Grin and Beard It(87)

“Sienna—”

“I wouldn’t be acting in film, because actresses are a size zero and five foot two.”

“I’m sorry—”

“I wouldn’t have won an Academy Award for best actress, because only white women—usually named Meryl Streep—win that award. And never for a comedy role.”

“You’ve made your point.”

“Every step of the way I’d been scolded for being happy with myself. How dare I be happy with who I am, my size, the color of my skin, that I can make both men and women laugh. So you think I’m going to let you or anyone else make me feel ashamed about Jethro?”

“His name is Jethro?” Her tone held a worried edge. “Really? Couldn’t you at least have messed around with a park ranger named Chris or Carter? It has to be a Jethro?”

I slow blinked because I was angry. I waited a full five seconds, simmering in my temper until I had control over it, before responding with forced calmness. “Yes. It has to be Jethro. And I love his name. And we’re not messing around. We’re falling for each other. I’m halfway in love with him already.”

Marta looked at me, just looked at me, her expression one of frustrated helplessness and begrudging acceptance. So I looked at her in return, daring her to push me on this. I understood she believed she had my best interest at heart. But she didn’t. My best interests, my career, my success? Of course, yes.

My heart? Obviously not.

“Fine. We will . . . I guess we’ll talk about this later.” My sister glanced at her watch, then leveled me with a dispassionate glare. “You’ll be late for your flight if you don’t leave soon.”

I met her stare straight on. We engaged in an old-fashioned stare down. I half expected a tumbleweed to blow across her office.

She broke the silence and eye contact first. “Sienna, it’s time for you to go. You can glare at me later.”

“Okay. I’ll go.” I nodded but needed to clarify one point. “However, you should know, the only way we’re talking about Jethro later is if you’re ready to apologize and be excited for me. Otherwise we’re not talking about him at all.”





CHAPTER 23


“I cannot conceive of a greater loss than the loss of one's self-respect.”

― Mahatma Gandhi, Fools, Martyrs, Traitors: The Story of Martyrdom in the Western World



~Sienna~

On Monday morning, when Jethro picked me up, he was distracted.

And not a good, happy distracted. He was troubled. I sensed it in the way he smiled as he approached the porch, swiftly kissed me good morning when I met him halfway, held my hand tightly as we walked to his truck.

He opened the door for me as usual. I climbed up, worried something new had happened since we’d last texted, something that had him rethinking the progress we’d made on Friday. Unlike all last week, Cletus wasn’t present. It was just the two of us. I spotted my Hello Kitty mug in the cup holder, but when I reached for the mug I found it empty.

And so I worried my lip, feeling gun-shy because the last time we’d been alone in the car on the way to the set he’d broken things off.

As soon as Jethro pulled onto the main road I blurted, “If you’re going to break up with me again I wish you would just say so, but I wish you wouldn’t because—as I’ve already established—I really like you and think you’re making a mistake.”

Jethro turned wide, confused eyes on me. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Are you going to call things off again?”

“No . . . why? What happened?”

I hesitated. The argument with my sister happened, but it didn’t affect my relationship with Jethro and wasn’t really pertinent to this conversation.

Being happy with oneself and pandering to no one was the quickest way to scare the hell out of people. And right now, Marta was scared of me. I endeavored to shrug off the persistent weight of unpleasantness that had been plaguing me since leaving my sister yesterday. She would come around, mostly because I would give her no choice.

I answered honestly. “Nothing happened. Did anything happen with you?”

“Not that I know of.”

“So we’re still in agreement? We’re still a dating couple who are not temporary?”

“That’s correct.” He grinned like he enjoyed hearing the words out loud.

I released a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. Because I was about to get Mexican mad.”

“What’s Mexican mad?”

“Same as regular mad, just with me speaking in Spanish so I could call you an asshole without you knowing. You would suspect, but you wouldn’t know.”