So Happy Together by Deborah K. Shepherd

Author:Deborah K. Shepherd
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2021-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

She didn’t like me . . . hated me, in fact. I could tell. First of all, my dress was all wrong. It was an orange and black paisley tent, bought in desperation two days before. It made me look like Mama Cass on Halloween. I was wearing sandals because I couldn’t get my feet into anything else, and my attempt at securing my long, frizzy locks into a French twist had not succeeded.

In honor of Peter’s graduation, Mrs. MacKinley was taking us both out to dinner. Just before Peter went out to the airport to meet her flight, I tried to uninvite myself.

“Really, Peter, she hasn’t seen you in so long. It might be better if just the two of you had dinner. Um, I’ll be there for commencement, and I’ll see you afterwards, but I’m not so sure this dinner thing is such a great idea.”

“Don’t be silly, everything will be cool. I want you two to get to know each other. I’ve told her so much about you and she can’t wait to meet you. She knows how special you are to me. Please don’t be uptight. I know she’s going to love you, just like I do.”

He’d said it in such a matter-of-fact way, I knew he hadn’t meant it the way I’d hoped.

The dinner was a disaster. I was on my best behavior, but it was not good enough. I sat in the back seat of the car, already looking daggers into the back of her grey permed head. She was in my seat, and at the restaurant, she urged him to slide into the booth next to her. Could she have been more obvious? I was a fifth wheel here, too.

She was full of stories about people “back home.”

“Well, Billy got out again—got to little Ivy right behind that old apple tree. Serves that Letty right, always going on about what a sweet, perfect little girl Ivy is. I’m sick of hearing that woman brag about her . . .”

Peter chuckled. “What is it, the fifth time he’s done it? Good for old Billy. He sure is persistent.”

Where did Peter live, Peyton Place? Child molestation and they were laughing about it? Did I really know this man I’d spent the past year and a half loving? What’s more, did I want to?

Peter noticed the expression on my face. “Ivy is a miniature French poodle, Caro . . . and Billy’s the mutt across the street. Ivy’s owner thinks the sun rises and sets on that dog, but she keeps forgetting to keep her in when she’s in heat. And Billy’s just doing what comes naturally, so . . .”

I flashed Peter a look which he chose to ignore. He didn’t finish the sentence, but, instead, turned back to his mother.

“How about Gerald? How’s his diabetes? Is he sticking to his diet?”

“Oh, didn’t I write you about Gerald? Poor man had to have four toes amputated off his left foot—gangrene set in, you know. And did I tell you about his nephew, Carl, who lives over to Bismarck? I don’t think you know him.

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