If there’s anything more awkward about eating dinner with a guy and his mom, it’s being expected to just help myself to the food. Like, how much beef do I actually give myself? How many carrots am I allowed? It’s like those first few nights with Sheri and Popeye all over again, when I was tiptoeing around, trying my best to relax and be comfortable, but without overstepping in a home that isn’t mine.
“Thank you for letting me come over,” I say politely, joining Blake in serving up some of the dishes. “This all looks amazing.”
“You’re welcome, but you can thank Blake,” LeAnne says with a pointed glance in his direction. Her tone is nondescript, blank. She raises her glass to her lips.
Blake glowers at her for a fleeting moment and they exchange a tense look, one that I can’t read. All I know is that suddenly I feel very unwelcome here. But why?
“So, Mila,” LeAnne says, swishing the wine around in her glass, “are your parents going to be joining you here in Fairview?”
Blake coughs. “I’ll grab us drinks,” he says quickly, rising from the table.
“Oh. Thanks.”
I cast my eyes down to my lap as he disappears into the kitchen, leaving me alone with his mom. I lift my head again. “No, not this time. They’re busy.”
“I can imagine,” LeAnne says. She sets her wine down and begins to plate up some food for herself too, forking up some beef and continuing, “You must live a crazy life out there. What with all thosefans and paparazzi. How does your dad even begin to keep up with it all?”
I swallow the small nibble of carrot in my mouth. This is the last conversation I want to be having right now. Talking about Dad with a virtual stranger? Why can’t she ask me if I’m enjoying Fairview? Or if it’s nice to spend time with my grandfather again? Why does everything have to be about Dad and never about me?
“Yeah, it gets pretty wild sometimes, but I suppose you just get used to it.” My voice is distant, disinterested. Hopefully, LeAnne will get the hint that I’d rather not go there right now, but just in case she doesn’t I turn the focus on her instead. “But I’m sure you understand how it is. After all, you’re the mayor.”
Blake returns, caution written all over his face, and sets down a can of soda in front of me. He sinks back into his chair and studies me, then his mom. There’s something really, really weird about the way he’s acting, but I can’t put my finger on why. Surely he isn’tthisnervous about having a girl stay for dinner? Especially when there’s nothing going on between us, anyway.
“Yes, I am indeed the mayor,” LeAnne says lightly, rolling her eyes. “But I tend to attract protests and hate mail, even the occasional confrontation at Whole Foods, while your father must have nothing besides hordes of adoring fans.”
I squint at her and wonder if she is always this patronizing. “Actually, he has his fair share of haters,” I retort coolly against my better judgment. “Someone once jumped a barrier and sucker punched him square on the nose. It’s not all that glamorous.”
LeAnne’s face lights up. “Is that so? What a pity. Your poor father.” She takes another sip of wine, the glee in her eyes unmistakable.
Blake abruptly sets his silverware down with a clatter. “Mom,” he hisses.
She casts a dismissive glance his way, ignoring whatever point it is that he wants to make. “So why have you decided to come to Tennessee on your own?” she asks me.
“My parents have hectic work schedules at the moment, so I thought I’d clear out of their way and come visit my grandpa and aunt for the summer,” I say nonchalantly, never meeting her eyes, as I lie through my teeth. “It’s great to be back.”
LeAnne purses her lips in a show of sympathy and clasps a hand to her chest. “Howisyour aunt Sheri doing? I feel awfully sorry for her stuck across town on that ranch. Bless her heart.”
“She’s fine,” I say defensively, my tone growing sharper. If LeAnne doesn’t quit sounding so condescending, I’m going to find it impossible to warm to her. “She has Popeye – sorry, my grandpa. He keeps her company, along with the horses.”
“Of course. But still, it’s a shame her brother took off for Hollywood and left her to support your grandfather and that big old ranch all on her own.” She shakes her head, as if in pity at the thought.
“Mom,” Blake hisses again. “Can you please stop interviewing Mila?”
LeAnne stares him down. Clearly, she isn’t happy about being scolded by her own son. I watch the two of them for a few seconds, unspoken warnings flashing in their eyes, the music still playing quietly in the background. I even hear a clock ticking from somewhere in the kitchen.
Blake is the first to quit their staring match. He pulls his shoulders into line and stabs his fork into the meat on his plate. “Mila, I haven’t told you about my music yet,” he says breezily, forcing us onto a different topic, saving me from his mother. But also – music?Hismusic?
“Oh, no,” LeAnne mutters. She pushes her chair back with a screech and stands. “I’m not listening to you talk aboutmusicagain. I’ll leave you two to it and finish my meal upstairs.” With her plate of food in one hand and her glass of wine in the other, she strides out of the dining room and we both listen to her footsteps fading as she moves toward the central staircase.
I look at Blake, my mouth hanging ajar.
Mortified, Blake props his elbows up on the table and buries his head in his hands, groaning. At least I’m not the only one here who thinks the Mayor of Nashville is a bit weird. Whatisher problem?
“I shouldn’t have asked you to come back here,” Blake admits, dropping his hands from his face. “My mom can be. . . difficult.”
“I don’t think she likes me much,” I mumble. We’ve both stopped eating and have set our silverware down, staring at the empty chair LeAnne has left behind. I don’t think I’m imagining her disdain. The hardness of her gaze and the patronizing tone of her voice made her dislike unmistakable. “Did I do something wrong?”
I think back to the small –verysmall – handful of interactions I’ve had with LeAnne Avery. She became aware of my existence when I was locked out of the Harding Estate, and Sheri introduced me at church the next morning. I’m certain I was polite when we met. And today, the only thing I can imagine possibly doing wrong is either being a little too abrupt when I asked to speak to Blake back at church, or invading their meal together, or having Blake’s hand on my knee. None of those things seems like reason enough to be spoken to with such blatant scorn.
