Bringing Home a Bachelor

by Karen Kendall

  But she clip-clopped four paces ahead of him, her chest jutting out like the prow of a battleship, clearly lost in her own aggressive thoughts. Mami’s hind legs scrabbled helplessly in the air under her left arm, and even the cake in her right hand seemed to be cowed.

  He’d offered to carry something, but Mel said no, seeming to need to hang on to something in each hand. Mami craned her head back to look at him, as if to say, “she’s in one of those moods.”

  “You look nice,” Pete said cautiously, as they got into his car.

  “I look lacquered,” she said.

  “Kind of,” he said, wondering if this was one of those trick situations where women beat you up whether you agreed or disagreed.

  “It’s protective armor.”

  “Oh.”

  “I need it around my mother.”

  Pete started to feel sick again.

  “Not that you need to worry. It’s just mother-daughter stuff.”

  Heh. If you only knew. “Right. Of course.”

  They drove in silence for a while, as sweat gathered along Pete’s hairline and made an ugly appearance under his arms.

  “Melinda, I just want you to know that I really care deeply for you, okay?”

  She turned towards him with a frown. “Why does this sound like the beginning of a ‘Dear John’ speech?”

  “What? No! No, it’s not meant that way at all.”

  “Okay. Well, then, I care deeply for you, too, Pete.” She smiled, then leaned over and kissed him. “Or I wouldn’t hang out with you buck naked. You know that’s a big thing for me, right? I’ve never just sat around nude with anyone in my life.”

  Pete felt a lump rising in his throat as nausea curled, dense as fog, in his gut. “I’m glad you feel that comfortable around me, Mel. And I love it. And I’m…weirdly honored…that you can trust me.”

  “You’re different from any guy I’ve ever met, Fozz. You don’t look at me critically. It’s like you look at me—I don’t know—gratefully.”

  She was killing him. Absolutely killing him. “I’m always grateful when I’m in the company of a beautiful naked girl.” The b-word popped out of his mouth before he could stop it, and she stiffened.

  Then, to his surprise, she visibly relaxed her posture. “That’s the thing with you, Pete,” she said softly. “You really think I’m beautiful.”

  “I really do,” he said. “I’m sorry if you don’t like the word.”

  “It’s okay,” she said after a pause. “It’s okay, because you make me feel beautiful. You’re the only guy who ever has.”

  Pete took one hand off the steering wheel and squeezed hers, hard. He didn’t trust himself to speak, especially since he’d just pulled up to the imposing Mediterranean revival house where her parents lived.

  Pete stared at the triple-tiered, white-stone fountain in the center of Jocelyn’s disciplined landscaping. He wondered if he could drown himself in it before she opened the door.

  And then it was too late: Mark and Kendra pulled up in a shiny new Buick Enclave, Mark’s jaw stony and his eyes hidden by impenetrably dark Ray-Bans.

  Pete got out of the Z4 and rounded it to open the door for Melinda. He took the cake in its plastic carrier, and then gave her a hand as she scrambled out with Mami, who barked at Mark as he emerged from the Enclave.

  “You haven’t made a hat out of that thing yet?” Mark asked, as he left Kendra to open her own door.

  “How can you even say such a thing?” Mel retorted.

  Her sister-in-law climbed out, looking a little annoyed as she juggled two bottles of wine with her purse and shoved the car door closed with a bony elbow.

  Mel hugged her, and once Kendra finished fussing over the dog, Pete bussed her cheek, dutifully. “Hi, Kendra. How are you?”

  “Thanks so much for the silver fruit bowl,” she said. “That was sweet of you.”

  “Yeah, I’ll think of you every time I grab a banana,” Mark said, with an edge to his voice. “Been busy lately, huh, Pete?”

  “Mark, be nice,” Melinda said in warning tones.

  Pete stared into the blank blackness of the Ray-Bans. “Slammed. Sorry I haven’t had a chance to call you back.”

  “Why don’t you girls go on into the house. We’ll follow you in a minute,” Mark suggested, arms folded across his chest.

  “Why don’t you stop behaving like a caveman?” Mel said sweetly. “Or like a dog that’s marking a fire hydrant? Even Mami is more subtle.”

  At that moment the double doors of the house opened and Jocelyn made her appearance, in a navy blue sleeveless dress and another pair of dagger heels. “Hi, kids!” she said brightly, and held out her arms.

  Mark was the first to step into them, and he hugged her back with genuine affection. Kendra, too, was warm in her embrace.

  Pete fleetingly wondered if he’d imagined the scenes in his office, or the finger like a gun in the small of his back.

  Melinda hesitated infinitesimally before stepping into Jocelyn’s arms, but her mother gave her no choice, squeezing her tightly and stroking her hair. “We’ve missed you, honey.”

  To Pete’s surprise, her steely eyes misted over and faded to a soft, silvery-blue. Jocelyn Edgeworth truly loved her daughter. It was evident in her expression; in the way her mouth softened as she kissed Melinda’s cheek.

  He gaped at the spectacle, and she noticed, meeting his eyes over Mel’s shoulder. Her own were deeply shadowed underneath, despite the careful application of makeup. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in a week.

  “I’ve missed you, too, Mom.” Melinda’s voice caught on the words.

  “Pee-ter.” Jocelyn disengaged herself from Mel and took his hand. She kissed the air next to his face and he produced a polite smile. So this was how they were going to play it. He allowed himself a small measure of relief.

  “How are your parents?” she asked. “Are they still in Alabama? Does your mother still make that divine pecan ring of hers?”

  “Fine, thanks, yes, and yes.” Would Mrs. E drop her little bomb this evening, or not? Would she put strychnine in his iced-tea first?

  “Good, good. Well, come in, everyone—don’t stand on the doorstep. Richard! Ri-chaaard! Come help with the drinks, please.”

  Jocelyn had a vodka-and-sugar-free tonic, Richard a gin-and-tonic, Pete and Mark beer, and Kendra one-third of a glass of pinot grigio mixed with two-thirds seltzer water. Mel noted this with a fixed smile and poured herself a hefty-bordering-on-huge glass of red wine while Pete winked at her.

  Soon they were seated out on the patio in back of the house, surrounded by greenery. Hibiscus trees grew in pots, lantana sprawled gracefully out of planters, bougainvillea serenaded the wrought-iron fence around the property. Caladiums greeted everyone cheerfully from the shaded areas. There were bromeliads, too, and orchids everywhere.

  It was Richard who had the green thumb, from what Pete recalled. He’d had a little gardening cart with a seat on it, and a set of tools in a built-in compartment. He’d also had a truly dorky pair of aerating sandals—shoes with long spikes on them that he used to walk around the lawn, despite Jocelyn’s mortification. But the crowning touch had been the green rubber knee pads, which the boys had made endless fun of.

  Pete still imagined that he used them every morning in front of his wife, bowing his forehead to the polished parquet and saying, “Yes, Mistress.”

  Pete sipped his Corona and tried to banish the image from his mind. Richard was a good guy. And come to think of it, he didn’t remember Jocelyn having such an edge to her when they were kids.

  Now she distributed platters among them. One held cubes of fat-free cheese that tasted like, and had the consistency of, rubber. The other held cucumber rounds topped with tiny daubs of lobster salad. Poor Mel watched with something close to loathing as Kendra swept away the lobster with a toothpick and ate only the cucumber.

  Jocelyn’s face held nothing but understanding and approval for her daughter-in-law. They discus
sed a new diet fad, while Mel went silent and tossed back her wine, Richard yawned behind his hand and Mark stared balefully at Pete from behind his assassin’s shades.

  “So, how ’bout those Dolphins?” Pete threw out.

  “How ‘bout those new Dolphins cheerleaders?” Mark asked. “You notice the redhead?”

  Kendra narrowed her eyes on her oblivious husband.

  “I never notice any woman but Melinda,” Pete said with another wink at her.

  She rolled her eyes, but he didn’t miss the quirk at the corner of her lips.

  Mark snorted and took a long pull of his beer.

  Richard cast a reproving glance at him and yawned behind his hand again. He eyed the faux-cheese cubes and cucumber rounds with mild distaste. “Excuse me for a moment.” He got up and went into the house.

  He emerged after a few minutes with a covered ice bucket.

  “Richard, we already have ice out here,” said his wife.

  “Oh. Well, now we have more. By the way, Joss—where are the limes? I can’t find them.”

  Jocelyn expelled an annoyed breath, got to her feet and tottered inside on her dagger heels. Richard loped past her and sat down with the ice bucket, which he passed to Pete. “Real food inside,” he whispered.

  Pete lifted the lid and bit back a laugh. Inside were microwaved cocktail weenies and all kinds of boxed fried appetizers: mozzarella sticks, stuffed mushroom caps, sliced loaded potato skins.

  They all (except Kendra) mashed an item of their choice into their mouths, and then Richard slid the ice bucket behind a planter and laid a finger across his lips.

  Jocelyn came back with sliced limes and kept passing the trays of cucumbers and cheese, growing visibly frustrated as each person took a turn luring her back into the house. Even Kendra asked for some hand lotion.

  By the time they all sat down to dinner at the highly polished, formally set table inside, Pete almost felt sorry for the woman. But not for long.

  Jocelyn had prepared a traditional roast with potatoes, carrots and sliced onions on the side. She’d also made green beans and biscuits. She heaped Richard’s plate with food and a generous portion of gravy, then did the same for Pete and Mark.

  On Kendra’s plate she put two thin slices of roast, one small potato and a large pile of green beans.

  And on Melinda’s plate, she parsed out one slice of roast, half a potato, and a small mound of carrots and onions. After a moment of consideration, she added a spoonful of green beans, pushed the butter into the center of the table, and handed the meager portion to her daughter. Biscuits were evidently off-limits for the women, and out of the question for Mel—as was butter.

  Pete felt instant sympathy for her.

  “Shall we say grace?” Jocelyn commanded.

  So they did.

  Melinda got even quieter and drank even more wine, something Pete watched with concern. This seemed to be a trend when she was around her mother.

  She ate her food mechanically, leaving the onions on her plate. Not surprisingly, she was finished before anyone else. She eyed the roast longingly and took another sip of wine, seeming to struggle with herself.

  Pete cut a piece of beef, swabbed it through the gravy on his plate and then popped it into her mouth.

  Jocelyn’s eyes narrowed upon him.

  He shot her his most engaging grin and lifted his beer to her before drinking.

  They all chatted about this and that for a while, before Jocelyn offered seconds to all the men, who gladly took her up on them. Meat, vegetables and biscuits were loaded up a second time, and complimented.

  The girls may as well have been invisible.

  Pete’s sense of outrage grew.

  Melinda’s jaw worked as she looked down at her empty plate. “May I have another slice of beef, Dad? And Mark, please pass the biscuits.” Melinda’s voice was serene, but firm. She reached out a hand and pulled the butter dish toward her from the center of the table, as her mother’s face blanched in horror.

  Yes! Pete wanted to cheer for Mel.

  “Sweetheart,” Jocelyn admonished, “there’s a lot of fat in that roast. And half a cup of butter in the biscuits already!”

  Mel continued to put food on her plate. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Mother, but you invited me to a meal, not a fasting session.”

  Jocelyn pinched her lips closed, with an expression that suggested it was painful to do so.

  All the guys continued to eat, their eyes on the table. But Pete felt choked by the food. These people! Couldn’t one of them stand up for Mel?

  Kendra looked longingly at the biscuit platter and then away, out the window.

  Mel poured gravy onto her meat, then slathered butter on her biscuit. She took a large bite of it, her eyes on her mother.

  Twin spots of pink appeared high on Jocelyn’s cheeks. She opened her mouth again, but closed it when Richard caught her eye and shook his head.

  “No, go ahead, Mom, really,” Mel said, with her mouth full. “Tell me how overweight I am. Tell me the exact number of carbs in this biscuit. The number of fat grams. And break down the nutritional content of the gravy, while you’re at it.”

  “Melinda, is the hostility necessary?” Richard asked.

  She swallowed her food. “Yes. Yes, actually, it is. Because ignoring her doesn’t work. It just eggs her on. And asking her to stop politely doesn’t work, either. And nobody else in this family will take my side, or stand up to her. Mom, maybe you should know that Dad has a little freezer in the garage, hidden behind his fishing gear.”

  Jocelyn gasped in outrage and skewered poor Richard with her eyes. He closed his.

  But Melinda wasn’t done yet. “Maybe you should clue in that when we were out on the patio, everyone was eating contraband fried food out of the ice bucket! Because people hate your disgusting cheese cubes and cucumber rounds.”

  Mel put her fork down, took a deep breath and stood up. “Food should be appreciated, not treated like an enemy. Food should be enjoyed, not despised. Meals should bring a family together, not drive them apart. So I’m thirty pounds overweight. I am not going to apologize for liking food!”

  Utter silence reigned at the dinner table until Pete put down his own fork and applauded.

  “I’m FAT,” Melinda shouted at her mother. “So what? I’m happy! I am not going to live in misery, with stomach cramps, in order to fit into a pair of size-zero jeans!”

  “Melinda,” Pete said. “You’re not fat.” He turned to her family. “She’s not. She is the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen, she’s gorgeous, and this family had annihilated her self-esteem when I ‘re-met’ her only a few months ago. That’s just wrong, people. And if you can’t love her the way she is, well, then…” He stared at each person around the table for a good beat. “If you can’t love her the way she is, then I feel sorry for you. But I do.”

  Melinda’s mouth trembled. Her eyes filled and spilled over, tears running down her cheeks. “God, I love you, Pete Dale. You are my hero.”

  22

  PETE FOLDED HER into his arms, hugged her tightly and kissed her repeatedly. Please don’t let this be the last time I ever do this. “I love you, too, Mel. Please remember that.”

  Jocelyn was trembling with genuine hurt and suppressed fury.

  He knew the other shoe was about to drop, and that it was a steel-toed construction boot with a guided missile system. Target: his ass.

  “He’s not your hero, you stupid, ungrateful girl!” she exclaimed. “And it’s your family, it’s me who loves you, not Peter Dale—who only called you again as part of a business deal, but seems to have a very selective memory about that.”

  Richard choked, while Mark and Kendra gasped in unison. Pete froze as the color drained from Melinda’s face.

  Jocelyn got up and threw her napkin down on the table like a gauntlet. “Why don’t you explain to our darling Melinda, Pee-ter?”

  “Why don’t you explain, Jocelyn?” Pete countered. “And while you’re at it, wh
y not elaborate on how you can destroy your daughter just to spite me and get the upper hand in an argument? Why don’t you apologize for treating Melinda the way you do?”

  Mel looked from Pete’s face to her mother’s and back to Pete’s.

  “What exactly is going on here?” Richard demanded.

  “I am sorry, Melinda,” Jocelyn said unexpectedly. “I truly am. I don’t mean to hurt you. I love you…and all I have ever wanted is the best for you.”

  But it was too little, too late. Mel seemed to barely hear her. She turned to Pete, eyes huge, her expression almost pleading. “What business deal?”

  Her mother’s face crumpled. “I made a mistake.”

  “You think?” Pete snapped.

  Melinda’s breathing had become fast and shallow. A pulse jumped below her jaw as she cut her gaze to her mother again. “What did you do?”

  Jocelyn’s mouth worked, but evidently she couldn’t get the words out, which left the excruciating task to Pete.

  He wanted to run, hide from this conflict, slide under the bed or slip out the window as he had so many times as a kid. But he stood his ground for Melinda. If she had to hear it, then she deserved to hear it from him.

  He could hear his own heart beat dully in his ears; feel his blood sluggish in his veins, like pudding stuck in a straw. He even had difficulty drawing breath into his unwilling lungs.

  “Mel,” he said. His very voice sounded foreign to him, probably because he wanted to disown it and disavow what he had to say. “I had every intention of calling you after the wedding. But evidently your mother didn’t have faith that I would. So…” He swallowed convulsively. “So she came to me and offered to do all of her charity functions at Playa Bella if I did. Call you, that is.”

  Melinda’s whole body began to tremble as she absorbed the implications of his words.

  Pete spoke faster and faster. “I told her that I was planning to call you anyway, but she didn’t believe me. My instinct was to throw her out of my office, Melinda—I should have—but I needed that business, and I told myself that it didn’t matter because I was going to call you anyway. So it didn’t count as a bribe.”