you, Lace, me casually dropping it into conversation would make you think you had to make a fuss.”
“You’re right. Your whole family surprising me while I’m running through the living room commando, that’s the very definition of low-key.”
“If I agree that I should have told you, can I unwrap my present?” he asked as he pulled the shirt over my head.
“You are just not giving up on this, are you?”
As he shook his head and kissed my neck, I slid my hand in the bathroom drawer, searching around for condoms. He lifted my butt, securing my legs around his hips. I braced my hands against the counter and thought that this was something I would never have done before meeting Monroe.
“You are a very bad influence on me,” I whispered as he slipped into me, inch by inch.
Monroe went out to smooth things over with his family while I showered. I reeked of spilled coffee and hurried, quiet sex, and that just wasn’t the way I wanted to spend the morning. By the time I emerged from the bedroom, fully clothed in a very modest turtleneck, Monroe’s mother was sliding cinnamon rolls out of the oven and reminding her youngest son, Andy, that setting the breakfast table didn’t mean tossing the dishes in the middle of the table and walking away. Monroe’s father was looking through the bookshelves for titles he hadn’t read yet. And Monroe and his oldest brother, Matt, were arguing over the most efficient way to get kindling started in the fireplace, which sounded remarkably like a scene from The Great Outdoors.
I walked into the kitchen and handed Janice Monroe a trivet for the hot pan and dragged a bunch of mismatched juice glasses out of the cabinet. “I’m so sorry about earlier, Mrs. Monroe. Or I guess, it’s Dr. Monroe, isn’t it?”
“Call me Janice, sweetheart,” she said, patting my shoulder. “We’re all Dr. Monroe, so it could get confusing otherwise. And don’t worry about earlier. I raised three boys. There’s not much you can do to shock me.”
“Oh, good. But, for the sake of my conscience, I should probably say I’m sorry I flipped out and cursed in front of you. Not the best first impression, I know. I just never imagined meeting Monroe’s parents.”
“You didn’t think he had any?”
I pursed my lips. “I’d imagined some sort of hatching scenario.”
She laughed. “Someday I’ll tell you about the time I came into Franny’s room early one morning to find his homecoming date -”
“That’s not a story we need to share,” Monroe said, striding into the room and giving his mother a warning glance. Janice glared right back and pushed a carton of juice into his hands.
“So early-morning raids are habit with you?” I asked. “Wait, did you just call him Franny?”
Monroe groaned. “Mom, we’ve talked about this. I’m not Franny, especially in front of other people.”
“Well, his father was already Frank. He refused to go with Francis or Bernard,” Janice said, turning her attention back to the stove, where she was heating a pan for eggs. “It’s a perfectly acceptable nickname.”
“Did people call you Franny in high school?” I asked. He scowled at me. “So much of your personality makes sense now.”
“Do you see why I went with Lefty, even if it took getting shot in the ass?” he asked as his mother swatted at him with a dish towel.
“You get out of here so we can talk about you,” she said.
“Actually, I think I’m going to head on home, give you guys some space. I don’t want to intrude on a family thing,” I said.
“Don’t be silly!” she exclaimed while Monroe practically barred my escape route with his body. “I’ve seen you half-naked. You know about my son’s embarrassing, effeminate nickname. Franny likes you enough to declare an embargo on certain stories from his adolescence. You’re practically family now, anyway.”
“You have strange standards for family membership,” I told her.
She grinned, her eyes twinkling just like her son’s, and handed me a mixing bowl and a carton of eggs. Monroe hesitated for a total of two seconds, shot me an apologetic look over his shoulder, and then abandoned me like a rat running from a sinking ship.
Coward.
“I should apologize to you, Lacey,” she said in a softer, more serious tone. “Franny didn’t tell us he was seeing anyone. Otherwise, we would have had the sense to call. Don’t take that personally, he doesn’t tell us about anyone he’s dating. Ever since Sarah, he hasn’t made a habit of…”
“Making friends with ladies?” I suggested helpfully.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, chuckling. “It’s obvious my son likes you very much if he lets you invade his inner sanctum. I don’t remember the last time someone besides family was allowed in his home. So I want you to know -”
“Mom?” Monroe called from the living room. “Don’t forget that it’s Matt that likes fried eggs. The rest of us like scrambled.”
“Like I could forget something like that!” she called back.
She smiled at me. “Ten minutes together and it’s like the boys are kids again. Lacey, I want you to know -”
“Hey, Mom?” Monroe called again. “Are you making toast? Because I have a new jar of strawberry jelly in the cabinet.”
Janice frowned. I rolled my eyes and said, “I’ll get the toast.”
“Anyway, Lacey,” Janice started again just as Monroe yelled, “Hey, Mom! There’s grape jelly, too, in the fridge.”
“I know exactly what you’re doing, Francis Bernard Monroe!” she said, storming into the living room, hands on hips. “Don’t for one second think you can keep Lacey and me from having a civilized conversation.”
I laughed as Monroe insisted it was worth a shot and tried to convince his mother to declare a moratorium on all stories about him that did not extend from events of the past year. His mother ignored him and turned back toward the kitchen.
“It was a little ham-handed, son,” Monroe’s father told him, shaking his silver head in disdain. “You should know by now the best way to distract your mother is by breaking something semi-valuable in another room.”
“Or pushing one of your brothers down the stairs,” Matt muttered in a resentful tone that labeled him as a “pushee.”
“Or hiding the incriminating wrappers from her secret chocolate stash in your brother’s room,” Andy suggested.
“I knew that was you, you little bastard,” Monroe griped.
“I don’t know whose children they are,” Janice told me. “They’re the product of terrible parenting, obviously. They just showed up on our doorstep one day and we took them in.”
By this time I was leaned against the counter, laughing so hard I had a stitch in my side.
We finally got breakfast on the table, after Janice insisted her sons and husband “get off their chauvinistic asses and help.” I suddenly understood where Monroe got his unique grasp of the English language. There was quite a bit of plate shuffling, tossing of cinnamon rolls across the table, and fights over the “good” strips of bacon, but eventually everyone was leaning back in their chairs and moaning about eating too much.
“So what exactly do you do when your family comes to visit?” I asked Monroe quietly as his brothers loudly argued over the last cinnamon roll.
“Well, my dad comes up with a big itinerary for the day. Hiking, renting a pontoon boat, visiting that apple orchard off County Line Road. He usually ends up falling asleep right after breakfast and napping through lunch. My brothers watch basketball games. I spend most of the day fighting Mom off of my laundry hamper. We play a couple of board games while my dad snores. Mom makes a big dinner, we eat, and they all go back to their motel room, leaving me to appreciate the silence of my little home.”
“Wow,” I marveled. “Still sounds like more fun than Christmas with the Terwilligers.”
He snickered and tugged gently on my hair. I looked up and found that Matt was staring at me.
“Do I have jelly on my face?” I asked.
“No, it’s just you look really familiar. Where do I know you from?” Matt asked.
“I just have one of those faces,” I said, shooting a covert glance at Monroe.
“No, I saw you somewhere, like on TV or something. Were you on one of those reality dating shows?”
