“What do you think so far?” Sean asked, glancing over at me with that boyish smile I’d fallen in love with.
“It’s beautiful,” I admitted. “Not what I expected.”
“Wait until you see where we’re going.”
Sean turned off the main road, and the character of the houses shifted dramatically. We were heading towards what I imagined was the edge of San Ramon’s developed land, where the properties grew larger, the sense of seclusion morepronounced. An ornate, wrought-iron gate, flanked by impressive stone pillars, soon came into view and the Maserati glided to a smooth halt.
A uniformed guard emerged from a small, perfectly built gatehouse that looked more like a miniature country cottage. He recognized Sean, a broad smile spreading across his face. “Good afternoon, Mr. McCrae,” he said. With a discreet press of a button, the heavy gates began to swing open.
We drove further into the exclusive development, a private enclave of custom-built homes, each an expansive and elegant statement on its large, secluded lot. And beyond them, as if this was the last bastion of luxury before the wilderness, I could clearly see the mountains, their rugged beauty a stunning counterpoint to the cultivated opulence surrounding us.
“Here we are,” Sean said, turning into a circular driveway in front of a sprawling Mediterranean-style home. “Are you nervous?”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Oh my god, yes! I’m meeting my future in-laws. No pressure there.”
Sean reached over, taking my hand. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. My parents are great people. They don’t judge. They’re gonna love you.”
The front door opened before we even reached it, and I got my first glimpse of Sean’s mother. Theresa McCrae was petite with dark reddish-brown hair streaked with silver, and her warm smile immediately put me at ease.
“You must be Beth,” she said, pulling me into a hug that smelled of cinnamon. “We’ve been so excited to meet you.”
The house was noisy and bustling, nothing like the formal, silent halls of my parents’ estate. Sean’s brother Alec, who Sean had explained was technically his half-brother, was there from Seattle with his wife Lumen and their children: a tenyear old, Evanne, from Alec’s previous relationship and a teenage girl who hung back, watching me with curious eyes. Sean had also explained to me ahead of time that Alec and Lumen had adopted Soleil as a teenager from the foster care system.
Patrick McCrae, “Da” as I was told everyone called him, rose from his chair in the living room. He was tall with ginger curls now liberally streaked with gray, and light blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His Scottish accent was more pronounced than I’d expected, and it was a warm reminder of Glasgow.
“So this is the lass who’s stolen my son’s heart,” he said, giving me a warm handshake that turned into a hug. “Welcome to the family, Beth.”
The sincerity in his voice brought unexpected tears to my eyes. I blinked them away quickly, smiling. “Thank you. It’s wonderful to meet you all.”
“I need to check on the roast,” Theresa announced, heading back towards what I assumed was the kitchen.
Sean laughed, turning to me. “Mom always goes overboard and cooks for an army. She’ll make us take home Tupperware containers full of food for a week. You watch.”
“You can hire someone to help you with that cooking, you know,” Patrick called after her. “We’re not exactly broke here.”
Theresa turned, hands on her hips. “Absolutely not! I love cooking for my family.”
The exchange made me pause. My family had a hired cook. And a housekeeper. And a gardener. The realization that I didn’t know how to cook suddenly hit me. I’d been brought up with servants handling such things. But watching Theresa’s obvious joy in caring for her family, I felt a strange pull to participate.
“Can I help?” I asked, surprising myself as much as everyone else.
Theresa’s face lit up. “Of course you can, dear. Come on back.”
I followed her into a kitchen that was both enormous and homey. Unlike the industrial, restaurant-quality kitchen at my parents’ house, this one was clearly designed for family gatherings. A massive island in the center was covered with various dishes in progress, and the smell of roasting meat and herbs filled the air.
“I should warn you,” I said, washing my hands at the sink. “I don’t actually know how to cook.”
Theresa laughed, handing me an apron. “Well, there’s no time like the present to learn. Why don’t you start by chopping these vegetables?”
I took the knife she offered, feeling oddly nervous. “I don’t want to ruin anything.”
“You won’t,” she assured me. “And even if you did, we’d still eat it and tell you it was delicious.”
That made me laugh, and I relaxed. As I clumsily chopped carrots and celery, Theresa chatted about the family, filling me in on details about Sean.
“Sean was always more interested in helping people directly than in business, though. That’s why the speaking career suits him so well.”
As we worked, I began falling into the rhythm of the kitchen. There was something deeply satisfying about the simple act of preparing food for people you cared about. It reminded me of that community garden in New York I’d stumbled upon and the unexpected fulfillment I’d found in getting my hands dirty and creating something.
