“Hmm,” said Mama. “Well, perhaps another time.”
She smiled at me with her eyes. We both knew exactly where all the photo albums were. Stacked in bookcases in what used to be my bedroom.
Jackson abandoned the chair he’d been sitting in before and lowered himself to the couch beside me. His weight made the cushions dip and rolled me slightly toward him. I tried to be casual as I straightened myself, but Jackson draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me against his side, like he’d done it a million times before.
Blushing furiously, I made a peep of surprise.
Mama said to Jackson, “She gets it from her father, that flush. That and her stubborn streak.”
Jackson chuckled. “She’s stubborn? Gosh, ma’am, I hadn’t noticed.”
They both laughed. I wondered if a person could die of embarrassment.
They talked for a while, easy in each other’s company, while I sat stiff and uncomfortable beside the man who would soon be my husband and watched the woman who raised me charm the pants off him.
He charmed the pants off her, too. The housecoat, I mean.
Finally after what seemed an interminable period I spent examining a crack on the opposite wall, my mother said, “Well. It’s been so lovely visiting with you, Jackson, but I’m afraid I’m feeling a little tired now.”
I snapped back to attention like a dog at the end of a yanked leash. “Are you okay? What can I get you?” I rose, filled with anxiety, but Mama waved me off.
“Nothing at all, chère, nothing at all. I’m just going to go back to bed for a spell. Rest these old bones. Would you lend me a hand?”
I helped her stand, wincing at her fragility. But she pulled herself upright and smiled like she didn’t have a care in the world, and I breathed a little easier.
“It’s been wonderful to meet you,” said Jackson, solemn again. He came forward and gently took my mother’s outstretched hand. “I can see where Bianca gets her beauty and brains.”
“And I can see why she likes you so much,” Mama said warmly. “You remind me an awful lot of her daddy. Crème brûlée, I always called him. Hard as nails on the outside, but inside all soft and gooey sweet.”
I almost dropped dead. “Mama!”
“Oh hush, child, you embarrass too easily.” To Jackson she said, “I can trust you to take care of my baby, now, can’t I, Jackson Boudreaux?”
She was smiling, her tone playful, but there was a steeliness behind her eyes that left no doubt she wasn’t asking a question. She was giving a command, and God help him if he answered the wrong way.
But Jackson rose to the challenge with a quiet grace that surprised me. He said softly, “You can trust me with her life, ma’am.”
It was a simple statement, breathtaking in its honesty. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind he meant exactly what he’d said.
Mama felt the same way. She nodded, the steeliness in her eyes slowly replaced by that strange relief that had echoed in her sigh. Her hand relaxed in mine.
“Would you just help me to the bedroom, chère?” Mama asked.
“Of course.”
“I’ll wait for you outside, Bianca. Mrs. Hardwick.” Jackson slightly bowed his head, managing to look royal, elegant, humble, sophisticated, and sincere, all at once. “I hope to see you soon.”
He made his way to the front door and quietly let himself out.
When the door shut behind him, a huge breath left my chest in a rush. I felt like I might collapse into a heap, all my bones made of rubber.
Mama patted my hand. “I owe you an apology, Bianca.”
“What are you talking about?” I said, truly confused.
She searched my eyes. “I overheard what Trace said to you the other day, out on the sidewalk after you both left. I was wrong about him.”
“Oh, Mama,” I breathed, sorry she’d had to hear that wretched skirt chaser call me a terrible name.
Then she said, “I heard what you told him, too,” and all the blood drained from my face.
That asshole is my fiancé! I’d shouted into his face, loud enough for the whole block to hear.
“I thought you were just being spiteful, which he deserved, don’t get me wrong. But Jackson Boudreaux just asked for my permission to marry you.”
My whole body went numb. So that’s why he wanted to meet my mother. He wanted to ask her for my hand.
I wasn’t sure which would happen first, the fainting or the vomiting.
She smiled. “Don’t look so traumatized, baby, I said yes. It seems awful fast, but who am I to judge? It was the same way for me and your daddy. And you’ve always had your head screwed on straight. I know you wouldn’t want to marry him unless you were in love, even if you have been tight-lipped about it.” Her eyes narrowed slightly as she dared me to contradict her.