“Is this too formal?”
“No.”
“Does it make me look like I’m in mourning?”
“No.”
She turned like she might walk back to the house. “I think I’ll go with the blue one. I don’t want them to think—”
I stepped in her path, steering her back to the car and basically lifting her into the back. I shut the door once she was inside, and I heard Dave engage the locks to prevent her from escaping. The guard and I shared another look. After what he, Miguel, and I had been through today—a ten-hour fashion show with a woman intent on making the perfect first impression—I wanted to ask Dave and Miguel to be groomsmen at my wedding. We’d bonded. For life.
Dave and Miguel had also spent the afternoon telling me all about Raquel’s house in California, the double gates, the dogs, the bars, the redundant alarm systems, the steel reinforced entries and three panic rooms. I suspected, even after today’s lengthy first-impression fashion show, the guards still preferred Sienna’s carriage house to the prison-like atmosphere of Rae’s place in LA. But it left me wondering if maybe Dave and Miguel should both come with us to my parents’ house tonight and stay for the evening. I didn’t like thinking about all the desperate and violent super fans that had made the security at her house in LA necessary.
Walking around the car, I heard the locks disengage and I opened my door, sliding inside next to Rae and her bouncing legs. She was staring forward, biting her thumbnail, and likely imagining all the worst-case scenarios that awaited her.
Taking out my phone, I texted my mom.
Jackson: She’s very nervous. Maybe have Dad make those margaritas.
Mom: On it. Double the vodka.
Jackson: Margaritas have tequila.
Mom: We’ll add it all, you’re not driving.
I smiled at my mom’s response, sliding the phone back in my pocket. I then reached over and pulled Rae toward me, wrapping her in my arms as Dave turned around in the Winston’s driveway.
“Buckle up,” I said, reaching for the seatbelt behind her and handing it over. While she fumbled with the latch, finally managing it after three tries, I clicked mine into place.
Placing my arms around her again, bringing her cheek to my chest, I said, “Rae, I promise, they are going to love you.”
This must’ve been the wrong thing to say because I felt her body stiffen. “You don’t know that.”
I sighed. I couldn’t imagine anyone meeting her and not loving her instantly, just as I had. And then more and more each time we met, each interaction, each look and touch and smile.
“Would it help if I told you something weird about my mother?”
Some of the tension in her body released. “Not if it’s a violation of her privacy. I don’t want—”
“No. Of course not. This is something well known about Janet James.”
“Oh?” She straightened and looked at me. “What is it?”
“My mother grew up on a Texas cattle ranch and feels a great affinity for supporting American ranchers.”
She seemed to digest this. “That doesn’t seem weird. If she grew up on a cattle ranch, her affinity makes sense.”
“Yeah, but it’s somewhat extreme. With my mother, almost everything else is up for discussion, but anyone who tries to convince her to stray from her beliefs on this one thing, well, she’ll never look at them the same way again. She has bumper stickers on the back of her truck praising meat culture and steak in particular.”
Rae gave me a little smile, like she found this delightfully odd.
Taking this as a good sign, I went on. “See, one thing I’ve learned over and over again in my line of work is that how a person is raised informs their convictions.”
Rae nodded, leaning back in her seat, watching me.
“Their ideas about the world are formed based on their own experience and the people they know personally. Sometimes, these ideas are so deeply held that evidence and facts to the contrary feel like an attack. This is what it’s like with my mother and red meat.”
Now Rae frowned. “She thinks if people don’t like steak, it’s a personal affront?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. You can talk poorly of red meat, you can be a vegetarian or a vegan—none of that bothers her. She considers those your beliefs, your choices. Fine with her. But if you tried to change her mind, or if she sensed you were judging her belief in the importance of the American cattle industry? Don’t bother speaking to her again.”
“Huh.” Rae’s thoughtful stare moved beyond me to the window. “I guess I feel that way about certain recipes or approaches to acting. It’s like, you have your way, let me have my way, and don’t push me about it.”
“Right, but recipes and acting approaches typically don’t have an impact on the environment, health and wellness, and so on.”
Her eyes cut back to me. “Have you ever argued with your mother about it?”
“Just once. I was in college and thought I could convince her with facts. I didn’t want to change her mind so much as get her to admit there was a valid alternate perspective and that red meat might’ve been the cause for my headaches growing up.”
“What happened?”
I shrugged, chuckling. “I learned my lesson.”
She grinned, studying me, but then her grin waned. “And she forgave you? For arguing with her about a belief she holds so dearly?”
“Of course. I’m her son.” I slid my hand from around her shoulder to her hand, picking it up to kiss each of her knuckles. “She loves me, even if I disappoint her, even when I drive her crazy.”
Chapter 24
*Raquel*
“The American dream is a term that is often used but often misunderstood. It isn’t really about becoming rich or famous. It is about things much simpler and more fundamental than that.”
Attributed to Dorothy Dandridge
Approximately twenty minutes into the evening with Jackson’s family, I felt incredibly silly for being so nervous.
First, his mother was just the kindest, funniest, sweetest, most patient carnivore I’d ever met. When I’d given her the steaks, you would’ve thought I’d given her the moon. But I understood. The steaks were my way of communicating to her that I accepted her, and her beliefs. I wasn’t going to walk into her house and argue with her. I was there to build a relationship, not sabotage it before it started.
Second, Jackson’s sister, her husband, and their baby surprised everyone and arrived fifteen minutes after we did. Just like Jackson’s mom, his sister had embraced me and seemed genuinely happy to meet me. Initially, the surprise had thrown me for a loop. But then Jackson and Jessica had bantered and bickered—
“What are you doing here?” Jackson had grumbled after his earlier excitement when she’d walked in, putting his hands on his hips.
“I’m here for the steak. What are you doing here? And dressed like that?” She’d turned her nose up at him, giving his outfit a once-over. “Shocking.”
“You know we’re here to have dinner with Mom and Dad, and there is nothing wrong with what I’m wearing.”