn’t have any family, so I
think we should skip bridesmaids.”
Ray hopped up, moving in the direction of the kettle. She
either planned to make more tea, or perhaps she intended to
slip out the back door, never to return. Monica wouldn’t
blame her in the least.
“What about groomsmen?” Her mom demanded. “I know
Ray’s female, but if she doesn’t have her own bridesmaids
picked out, there’s always groomsmen.”
“A dozen of them? I mean, I’m not a recluse, but I don’t
think I could come up with that many people, men and
women combined, that I’d want to ask to be in my wedding.”
Ray o ered an apologetic shrug. “Sorry.”
Her mom tapped her fingers on the kitchen table. “I know
what we can do. We’ll reach out to the Chicago
Panagiotopoulos’s. They have a ton of boys in that family.
You two wouldn’t be opposed to them, right? It’ll only add
another hundred to the guest list.” Not waiting for input, she
barreled on. “This family hasn’t had a proper reunion in over
a decade. No time like the present, and isn’t that what
weddings are for? The joining of family to celebrate your
love?”
Ray had her back to them, but Monica could see the
tensing of her shoulders. Much to Ray’s credit, she was able
to hold it together enough to finish making her tea and
retake her seat. It looked like plain black tea in her mug, but
Monica wouldn’t have judged her in the least if she’d put a
shot of something stronger in it.
It was clear Monica’s mom had her head in the clouds as
she reveled in planning the family event of the century. “For
the junior bridesmaids—”
“Are those understudies in case one falls ill?” Ray asked
in all seriousness, leading Monica to wonder how many big
weddings Ray had attended, if any at all.
“You act like you’ve never been to a wedding before,”
Monica chastised.
“Not royal weddings, I haven’t. I’ve only been to normal
people weddings, like at city hall or on a beach.”
Her mom hooted. “I like you, Ray. This is going to be so
much fun. For the ceremony, I’m picturing—”
“We already have a location, Mom,” Monica interrupted.
“That’s right,” Ray added, looking relieved finally to have
something to contribute to the conversation. “The kit just
arrived, so I’ll be putting up the gazebo next week.”
“Oh, a gazebo.” Monica’s mom clapped her hands
together. “I can picture it now, overlooking a pond, with a
pair of swans.”
“We don’t have a pond,” Monica said.
“Or swans,” Ray added.
“That’s easily solved, though, right?” Her mom directed
the statement to Ray. “You’re so handy. Look how much
you’ve accomplished with the grapes.”
“Uh…” Ray answered, which under the circumstances was
not a terrible response.
By this point, her mom wasn’t really looking for
responses so much as a sounding board for what she clearly
considered brilliant ideas. “Do you know who we can hire for
hayrides?”
Monica shook her head, but Ray, perhaps hoping to score
a point or two for the pond disappointment, o ered, “I could
ask Sally.”
Monica’s mom’s face lit up much brighter than a possible
hayride seemed to merit. “I have the perfect idea. We should
set up Slip N Slides for the kids so the adults don’t have to
watch over them.”
Monica stared, aghast. “This is a wedding, not a
carnival.”
“The wedding’s in November,” Ray said gently. “It’s
pretty cold by then.”
“Right. That’s o the list.” Monica’s mom made an X in
the air with a finger. “That doesn’t mean we couldn’t look
into bouncy castles, cotton candy machines—”
“I think we have enough ideas for now.” Monica rose, her
chair scooting across the floor. “How about we continue with
the house tour?”
There were four bedrooms upstairs, and when Ray opened
the first door, Monica could see it had been set up as an
o ce, with a large, heavy wooden desk and a leather swivel
chair. Barrister bookcases lined one wall. If Monica hadn’t
known better, she would’ve thought she had wandered into
the private study of some nineteenth century country
gentleman. There was even a pair of hunting prints on the
wall.
“Monica’s o ce is across the hall,” Ray explained. “I’ve
put your bags in there for the time being, Mom. Once we
know where you’re staying, we can have them brought
over.”
“Where I’m staying?” The expression on her mom’s face
made it seem like she was trying to translate something
from a foreign language. “In your guest room, of course. Is
that this one?”
“No,” Ray called out as Monica’s mom reached for the
doorknob of the room nearest to her. “That’s, uh, our
room.”
“Look at that bed,” her mom squealed, barging into the
room before Monica had a chance to see. “It’s fit for a
queen.”
When Monica finally caught a glimpse, her heart caught
in her throat. The room was beyond anything she’d
imagined. It was feminine without being too girly, and
elegant without being too stu y. If Monica could’ve designed
her perfect bedroom, this would’ve been it.
“Is that an antique highboy?” Her mom plucked at
Monica’s sleeve. “And will you look at this painting?”
But Monica couldn’t tear her eyes away from the
centerpiece of the room, an intricately carved cherry four-
post bed with what seemed to be a handmade lace canopy
suspended above.
“What do you think?” Ray asked, her front tooth biting
down on her bottom lip.
“I think,” Monica’s mom answered before her daughter
had the chance, “that I need to excuse myself to find the
ladies room after all that tea.”
“Down the hall,” Ray directed. Once she’d gone, Ray
picked up one of her T-shirts from the floor. “Oh, sorry.”
“It’s your room,” Monica said with a shrug. “You can
leave clothes on the floor if you want. My only question is
how did you get all of my stu in here so fast?”
Ray gave her an odd look, half shyness and half
something Monica couldn’t place. “This is your room. I
must’ve dropped the shirt when I was moving my clothes in
here.”
“Mine?” Monica whispered, unable to comprehend that
she’d be allowed to sleep in a space so beautiful.
It was perfect for her in every way, the stu of dreams.
After years of sharing a living space with women who
insisted on their own style, Monica finally had a space that
could’ve been plucked from her dreams.
But in reality, the contents had all come from Ray’s
storage pod. This was her stu , not Monica’s, yet Ray had
clearly given her the very best. As she appraised the bed, the
other furniture, and the artwork on the walls, all Monica
could wonder was why.
C H A P T E R S I X T E E N
As she listened to the chatting coming from the hallway,
Ray realized she’d never known how truly exhausting
family could be. There had been nonstop talking for at least
six hours on everything from wedding plans to the state of
each cousin’s health in intricate detail, and even though
Monica had said she needed to go to bed twenty minutes ago,
she and her mother were still at it. What could they possibly
have to talk about at ten o’clock at night that couldn’t wait
for morning?
“Good night, Mom.” Finally, Monica slipped into the
bedroom, closing the door. When it clicked shut, she leaned
her back against it, sinking down several inches like she’d
had the air let out of her. “Oh, thank God. I thought I would
never escape.”
Ray felt for her, even as she marveled at how much
stamina she’d shown. As soon as Helen had arrived,
Monica’s demeanor had shifted, as if she’d become a
tightrope walker constantly balancing her own opinions with
what her mom undeniably wanted to hear.
“Now what?” Ray whispered, eyeing the door and feeling
more than a little grateful for Monica’s body barricading it.
“Do you figure if I wait an hour before I go downstairs,
that’ll be long enough?”
“Go downstairs for what?” Monica whispered back.
“To sleep.” Ray pointed to the canopy bed. “Afraid we
