Chapter 9

SEPTEMBER

Something is dying in my stomach. I get major butterflies when I’m nervous, but these butterflies are possessed. Devil butterflies. And they’re beating their iron wings against my innards so hard I have to clutch my gut and beg Landon to pull over again.

“What did you eat?” he jokes as I bolt out of the car. I haven’t eaten anything—can’t imagine what my stomach would feel like if I had.

Breathe in, breathe out. Oh, sweet cherry pie, I may hurl. Cars whiz past behind me as I latch onto my knees and prepare to throw ladylike out the window.

This is just like that time on the Rock-O-Plane at thirteen with Justin Prescott, the only preteen who didn’t have an awkward phase. His pinky touched mine and we rocked, and from then on I was known as “Blue Slurpee” as it went flying from my stomach.

Somewhere behind me I hear the car door. Landon’s gonna touch me, and I don’t want him to. Blue Slurpee needs to puke in peace. But his hand hits my upper back even after I wave at him not to step another foot closer.

“Do you want some water?”

I shake my head, continuing to breathe out like I’m in labor. Landon tucks my ponytail into the back of my T-shirt, and I manage to say, “Thanks” between breaths.

What is this nonsense? Stupid stomach. Stupid nerves. They need to back the hell off and let me be a strong, confident woman. Or at least let me fake it for the weekend.

“You okay, Tumbles? You’re all sweaty.”

Eww, he’s right. Maybe I do need that water.

“Hang tight,” Landon says, and clearly my thoughts have run out of my mouth again. I wipe my brow with a shaky hand and curse at the ground like it’s at fault for my inability to handle pressure.

Landon hands me a Dasani and I take small sips. The September wind picks up and that helps the sweats. After a minute I think the devil butterflies have been exorcised.

“Do we need to head back?” he asks, adjusting his faded blue Miller cap. “If you’re sick we can reschedule, no problem.”

“I’m fine.” I take another swig of water. “Not sick, just…”

A cocky smile pops up on his mouth. “Aww, Lizzie. You’re nervous.”

“I am not.”

“There go your pants again.” He pulls me into a hug, which I don’t return. “Will it help if I say I know they’ll love you?”

“Of course they will. I’m awesome,” I grumble into his T-shirt, but really, what if they don’t? What if this weekend is a living hell? What if they think it’s all a big joke that Landon brought home this twenty-two-year-old posing as a fiancée just to piss them off, and damn it those iron-winged butterflies just reincarnated and want to explode out my belly button.

Landon rubs a soothing hand up and down my back. “You know what helps with nerves?”

“Alcohol.”

“Sex.”

“Are you giving in?”

“No.”

“Sounds like you are.”

“Please. I don’t even know how long it’s been.”

Three very long weeks. “Me neither.”

“I am seriously concerned about your pants. We should get you fire-resistant ones.”

I shake my head, burying it farther into his chest. “Can we stop somewhere? I haven’t eaten.”

“Well, that’s why you’re sick!”

He pulls me back to the car, and I try not to think about spending money while we drive to the next rest stop. I’ve got too much stress on my plate as it is, and when Landon’s hand squeezes my thigh twice before staying there to rest, I have to ignore the throb in my lady regions screaming at me that “Yeah, girl. Sex would seriously help right now!”

Damn him.

—

“This is it.”

Landon turns the ignition off in front of a nice house in the middle of a noisy neighborhood. Kids are playing basketball down the street, a dog barks at a beefy man jogging past a fence, and there’s an old lady with a cat on her porch, a cat in her lap, and a cat on the patio table next to her. She yells at that “damn dog” to “quiet its trap,” and I crack a smile.

“You have a cat lady in your neighborhood.” I look at Landon. “A for real cat lady.”

“Uh…that’s my mom.”

I feel all the color drain from my face. Before I can apologize, Landon laughs and I smack him.

“Don’t tease me like that. I’m nervous enough.”

“Don’t be nervous,” he says. But when he turns to the house we parked in front of, he tugs on his hat, hard jawline tensing as he grinds his teeth. I run a hand up and down his thigh, trying to suppress the urge to call him a hypocrite.

He looks down at my hand, jaw relaxing when he strokes his thumb across the diamond.

“They don’t know yet.”

“You want me to hide it?”

His hand stops me from sliding the ring off. “No. I’m just warning you, she’s going to ask if you’re pregnant.”

“Been there.”

“And when we tell her you aren’t, she’ll ask if we’re crazy.”

“We’re crazy in love.” I make a kissy face at him, and he rolls his eyes. I roll mine right back. “Okay, I’ll try not to embarrass you.”

“I’m not worried about you.”

“Tell that to your face.”

“I’m worried about them.”

“You really are calming my nerves. You should be a therapist.”

He squeezes just above my knee, making me jerk in my seat. With no more thoughts of encouragement on either of our parts, we get out of the car, start up the walk, and Landon rings the doorbell. I hear the death march, and I chicken out and swivel the diamond around so it just looks like a plain white band on my finger.

“Who is it?!” someone shouts from inside. Landon doesn’t answer, just tests the door, and when it’s unlocked, he swings it open.

“Ma?”

I bite my smile back. He calls her “Ma.”

“Landon? Oh!”

We hear a crash from past the stairwell, a muffled “Damn it,” and then the future grandmother of my children appears.

Now, I’ve always considered myself short. I’m five foot five and Landon towers over me, but he obviously didn’t get that gene from his mom. She has to be shorter than I am by a couple of inches. Her dark hair is pretty thin, but it’s pulled up in a high ponytail that makes her look younger than she is. And I’m not familiar with her smiles yet, but it looks like she’s giving me one of Landon’s fakers. Oy, not so awesome.

“Is this Libby?”

“It’s Lizzie,” Landon says.

“Hi. Nice to meet you,” I say, sticking my hand out. She looks me up and down, then grabs the tips of my fingers. I feel like I’m shaking a dead fish.

“You’re early,” she says to Landon.

“Nice to see you, too, Mom.”

“Oh, stop that. I was just saying I’m not dressed to meet your…friend here.”

“Girlfriend. And you look fine.”

I feel awkward, so I just nod like a bobblehead. Mrs. Wangford raises an eyebrow, and I should probably stop nodding, but it takes a long while for my head to listen.

“Elle is grabbing dinner. Hope you’re okay with Thai.”

She looks right at me.

I should probably say something.

“Sounds dummy.” Holy shitballs. What was I going for there? Delicious or yummy? “I mean, yes, I’m okay with it.” Fumble, fumble, fumble. I feel Landon shaking with laughter next to me, so I hip-check him.

Mrs. Wangford’s gaze flicks between the two of us, the corners of her mouth tight. “I would’ve made something, but Landon always complains about my cooking.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Bullshit. I remember the stuffed mushrooms.”

“I hate mushrooms.”

“No, you love them. It’s your dad who hates them.”

Landon rolls his eyes to me, and I force back a laugh. Landon would rather eat gum on the side of the road than stick a mushroom in his mouth. But no way am I going to argue over this with his mom…whom I just met…and it’s not really a good reason to fight.

Mrs. Wangford laughs and waves a hand in Landon’s direction. “Show Libby around while I get the table set.”