{"id":6901,"date":"2013-12-24T17:03:42","date_gmt":"2013-12-24T22:03:42","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/jennytrout.wordpress.com\/?p=6901"},"modified":"2014-03-05T12:25:37","modified_gmt":"2014-03-05T17:25:37","slug":"happy-holidays-heres-chapter-one-of-the-bride","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/?p=6901","title":{"rendered":"Happy Holidays. Here’s chapter one of THE BRIDE."},"content":{"rendered":"

Happy holidays, everybody. Here’s the second draft of chapter one of\u00a0The Bride,\u00a0<\/em>after the jump.<\/p>\n


\nCHAPTER ONE<\/p>\n

There\u2019s no good way to break it to your mother that her twenty-five year old daughter is dating a forty-nine year old billionaire. So I\u2019d never really gotten around to it. By the time we’d flown to my hometown of Calumet, Michigan, I knew I was in trouble.<\/p>\n

On the car ride from the Marquette airport, where Neil\u2019s private plane had landed, I mentally rehearsed how I would explain to my mother that I was dating Neil Elwood, publishing magnate and tenth richest man in Great Britain.<\/p>\n

Oh, she was going to be so pissed at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cSophie? You\u2019re awfully quiet,\u201d Neil said, his eyes never leaving the snow-covered road for a second. He\u2019d rented a car from the airport, a Malibu that, according to him, \u201cdrives like a broken shopping trolley.\u201d He hadn\u2019t been in a great mood since we\u2019d landed.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m letting you concentrate on winter driving.\u201d It was a pretty good excuse; mom said the Keweenaw had already gotten twenty inches of snow in December alone. Highway forty-one was clear, but slushy, and light flurries fell in the gray early morning light.<\/p>\n

Neil raised an eyebrow at the road ahead of us. \u201cDarling, I learned to drive in Iceland. I\u2019m sure I can handle this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe get a higher average snowfall than Iceland,\u201d I pointed out. But it wasn\u2019t like I could hide the truth forever, and I really had to stop my whole \u201chead in the sand\u201d routine. \u201cOkay. Confession.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOn the way to meet your family for the first time. Lovely.\u201d He inhaled, audibly frustrated. \u201cDo they at least know I\u2019m coming?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey know you\u2019re coming. My mom just doesn\u2019t know… some stuff.\u201d Better to do it like a Band-Aid. \u201cMaybe I haven\u2019t been entirely honest with her about your money. Or\u2026 your age.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSophie!\u201d he barked, tearing his eyes from the dingy gray snow on the road to frown at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t lie!\u201d And I hadn\u2019t. \u201cI just haven\u2019t corrected my mom when she said \u2018this kid you\u2019re dating.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is bloody fantastic,\u201d he cursed, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he locked his gaze on the road again. \u201cAs if I weren\u2019t already nervous?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAt least I told you before we got there.\u201d Not that I was making it any better by pointing that<\/i> out. We were already in the car. I could have easily just let this whole thing blow up in our faces upon arrival.<\/p>\n

\u201cSophie, we have been dating for a year! Christ, we\u2019re buying a house together. You didn\u2019t think that eventually your mother would find out?\u201d<\/p>\n

I tilted my head and studied his profile. Since the chemotherapy he\u2019d had the year before, his hair had come back in grayer. He\u2019d started growing a beard, a precisely clipped shadow of silver that I absolutely detested, but tolerated because it seemed to make him happy not to have to shave as often. Even before the chemo, our age difference would have been obvious. But now that he was rocking this \u201chot dad\u201d look, it was going to come as a bigger shock to my mother. She was only forty-two.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know, you\u2019re very handsome when you\u2019re annoyed with me,\u201d I observed.<\/p>\n

His mood didn\u2019t lighten. \u201cI\u2019m always handsome, Sophie. Stop changing the subject. Why didn\u2019t you tell your mother the truth about me?\u201d<\/p>\n

I shifted a little in the passenger seat. \u201cI meant to. I really did. But then I let way too much time pass, and it got harder and harder to work it in. It never seemed like the right time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd a house full of your extended relatives is the perfect venue for initiating that conversation, is it?\u201d he fumed. \u201cWhat is this? Are you… embarrassed of me?\u201d<\/p>\n

That made me laugh, despite the fact he was roaring angry. \u201cNo! Seriously, that\u2019s not it. That\u2019s stupid. But my mom is to me as you are to Emma. How would you feel if she moved to a different country with an older man she\u2019d met only two months before?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt depends on if that man is Horrible Michael or not,\u201d he grumbled. He hated his daughter\u2019s fianc\u00e9 for no reason I could see, beyond that fact that he was going to marry Emma. In Neil\u2019s opinion, no one deserved Emma. He would have to cop to understanding my mother\u2019s point of view, or concede that Michael wasn\u2019t all bad.<\/p>\n

The latter was never going to happen, so he said, \u201cIt\u2019s completely understandable that you didn\u2019t know how to explain our relationship to your family. I must admit to having a bit of an advantage here; as a wealthy, middle-aged man, I\u2019m expected to have affairs with beautiful women half my age. It says nothing negative about my character. The beautiful young women bear the brunt of the scorn, for being vapid, shallow gold diggers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNow that I know you understand where I\u2019m coming from, I feel even worse for not telling you.\u201d I laid my hand on his knee. \u201cI\u2019m really sorry. Does it help at all that I never lied?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour mother is expecting a twenty-four year old to walk through that door,\u201d he reminded me grimly.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy mother wasn\u2019t going to like you, no matter what. At least this way she has a reason that isn\u2019t openly pathetic.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think it\u2019s openly pathetic to dislike Michael\u2019s loud chewing. Or his overly American accent,\u201d Neil muttered.<\/p>\n

\u201cSomebody\u2019s projecting,\u201d I sing-songed. The corner of Neil\u2019s mouth twitched, but he squashed his smile before it could fully form. I lifted the hand he rested on the gearshift and kissed his fingertips through his leather gloves.<\/p>\n

He pulled his hand back with a resigned sigh. \u201cSophie… I thought you were getting better at confronting difficult situations. We\u2019ve been talking about the great progress you\u2019re making\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, progress. I\u2019m not one hundred percent perfect.\u201d I heard the defensiveness in my own voice and mentally started counting to ten. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, I just… could you not bring up therapy? I\u2019d rather argue.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, that was below the belt, wasn\u2019t it?\u201d He looked over, then back to the road.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m working on it.\u201d I had to. It had been a rocky year for both of us, with Neil\u2019s cancer treatment and my sudden plunge into the world of medical caregiver. He\u2019d spent a scary time in the ICU, nearly dying from a kidney infection that had struck while his immune system was down for the count; I\u2019d been in full-time survival mode. Then, for the months that followed, I\u2019d never quite shaken that mindset. If anything annoyed me, I\u2019d think, \u201cBut at least Neil is okay,\u201d and feel incredibly guilty for being upset, especially if he\u2019d been the cause of the annoyance. It had made for a very contentious few months of me pretending everything was fine until I exploded. Neil constantly walked on eggshells to keep from upsetting me, until we both decided that seeing a counselor together was in our best interests.<\/p>\n

Couples therapy should be bottled and sold at every available retail outlet.<\/p>\n

\u201cLook, this… it has nothing to do with you,\u201d I assured him. \u201cThis was completely shitty of me, and I\u2019m sorry. But I promise, I\u2019m not doing this any more. This is just the last one of my avoidance issues coming to a nasty head. And it\u2019s not fair to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked over to me, his expression softening. \u201cApology accepted. But really, Sophie, this puts me in a terribly awkward position.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know.\u201d Boy, did I know. And he couldn\u2019t begin to imagine the half of it. Neil had grown up in an extremely wealthy family, jetting from their homes in England and Iceland to fabulous holiday locales. The Elwoods had been sophisticated from birth, it seemed. My family had an uncle who painted his beer gut to look like a watermelon when he walked with the rest of his VFW buddies in the 4th\u00a0of July parade. Neil was about to get the culture shock of his life, no matter how laid back and easy going he thought he was.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf it makes you feel any better, at least you\u2019re getting the biggest, most extended of the extended family gatherings out of the way first. After Christmas, any other interaction with my family will be a piece of cake.\u201d I added, to try to put his mind at ease, \u201cBesides. I\u2019m sure everyone is going to be totally cool with you.\u201d<\/p>\n

* * * *<\/p>\n

We were overrun the moment we stepped through the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecky!\u201d someone\u2014my cousin Steve, I think\u2014shouted into the dining room. \u201cYer daughter and her fella got in.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMerry Christmas!\u201d My aunt Marie shouted, wrapping her arms around me. Her hair was a graying blonde cloud of perfectly sculpted curls that got into my eyes and mouth as she hugged me.<\/p>\n

Beside me, Neil Elwood, internationally known billionaire, swayed slightly on his feet. I really hoped he wasn\u2019t going to pass out, because he was carrying two bottles of very expensive champagne in the sleek black shopping bag in his hand.<\/p>\n

My aunt Marie stepped back and did a double take as she looked Neil over. Her eyes went wide, and she bit her lips to try and disguise her mischievous smile. \u201cOh, your mom is going to shit.”<\/i><\/p>\n

The back porch of my grandmother\u2019s house was easily the most down-home place in the Midwest. Decked out in laminated wood paneling and thick plastic rugs to protect the carpet in the high traffic areas, Christmas saw the room turned into a glorious buffet with my aunts and great aunts scurrying to bring hot dishes to the already laden-down folding table. A truly hideous light up clock of the last supper hung on the wall over the sliding glass entryway into the main part of the house.<\/p>\n

I took Neil\u2019s hand. \u201cCome on. Let\u2019s go see mom and get this over with.\u201d<\/p>\n

When we stepped into the tiny, cramped kitchen, my mom was bent over a steaming sink, having just strained some boiled potatoes. She looked fabulous as always, in wide-legged black trousers and a fitted, leopard-print cardigan. Her blonde hair\u2014 as fake as her nails and just as difficult to maintain\u2014 was perfectly straightened and held back from her face with a clip.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m home!\u201d I declared as she shook the last drops out of the huge stockpot.<\/p>\n

She turned to face us, the corners of her eyes crinkling with happiness when she saw me. Then her gaze darted to Neil, and her smile did that telltale, split-second freeze I\u2019d gotten so used to over the years. The I\u2019m-freaking-out-internally freeze.<\/p>\n

She hugged me, harder than absolutely necessary, and effused, \u201cHoney, I\u2019m so glad you made it! I was worried the airport would close down because of the storm yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt didn\u2019t.\u201d After stating the obvious, there was nowhere to go but introductions. \u201cMom, this is Neil. Neil, this is my mom, Rebecca.\u201d<\/p>\n

She put out her hand. \u201cIt\u2019s nice to meet you, Neil. Sophie has had only good things to say about you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Turning to me with raised eyebrows, she said, \u201cNot that she\u2019s said a lot.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, she mentioned that in the car on the way over.\u201d He gave her what was possibly the most charming smile I\u2019ve ever seen on him. Oh, baby. You\u2019re wasting your energy, she already hates you.<\/i><\/p>\n

My grandmother was at the stove. She looked over the shoulder of her red, bedazzled Christmas sweater. \u201cWell, don\u2019t hug me, for god\u2019s sake. I only haven\u2019t seen you for a year.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMerry Christmas, Grandma,\u201d I said as I went to her with open arms.<\/p>\n

Over my shoulder, I heard my mom ask, \u201cSo, Neil. What do you do?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI own two multimedia conglomerates, one in the US and England and the other based out of Reykjavik.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh. How nice for you.\u201d My mom was going to die of a heart attack on the kitchen floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs there a lot of money in that?\u201d my grandmother asked him, with all the tact small town Michigan matriarchs generally displayed.<\/p>\n

Neil\u2019s eyebrows lifted, and he blinked three times, rapidly, before managing to answer, \u201cI do all right.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a wonder anybody\u2019s doing all right these days, with those damn Republicans\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cMa!\u201d my mother hushed her. \u201cNobody wants to talk about politics at Christmas.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI, uh, I brought a little something to contribute to the festivities,\u201d Neil said, reaching into the shopping bag to pull out one of the bottles of 1996 Dom P\u00e9rignon.<\/p>\n

He\u2019d brought the Dom P\u00e9rignon because I\u2019d suggested he not go overboard. My mother was going to eat him alive.<\/p>\n

She took the bottle and turned it in her hands with a little nod. \u201cThis was very thoughtful of you.\u201d<\/p>\n

My grandmother turned back to the stove. \u201cWe\u2019ve got beer, too, Neil, in the cooler outside the door. Just don\u2019t let all the heat out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll chill this,\u201d Mom said, taking the other bottle from Neil.<\/p>\n

Grandma deposited a heavy bowl into my hands, and I gasped, juggling it quickly so as not to slosh gravy onto my coat. \u201cTake that out to the table.\u201d<\/p>\n

I cast an apologetic glance at Neil as I moved past him, into the crowded dining room and out to the porch. As I went, I heard my grandma shoo him out of the kitchen.<\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t a long journey with the bowl, but by the time I got back to Neil, he\u2019d been cornered by my great uncle Doug, who had an open beer in his hand despite the fact it was eleven AM on Christmas morning.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou heard a dem gingerbread Oreos?\u201d he asked Neil, taking a swig from his bottle.<\/p>\n

Neil blinked and stammered, \u201cN-no. That sounds horrible.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u00a0 they\u2019re a real thing,\u201d Doug insisted, gesturing with his beer. \u201cThey were on the channel six news.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry, did you say noose?\u201d Neil spotted me, and his relief was visible. I should have warned him about the thick Yooper accent that ran in my family.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Sophie!\u201d Uncle Doug put out his arm for a half hug. He was my grandmother\u2019s youngest brother, sixty-five, and he\u2019d recently retired from his job as a DNR officer. \u201cDid ya hear about dem gingerbread Oreos?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat sounds gross.\u201d I stood beside Neil and reached up to put a hand on his shoulder. It was as hard as a blacksmith\u2019s anvil with tension. I hoped he\u2019d brought his headache pills with him.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey got \u2018em down in Marquette,\u201d Doug went on. \u201cThey don\u2019t got \u2018em at the Pat\u2019s here, but I told Debbie\u2019s sister, \u2018you better save me some of dem gingerbread Oreos.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

My aunt Debbie yelled from the living room that there was something wrong with their cell phone, and Doug excused himself. As he walked away, Neil muttered to me, \u201cI feel like I\u2019m listening to an alien language.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, you just wait until I\u2019ve<\/i> been up here a couple of days. No matter how hard I\u2019ve tried to shake it, the accent always comes back.\u201d<\/p>\n

Neil\u2019s eyes widened as he considered the implications of that statement. \u201cI think I do need one of those beers after all.\u201d<\/p>\n

My grandmother emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. \u201cEverybody shut up, we\u2019re gonna pray!\u201d<\/p>\n

Since my cousin Jimmy was going into the seminary, he did the honors. As everyone crossed themselves\u2014 including me, solely on reflex\u2014Neil bowed his head respectfully. That\u2019s one of the things I really love about Neil; he\u2019s mindful of small stuff, and that lets him fit in anywhere, even when he doesn\u2019t fit in at all.<\/p>\n

We\u2019d been sticking to a mostly vegan diet since Neil had picked it up during the big, fun year of cancer. But there was absolutely nothing that could be classified as vegan at my family\u2019s cheese-smothered Christmas dinner, so we took the opportunity to gorge ourselves shamefully on fatty baked ham and thick, gooey casseroles.<\/p>\n

There has never been a dinner table invented that could hold an entire extended family of Catholics. There were just too damn many Scaifes, so most of us ate standing up, or sitting on couches or folding chairs, since there were only six seats around the dining room table.<\/p>\n

Neil and I stood in the little corner next to the back bedroom, our plates balanced on our hands, our bottles of Leinenkugel perched on the windowsill between ancient styrofoam snowmen.<\/p>\n

\u201cI need you to still love me,\u201d I managed around a mouthful of scorching hot mashed potatoes, \u201cwhen you are witness to the gastrointestinal nightmare that will be this food\u2019s legacy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe shall never speak of this night. What happens in Michigan stays in Michigan. Hopefully including your accent.\u201d He lifted another bite of ham to his mouth. \u201cAnd we must never tell Emma about the orgy of animal products we\u2019re ingesting.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho\u2019s Emma?\u201d My mom looked over her shoulder from the dinner table. The woman had the hearing of a buck in November.<\/p>\n

Neil chewed and swallowed, then reached for his beer. \u201cMy daughter. She\u2019s a vegan.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, you have a daughter?\u201d My mom brightened, and my grandma and aunt Marie both perked up. I knew mom had visions of adorable kindergarteners in her mind.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a funny story,\u201d I said, even though I knew it wouldn\u2019t strike them as remotely funny. \u201cShe\u2019s twenty-five. She\u2019s my exact age.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s a month younger,\u201d he clarified. As though that made things better.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, a whole month.\u201d Anger tightened my mom\u2019s fake smile. I thought it might crack and fall off.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that would be a good story, wouldn\u2019t it, Becky?\u201d Aunt Marie laughed to defuse the tension. \u201c\u2019My daughter and my grandbaby are the same age.\u2019 You could go on Maury<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUm, no, Emma is not…\u201d I shook my head. \u201cEmma is not my baby.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, you better have some soon,\u201d Marie said, as though it weren\u2019t the most mortifying thing in the world for her to order Neil and I to procreate. \u201cYour mom\u2019s been hungry for a grandbaby.\u201d<\/p>\n

How soon my mom\u2019s expectations had swung from \u201cdon\u2019t get pregnant,\u201d to \u201cget immediately pregnant,\u201d the moment a man was in the picture for me. I bet she felt different now that she\u2019d met Neil.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d gotten pregnant the year before, but we hadn\u2019t kept the baby. I didn\u2019t regret that choice, but I was glad my mom didn\u2019t know. She\u2019d told me time and again how disappointed she was that I wouldn\u2019t have children. I wasn\u2019t about to change my mind, but I wished for her sake that she didn\u2019t feel that way.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d already warned Neil about my mother\u2019s obsession with being a grandmother, and he\u2019d agreed to take the fall for me. He cleared his throat and said, quite seriously, \u201cWell, after I had chemotherapy and the transplant this year, it\u2019s not likely that children are in our future.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I\u2019m so sorry to hear that.\u201d I had no doubt that my mom meant that. She would probably feel irrationally guilty over Marie\u2019s remarks later.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe good news is, he\u2019s still alive,\u201d I reminded them with a wise-ass smirk.<\/p>\n

Neil grinned over the top of his beer bottle. \u201cSomehow, you\u2019ll just have to cope with your disappointment, Mrs. Scaife.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mom laughed, and I saw a glimmer of hope that she might slightly warm to Neil after all.<\/p>\n

A little after lunch, Neil excused himself to call Emma and wish her a happy Christmas. \u201cI\u2019ll go outside,\u201d he said, gesturing toward the door with his phone. \u201cIt\u2019s a bit loud in here. And I don\u2019t want to be rude, of course.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t stick your tongue to anything out there, or it will <\/i>get stuck.\u201d I teased.<\/p>\n

The moment he was gone, my mother and my aunt Marie herded me into the back bedroom. I backed into the end of the narrow bed and had no choice but to sit on all the coats as the two women loomed over me.<\/p>\n

\u201cExplain yourself, Sophie Anne!\u201d Mom hissed in a low voice.<\/p>\n

\u201cExplain what?\u201d I held out my open and utterly innocent palms. \u201cI told you I was bringing my boyfriend to Christmas, I brought my boyfriend to Christmas.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t go to law school! You are not going to lawyer your way out of this!\u201d Mom pressed her garish holiday manicure to her forehead. \u201cHow old is he?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cForty-nine.\u201d I lifted my chin defiantly. Or was that childishly? Why could I never act like an adult when my mother was involved?<\/p>\n

\u201cForty\u2014 I\u2019m not even forty-nine, Sophie! What the hell are you thinking?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m thinking he\u2019s super hot and great in bed?\u201d<\/p>\n

Mom crossed herself. \u201cJesus Christ.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, so, what does he do?\u201d aunt Marie asked, her voice insistently calm, like we were in an emergency that needed immediate handling. Then, in split second of panic, she added, \u201cFor a living! I meant for a living, what does he do?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe owns two media companies. He\u2019s the tenth richest man in Great Britain.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mom sat down heavily beside me. \u201cOh, sweetie, you\u2019re not doing this for the money, are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMother, no! God, I didn\u2019t even know he was rich when I met him.\u201d I shook my head. \u201cWhy can\u2019t I just meet a guy and fall in love with him and not have any ulterior motive? You are being extremely weird about this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour mom is just concerned for you, Sophie,\u201d Marie said gently.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd pissed off that you didn\u2019t tell me any of this before,\u201d mom added.<\/p>\n

I took a sharp breath, my exasperation audible. \u201cIt\u2019s not like I lied to you\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t lie to me, but you didn\u2019t tell the truth!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat does it even matter?\u201d I demanded. \u201cIt\u2019s not like I\u2019m doing anything wrong, for god\u2019s sake.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo he\u2019s a little older, so what?\u201d Marie said, putting her hands on her hips. \u201cSophie, do you love him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAbsolutely.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd does he treat you good and love you back?\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded decisively at my aunt. She turned to my mom. \u201cThen why are you having a shit fit over this, Becky? You should just be happy that she found a guy who isn\u2019t covered in tattoos with a bunch of junk in his face.\u201d<\/p>\n

Marie was talking about my first boyfriend, a nineteen year old I\u2019d started dating when I was seventeen. He\u2019d had the most awful amateur tattoos and he\u2019d played bass in a garage band. He\u2019d seemed so dangerous and like such a bad boy.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d since learned that the truly bad boys looked perfectly normal and respectable until you got them into a Parisian sex club.<\/p>\n

Mom huffed. She knew she\u2019d lost the argument. \u201cAre you guys still staying out at the trailer?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, are we still invited?\u201d I snapped.<\/p>\n

Mom\u2019s expression softened. \u201cOf course you are. Just… stop dropping these bombs on me, Sophie. I never know what\u2019s going on with you anymore. You don\u2019t have to be so secretive.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, apparently she does, if you\u2019re going to freak out like this whenever she tells you something,\u201d Marie observed.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan I go now and enjoy my lovely Christmas with my family, who I have not seen in a year?\u201d I asked with a roll of my eyes.<\/p>\n

Mom huffed and I pushed through the door and out into the dining room. Neil was still outside, thank god. I went to the kitchen and leaned over the sink to peer out the window. He paced between cars in the driveway, phone to his ear, his other arm wrapped around his chest. Occasionally he stopped and bounced for warmth. He had a huge grin on his face as he talked to his daughter.<\/p>\n

I knew it was difficult for him to be away from her at Christmas. The only other time it had happened, Emma had told me, had been when he\u2019d gone to visit his ex-wife, Elizabeth, and her family the year before they\u2019d gotten married.<\/p>\n

Emma took this trip to be a very good sign for her father and me.<\/p>\n

Still, I felt a little bad that Neil wasn\u2019t spending the holiday with his daughter. I knew he missed her terribly. It assuaged my guilt slightly that she was celebrating with her fianc\u00e9 and his family this year.<\/p>\n

The rest of the visit was surprisingly stress free. Neil was asked at least seven times what part of Ireland he was from, but he was very gracious about correcting people. As the day went on he relaxed considerably, and I marveled again at how adaptable he was to such an unfamiliar situation. Neil had grown up incredibly wealthy and properly mannered, but he didn\u2019t look down on my loud, sometimes earthy family the way other people with his upbringing might have.<\/p>\n

It was around four o\u2019clock when Neil and I left, our arms weighted down with plates of leftovers, cookies, and my grandmother\u2019s fudge. I must have hugged all of my relatives a thousand times apiece.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you heading back to the trailer right now?\u201d my mom called from the dining room table as we walked past.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I wanted to take Neil to see the lake while it was still light out.\u201d I gestured to the door. \u201cWe\u2019ll meet you back there. Is the key still in the same place?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust don\u2019t \u2018get lost,\u2019 or \u2018run out of gas,\u2019\u201d Marie snarked, complete with finger quotes.<\/p>\n

My mother shot her a look. \u201cYes, the key is in the same place. I\u2019ll be heading that way shortly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay. Bring more leftovers, we\u2019ll have dinner.\u201d I was going to be as relentlessly cheerful as possible about this whole thing.<\/p>\n

When we stepped outside, Neil gave me a reassuring smile. \u201cI think that went quite well.\u201d<\/p>\n

Awww. The poor guy.<\/i> \u201cI think you\u2019re being way too optimistic. You have no idea what\u2019s going to happen to you tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Happy holidays, everybody. Here’s the second draft of chapter one of\u00a0The Bride,\u00a0after the jump.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1],"tags":[210],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6901"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=6901"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6901\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7282,"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6901\/revisions\/7282"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6901"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6901"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jennytrout.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6901"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}