Author: Jeanne C. Stein
Released: August 27, 2013
Next morning, Frey and I are the last to the breakfast table.
I’m glad no one asks why. It would be embarrassing. Even an adult daughter doesn’t want to acknowledge that she’s late coming down because she and her fiancé were having sex. Lots of sex. Great sex. Sex so good I didn’t want stop. When I feel color start up the back of my neck, I decide what I’d better do is stop thinking about it.
I slink into a chair at the table and reach for the coffeepot. “Where are the kids?” I ask pouring myself a cup.
Dad avoids my eyes. Shit. Were we making too much noise?
Mom picks up the slack. “Gone next door. Trish and John-John arranged an early morning ride before Trish has to go to school.” She casts an apologetic eye to Frey. “I hope that was all right.”
Frey smiles. “Of course. Trish mentioned their plans last night. And John-John has been riding since before he could walk.”
Mom grins then. “They left hours ago.”
I lower my head. Yikes. I glance at Frey but he seems oblivious. He’s buttering toast with the gusto of a man who’s just experienced an earth-shattering orgasm.
I clear my throat. “So what’s on the agenda today?”
Mom slips on her reading glasses and consults her ever-present list pad. “Well. After school you and Trish have to go into town to pick up the dresses. And you should call anyone in San Diego that you want to come for the wedding. And you need to decide who you want to officiate the service.”
“Which reminds me.” Glad for a chance to banish the pesky image of sex from my head, and maybe Dad’s, I jump up from the table and fetch the brochure we got yesterday from the consulate. “Have you ever heard of this group?”
For the next hour we do our homework, not only going through the brochure but pulling up the website for the organization calling itself Gracefully Personalized Ceremonies. Even Mom, who I know would have preferred a Catholic ceremony, had to admit she found the philosophy of a non-secular yet devout exchange of vows fitting.
“And the sooner those vows get said, the better,” Dad mutters under his breath.
I wasn’t wrong. What did he do, come up to get us for breakfast? Did he hear us on the other side of the door? Shit. This time, Frey catches the subtext, too. His face reddens.
Mom slaps at Dad’s hand. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud. They’re young. They’re in love. Don’t you remember how that was?”
The doorbell rings and I jump up so fast to answer it, I almost knock my chair over. Frey is right behind me.
“Did they hear us?” he whispers, following me to the door, his brow furrowed in dismay.
“Must have.” I can’t help but laugh at his expression. “We need to be quieter.”
“Understatement. Maybe we should lay off sex until after the wedding.”
A snicker escapes my throat as I open the front door.