by Jae
Once she had started, all of her childhood frustrations came spilling out. It felt strange, but not necessarily in a bad way. Somehow, it was freeing. That wasn’t what therapy would feel like, was it?
Claire stopped the car at the side of the street and shut off the engine. She took one hand off the wheel and softly touched Lana’s leg. “I’m sorry. You deserve more than such a self-involved mother.”
Okay, that definitely wasn’t like therapy at all. Lana was fairly certain that a therapist wasn’t supposed to voice her own opinion—or to touch her patients—like that. But she liked seeing that furious fire in Claire’s normally calm and controlled gray eyes. She put her hand over Claire’s and squeezed. “Thanks. It took me a long time to come to that conclusion. When I finally did, I decided to cut her out of my life.”
Claire nodded. “For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing, even though it must have been hard.”
A sigh escaped Lana. “Yeah.”
“What about your father?” Claire asked quietly.
Lana swallowed. “He died when I was little.”
“I’m sorry.” Claire’s hand remained on Lana’s leg, its warmth helping to soothe the old grief.
“Maybe that’s part of why my mother can’t stay single for long. She’s trying to recreate what she had with him.” Okay, now she sounded like a psychologist. Time to change the subject. “Is your mother anything like that?”
“God, no! My mother never relied on my father or any other man to feel good about herself. If anything, she’s the boss in the family.”
“So if she accepts me, I’m golden?” Wait a minute… She didn’t really need Claire’s mother to accept her as the new prospective daughter-in-law. If the meeting with the editor later this week went well, she might not even have reason to see Claire’s parents a second time.
“Basically, yes. So, are you ready?” Claire took her hand away and nodded toward the house to their right.
Lana swallowed heavily. She felt about as prepared as she was for a triathlon, but she nodded anyway. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
They got out of the car, and Claire led her through an open gate up a long driveway, flanked by cone-shaped bushes and manicured stretches of lawn.
Lana knew she was gaping, but she couldn’t help it. This two-story mansion made even Claire’s house look like a shack in comparison. “Oh my God. How much money do psychologists make?”
Claire sent her an amused smile. “Most of us aren’t exactly starving, but my mother actually inherited the house from her parents. Her grandfather made a fortune in laxatives.”
Laughter bubbled up, easing Lana’s nervousness. “Did you just say…laxatives?”
“Yes,” Claire said. “My mother prefers to tell people he was in pharmacology, but the truth is that he, as my sister likes to put it, got rich making people shit.”
Lana bent over, laughing, and after a second, Claire joined her. They stood on the snow-white porch and giggled like two teenagers.
The front door, which could be more accurately called a portal, swung open.
Abruptly, Lana stopped laughing and straightened.
She stared at an older version of Claire, dressed in a pale pink pantsuit that might as well be straight out of Claire’s closet. Her fair, unlined skin and her intelligent gray eyes were so much like Claire’s that it was eerie, and she wore her hair in the same elegant chignon—the only difference being that her blonde hair was streaked with silver.
Claire’s mother smiled at her daughter. Affection warmed her eyes as she regarded Claire. Then she turned toward Lana, and her gaze sharpened. “You must be Lana.” Two air kisses were planted on Lana’s cheeks. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She sent a glare in her daughter’s direction. “Come on in.”
After a look back at Claire, Lana stepped inside, into a two-story-high foyer. The dark hardwood floor reflected the light from several chandeliers, and the majestic staircase leading to the second floor looked like something out of Gone With the Wind.
Had Claire grown up in this house? No wonder she was so stiff and didn’t know how to relax and have fun. There had probably been no running or roughhousing in this mansion.
God, I hope they won’t think I’m some kind of gold digger, who’s only after Claire’s money. She bit back a nervous chuckle when she remembered that she was only after Claire’s money, even if it wasn’t the way Claire’s parents might imagine.
She handed over the box of chocolates and the bottle of wine, glad to have brought something, even if it wasn’t much. “Claire said you like reds.”
“I love them.” Claire’s mother gave the bottle an appreciative look, even though she likely had much more expensive wines in her collection. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.” Lana followed Claire’s example and left her shoes by the door.
When Claire’s mother led them deeper into the mansion, Lana reached for Claire’s hand, more for reassurance than because she wanted to play the loving girlfriend.
Claire’s fingers entwined with hers in a tight grip as if she needed something to hold on to.
“Your father is outside, by the pool,” Claire’s mother said. “Why don’t you join him, Claire, while Lana helps me get the food on the table? You don’t mind, dear, do you?”
Lana stood frozen. Claire’s mother wanting to get her alone couldn’t be good. But what could she say? “Uh, no, I don’t mind at all.”
“I’ll help too, Mom,” Claire said quickly. “That’ll be faster.”
Her mother kissed Claire’s cheek. “That’s nice of you, but your girlfriend and I can handle it, can’t we, Lana?”
“Oh, yes,” Lana said with all the fake enthusiasm she could muster. Good thing she had starred mostly in commercials, so she was used to sounding excited about things like soap and cough syrup.
Reluctantly, Claire let go of Lana’s hand and mouthed “sorry” before disappearing down the hall.
Lana’s heart pounded as if she were being led to the slaughterhouse.
The kitchen was as impressive as the foyer. It was the most pristine kitchen Lana had ever seen—and that included Claire’s. Not a drip of sauce marred the granite counter tops, and the stainless-steel appliances were as shiny as if they’d recently been polished. The enormous six-burner gas range would have made any professional chef go green with envy. The state-of-the-art oven looked as if it could do anything except give massages.
Not that it got to show off its skills at the moment—and neither did the gas range. On the large center island sat half a dozen insulated containers and a large bag that hadn’t yet been unpacked. The logo on the bag said Culinary Delights Catering Service.
Apparently, Lana hadn’t hidden her surprise very well, because Claire’s mother gave an unapologetic shrug. “I was never much of a cook, so I prefer to leave the food preparation to the professionals when it counts.”
Lana had to chuckle. She liked that Claire’s mother hadn’t tried to hide the bag and containers and passed off the food as hers. “So that’s where Claire gets it.”
“Probably. She’s a lot like me in some regards.”
They started to unpack the bag and distributed the food into porcelain bowls and onto platters.
Lana tried hard not to grimace as she saw what each container held: kale casserole, vegan meat loaf, quinoa, baked yams, bean-sprout-and-asparagus salad, and roasted Brussels sprouts with smoked tofu. Oh boy. She’d definitely have Claire stop at a burger place on their way home.
“I noticed Claire gained a little weight,” Dr. Renshaw commented.
Was that a good thing or meant as a criticism? Lana couldn’t tell. Dr. Renshaw had the same therapist’s poker face that Claire sometimes put on. “I didn’t notice, but she does seem healthier. Can you believe she was only having an apple and a smoothie for dinne
r before I moved in? She really needs something more substantial after her long workdays.”
Claire’s mother arched her perfectly manicured eyebrows. At first Lana thought she didn’t agree with Claire’s new eating habits, but then Dr. Renshaw said, “She asked you to move in with her already?”
Oh shit. “Uh, Claire didn’t tell you?”
“It seems she doesn’t tell me much nowadays.” Dr. Renshaw sighed.
“It’s not that she doesn’t want you to know. It just happened so fast.” Lana put on her best smitten smile. “We had a bit of a whirlwind romance.”
Claire’s mother tossed the empty Styrofoam containers into the trash. “Good,” she said firmly.
Lana nearly spilled quinoa all over the center island. “Uh, that’s good?”
“It is. Don’t get me wrong. I liked Abby—Claire’s former fiancée. I really did, but that relationship was too cerebral. I mean, they shared the same values and interests, and that’s certainly important, but as I said: Claire’s a lot like me—too stuck in her own head sometimes. She needs someone who can get her to let go a little.”
“Amen,” someone said from the doorway. A slender blonde of about Lana’s age swept into the kitchen, hopped up onto the counter, and popped a piece of broccoli into her mouth. Then she grimaced. “God, now I’m craving a cheeseburger and a large order of fries.”
Lana bit back a laugh and a me too. Curiously, she studied the stranger, who was wearing jean shorts and a T-shirt with a tie painted on it, as if mocking the Renshaws’ formal dress code.
“Hi.” The stranger stuck out her hand and eyed Lana just as curiously. “I’m Steph.”
“My younger daughter, Stephanie,” Dr. Renshaw added.
This was Claire’s sister? Claire had mentioned her in passing once, but Steph wasn’t what Lana had expected. Except for their hair color and their slim figure, they didn’t resemble each other at all. “I’m Lana, Claire’s fiancée.”
The two Renshaw women stared at her, then at each other.
Shit, shit, shit. For one critical second, she’d lost track of what story to tell whom, probably because she’d practiced introducing herself as Claire’s fiancée to the acquisitions editor all week. Lana pressed her hand to her mouth, but it was too late to hold back the words.
“Fiancée?” Stephanie echoed. “Is Claire into speed-proposing now or what?”
“No, no,” Lana stammered. Oh God, how could she get them out of this? Claire would kill her. “Claire, um, she doesn’t know yet.”
“She doesn’t know that you’re her fiancée?” Steph arched her eyebrows, and finally Lana could see the family resemblance to her mother and sister.
“I didn’t mean fiancée fiancée…like we’re already engaged. I meant to say…” Sweat broke out along Lana’s back. “I know we haven’t been together for long, but I just know that she’s the right one for me.”
“So you’re planning to propose?” Steph asked.
The Renshaw women exchanged glances.
Finally, Steph shrugged. “Good luck with that. Don’t be surprised if it takes Claire a while to make up her mind. She’s not exactly the spontaneous let’s-elope-in-Vegas type. It took her and Abby ages to get to that point. If you ask me, it was a clear sign that deep down neither was eager to tie the knot.”
“Uh…” She couldn’t say no now, could she? Not without making them think she wasn’t serious about Claire. “Yes, I’m planning to propose.”
“Well,” Claire’s mother said, drawing the word out as if it had five syllables, “you might want to wait a little.”
“Wait a little with what?” Claire asked from the doorway.
Lana prayed for the gleaming kitchen floor to open up and swallow her whole. She was in deep, deep shit now—more shit than even Claire’s laxative-inventing great-grandfather could have produced.
Claire looked from her mother to Lana. “Wait with what?” she repeated when no one answered.
“With dessert after dinner,” Steph said. “Mom got carob-stevia brownies, so it’ll be hard to control ourselves.”
Claire narrowed her eyes at her sister, who was sitting on the counter like a little kid. “What are you doing here?” Claire winced. She hadn’t meant it to come out so harshly, but having Lana in the kitchen with her mother made her tense.
Steph dangled her feet. “Having rabbit food with my family, it seems.”
“Yeah, sure, you’re here for the leafy greens and the quinoa.” Claire snorted. “What do you need this time? Money or material for your comedy show?”
“What would you know about my shows?” Steph shot back. “You’ve never been to one.”
“Girls, really!” Their mother positioned herself between them. “What is Lana supposed to think if you talk about each other like that?”
But Lana didn’t seem to even be listening. She leaned against the center island as if needing it to hold herself up. Her face was as pale as it had been during the panic attack in the car.
Claire gritted her teeth. Had Steph or their mother said anything that had upset Lana? She vowed not to leave her side for even a second for the rest of the evening.
Striding past Steph, she went to Lana and put one arm around her shoulders.
A tremor went through Lana, instantly making Claire wrap her other arm around her too. “You okay?” she asked quietly.
Lana nodded but looked everything but.
Oh shit. If Lana’s acting skills failed her, whatever had happened had to be bad. Claire itched to find out what was wrong. “If you’d excuse us for a moment,” she said to her mother and sister, “I’d love to show Lana the pool.” With one hand on the small of Lana’s back, she guided her to the door.
“Oh, no.” Her mother’s voice stopped them. “You can do that later, or dinner will get cold.” She pressed a bowl of Brussels sprouts and tofu into Claire’s hands, then distributed bowls and platters to Lana and Steph before shooing everyone to the dining room.
“What’s going on?” Claire whispered to Lana as they carried the food through the hallway.
“I made a horrible—”
“Claire!” Her mother shook her head disapprovingly. “No whispering! You know we strive for open, honest communication in this family.”
Claire suppressed a groan. Maybe Lana was right. Having psychologists as her parents could be a pain in the ass.
A refrain of shit, shit, shit echoed through Lana’s mind as she accompanied the three Renshaw women to the dining room. Somehow, Claire’s hand that protectively rested against the small of her back made her feel even worse. What would Claire say when she told her what she’d done?
She wasn’t the type to get angry and shout; Lana knew that much about her already, but would she take it as proof that Lana wasn’t able to play the role required of her and dissolve the contract?
Don’t panic. With all the back-and-forth between pretending to be Claire’s girlfriend to some people, while calling herself Claire’s fiancée to others, it had been a legit mistake to make. Claire wouldn’t hold it against her. Lana vowed to make it up to Claire by playing her role perfectly for the rest of the evening.
In the formal dining room, a long table had been set for five. The gleaming silverware and the expensive china made it look as if they were hosting the queen of England.
Lana glanced around the room. White-washed beams formed a high ceiling. French doors led to a parklike backyard, where the evening sun glittered on the turquoise water in an oval pool.
A tall man stepped through that door now. Something about him identified him as Claire’s father, even though they didn’t resemble each other much physically. A hint of silver tinged Dr. Renshaw’s raven-black hair at the temples. His tanned face was as unlined as his wife’s—either they had great genes or a great plastic surgeon. He was wearing a pair of three-hundred-dollar jeans
and a starched white shirt, but no tie.
When he saw Lana, he immediately held out his hand and engulfed hers in a warm grip. “Hi. You must be Lana.”
She nodded. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Renshaw.”
He laughed and held up his free hand. “Please.” He glanced at his wife. “Didn’t you tell her to call us by our first names? I’m James, and this is Diane.”
James. Not Jim or even Jimmy. Diane had also called Claire’s sister Stephanie, not Steph. Clearly, the Renshaws weren’t big on nicknames.
They put the food down on the table.
Claire pulled out one of the white, high-backed leather chairs for Lana and then sat down next to her. Lana found herself catty-corner from Claire’s mother and opposite her sister. She sat ramrod straight as they passed around the bowls and platters.
The disgustingly healthy food hadn’t exactly made her stomach growl to start with, but after her faux pas in the kitchen, her appetite had gone on hiatus. She put a tiny bit of baked yams and Brussels sprouts onto her plate and passed on the rest.
“Don’t be shy,” Claire’s mother said. “Having a healthy appetite is okay in this family.”
Not from the way you all look. Lana smiled politely and took two stalks of asparagus.
Stephanie barely took anything either. “I’m holding out for the chocolate fudge sundae.”
“What sundae?” her mother asked.
“The one I’ll get on my way home.” Steph grinned over at Lana as if sensing that Lana would have rather had a sundae too.
Her mother heaped bean sprouts onto her plate. “You’re thinking of eating ice cream this late? You know you’ll wake up with sugar pangs in the middle of the night, don’t you?”
Steph rolled her eyes. “My mother has this thing about not eating carbs after—”
“Six,” Lana finished the sentence.