My lip chewing must have been audible, because Jackson prompted, “Spit it out, Bianca.”
“And the wedding itself? When will that happen?”
“As soon as you meet my parents. Ideally we’ll go this weekend, but if you need to arrange—”
“Wait. Meet your parents? Go?”
His voice turned dark. “We need to make a quick trip to Kentucky before we get married.”
The realization of what he meant made me suck in a horrified breath. “Oh Lord. Your parents have to approve me, don’t they?”
His silence was my answer. I hollered, “I have to audition for the role of your fake wife?”
“It’s just a formality. They’re going to love you.”
I groaned and covered my eyes with my hand. I could picture it now: Jackson pulling up to his boyhood home—in my mind it looked like the plantation Tara from Gone With the Wind—and introducing me to his rich, conservative, and very white parents.
His mother would get a pinched look. His father would turn purple with anger. All the servants who’d lined up to greet us like they did on Downton Abbey would titter behind their hands at Jackson’s audacity for bringing home a colored girl.
Mercy! Is that his maid?
“I know you’re thinking again because I can smell something burning,” said Jackson drily.
Think of Mama. Think of Mama. Think of Mama.
“I can have Eeny cover for me for a few days,” I said weakly. She’d have to cover for me forever after I died of humiliation when Jackson’s parents had their dogs chase us off the plantation, anyway; might as well get her up to speed.
“Good. We’ll leave Friday, then. When can I meet your mother?”
Feeling like I was in a dream, I said, “I’ll find out.”
DAVINA’S FAMOUS CREOLE JAMBALAYA
Makes 8 servings
½ pound raw bacon, diced
½ pound fresh pork sausage, casings removed
½ pound andouille sausage, sliced
3 tablespoons butter
4 boneless chicken breasts, cut into 1-inch cubes
1 large yellow onion, diced
1 green bell pepper, diced
3 celery ribs, diced
3 garlic cloves, minced
2 cups long-grain white rice
1 teaspoon dried thyme
2 bay leaves
½ tablespoon chili powder
1½ tablespoons paprika
1 teaspoon ground cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon celery salt
1 can diced tomatoes
2 cups homemade (or organic) chicken stock
1 cup good-quality red wine
1½ pounds wild-caught raw shrimp, peeled and deveined
8 scallions, chopped
fresh parsley
Preparation
In a large Dutch oven or high-sided pot, melt butter. Cook bacon and sausages for three to five minutes or until lightly browned, stirring frequently. Season chicken breasts with salt and pepper, add to pot, and cook additional 5 minutes or until browned.
Add onion, bell pepper, celery, and garlic and cook until soft and fragrant, about 10 minutes. If pot seems dry, drizzle lightly with olive oil.
Add rice, thyme, bay leaves, paprika, cayenne pepper, and celery salt and stir to mix. Increase heat to high. Add tomatoes, red wine, and chicken stock. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium/low, cover pot, and simmer for 15 minutes or until rice is tender.
When rice is done, add shrimp and green onions. Cook on low for additional 10 minutes or until shrimp is pink and cooked through. Remove bay leaves, fluff jambalaya, and serve, garnishing with fresh parsley.
TWENTY-TWO
BIANCA
After I hung up with Jackson, it took a solid fifteen minutes of dithering before I worked up the nerve to call my mother. She answered on the first ring.
“Hi, Mama. How are you?”
The gentle laugh that came over the line was reassuring. “I told you this morning I’m feeling good today, chère. You worry about me too much.”
“That’s good.”
After listening to the cavernous silence that followed, her mother-bear instincts kicked in. She said sharply, “Bianca? What’s the matter?”
I stared at the kitten poster on the wall of my office until it blurred. “Uh . . .” Be brave. You’ve got this. Terrified, I cleared my throat. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
She didn’t even miss a beat. “Who, Jackson Boudreaux?”
My jaw hit the desk. When I recovered my wits, I said, “How did you know?”
“Sweetheart, I’ve known Eeny for going on fifty years. Did you think she wouldn’t call me when a man barged into your kitchen and announced you were getting married like you’d just won the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes?”
Eeny! I should’ve known she’d blab! The air leaked from my lungs like a punctured balloon.