That time, Jake’s “I know” was a lot more disapproving.
“I just don’t get it. Angus is on pins and needles, waiting for her to figure out what she’s doing. Warren’s started hinting that he needs some kind of financial support in order to stay in her life. And Iunderstandit’s her life. I accept that most, if not all of this, is none of our business.”
“No. It’s not.”
My turn to say nothing. Like mother like son? Ouch.
Jake said finally, “You care. You’re concerned. That’s understandable. Especially given Nat’s track record. But we don’t know that there’s anything to worry about yet. She’s still at the filling-out-compatibility-quizzes stage.” He added grimly, “And she hasn’t decided to cut either Warren or Angus loose yet.”
“Is that the good news?”
“In my experience, yes.”
Jake had a wealth of experience I preferred not to dwell on.
I shook my head, read: “How good are you at keeping secrets?Natalie says she’s great, which proves she’s delusional. Mr. X saysexcellent.”
Jake and I exchanged looks.
It was dark as we pulled through the electrified gates of Somewhereshire, our two-story, pseudo-Tudor mini mansion in Porter Ranch. I’d grown up here, living a pleasantly oblivious and largely self-absorbed adolescence between walls of cream-colored stucco and artfully placed black half timbers. The McMansion possessed steeply-pitched roofs and a quantity of pretty windows. There was a cobblestoned driveway and large front and backyards cultivated to resemble English-cottage gardens, despite the reality that we lived in a state of perennial drought. Literally.
Anyway, home sweet home for the last year and change.Changebeing the operative word in my life and Jake’s.
The electrified gates glided opened, and Jake’s Honda skimmed up the cobbled, circular drive. The house lights swung into view, glowing in cheery welcome.
Jake said very casually, “About what I was saying earlier.”
“Hmm?” I looked up from the disturbing pages and pages of Natalie’s dating-game answers.
I mean, what the hell?
Do you believe in sharing everything with each other?
Natalie: Yes.
Mr. X: No.
I sighed. Tuned back in to hear Jake’s careful, “Remember last year in London when you were saying how much you wished we could just have a quiet Christmas together?”
“And we flew home early? Yes. Of course. Thank you again for that, by the way.”
Not that the previous year had ended up being quite the Christmas I’d imagined.
The automatic door rose with near-processional ponderousness, and we zipped into the garage.
Jake turned off the engine, and faced me. “What if we drove up to Basking this evening and spent the weekend at the ranch?”
I scrutinized him through the gloom. “You mean spend Christmas at Pine Shadow?”
He nodded.
“Justus?”
“Just us.”
I listened to the sound of the engine ticking over—and Scout losing his mind inside the house.
“You’re serious?”
