In unison, my mother and I leaned forward and said, “What’s the surprise?”
He tilted his head cockily, his dark green eyes flitting from me to my mother and back again. “Wouldn’t be much of a surprise for him if I told ya, now, would it?”
“Good surprise or bad surprise?” I asked.
“Do I look like the kind of father who’d spring a bad surprise on his son a week before he married such a pretty girl… who smells like a pretty little alpine wildflower?” He sniffed the air. “Did you just shower?”
“I’m sure your surprise isn’t that great.” I returned to eating my lunch, which had gotten cold.
My mother said, “I certainly look forward to meeting more of your family, especially since soon they’ll be our family.”
Jake chuckled and waved for the waitress to refill his drink. My father waved his hand as well, and asked for the same as what Jake was having.
My mother shot him a look that said you’re-seriously-drinking-before-dinnertime?
He shot back the can’t-beat-em-join-em look.
The waitress arrived and my mother ordered a glass of one of the winery’s reds, then changed her order to a bottle.
~
Thanks to the wine, we got through our first family meal without too much horror.
My mother did inform Jake that while she couldn’t say she’d seen one of his films, she couldn’t say she hadn’t, because she had watched the occasional adult film, “mostly for ideas.”
My father finished his second double scotch and had the pleasant expression of an old man who has turned off his hearing aid and is nodding along deafly while he ponders the meaning of life, or about circuit breakers, or that touchdown he scored in high school.
After lunch, I ran over to the room to check on Dalton. He’d moved onto the bed and didn’t even stir when I came into the room, or when I whisper-yelled, “HEY, ARE YOU SLEEPING?” a couple of times.
I fixed my hair and makeup in the bathroom, then came out to watch him sleep. “I shouldn’t have given you all that hot sex,” I said.
The sex had relaxed him too much, but at least sleeping was better than having a panic attack.
We had an itinerary for the day, so I left him to sleep some more.
I met my parents and Dalton’s father in the lobby, and we joined the other resort guests for a tour. I was the only sober person there, which was fine. Everyone was happy.
The resort staff were all universally charming, and the tour was excellent, but once you’ve seen one vat of mushed grapes, you’ve seen enough. The tasting part was more interesting, especially when Jake made his move on a couple of single ladies in their thirties.
From the way the three of them were carrying on and tasting wine from each other’s glasses, I had a pretty good idea Jake would be bedding one or both that night. And good for them! They were all consenting adults, after all, and none of them was my mother.
After the tour of the facility, all the guests went on a horseback tour of the area.
The horses were all big and sturdy, or “tourist sized” as my mother noted. I would have preferred to walk on my own feet, but I saddled up without complaint, because everyone else seemed so excited, even my father.
~
Rosy-cheeked from our horse ride, we shared another meal together around six. This time everyone sat at a communal table with all the guests present. Everyone else was unconnected to our group, but there was another set of parents meeting each other before their offspring got married in a few months.
My father was happy he got to sit next to the man who’d been reading the same novel. The round-faced man was an engineer and high school science teacher, and the two of them got along like a barn on fire. My mother made fast friends with the man’s wife, and so I didn’t feel guilty at all sneaking away right after dinner.
After fumbling with the silly key-card lock, I pushed open the door to the room. The curtains were mostly closed, and the room was dim. The air conditioner wasn’t running, and the air was warm, but not hot. The window that I’d opened was open just a crack now.
The lump on the bed made a groggy, growling sound.
I whispered, “Do you want to get up now for a bit, or sleep right through to morning?”
As I asked him the question, I felt rather… wifely. Is that a word? I approached the bed and placed my hand on Dalton’s forehead to check his temperature. He was warmer than I expected, but not feverish.*
*I have no medical training, yet I believe that if someone had a fever, I could probably tell just from my hand on their forehead. This might be a woman thing. Men have men things, too. For example, they think they can strap furniture to the roof of a car, and if they also reach out the window to hold on with their hand, that’ll keep everything nice and secure.