“You know what?” Murphy said quickly. “I’m working now. Maybe we can discuss this all later?”
Murphy’s mom looked her up and down again with a sniff. “You will need to clean up.”
“Yes, Mom, I know what I need to wear. And we’ll be four, so can you handle changing the reservation? Or should I text Betty or maybe Dad can? Ben will come since he planned to take me there.” Murphy let out a short breath and turned to me. “I’m sorry. Rain check on just the two of us?”
“Um, yeah.” I stumbled over my words, not sure why she was agreeing to go with her parents so easily. But family was family.
“Zara, is my break over?” Murphy called over her shoulder toward her boss. “Doesn’t Nicole have that show at school you wanted to see?”
I didn’t know if Murphy was lying, but Zara went along with it and nodded.
Turning back to her parents, Murphy said firmly, “Mom and Dad, I’ll see you later.”
“Seven. Don’t be late, darling,” her mom said, failing to register the tension building inside the café. “I’m going to the spa this afternoon and your dad is golfing, so we’ll be busy. Thanks for texting Betty to make a change in the reservation.”
With one more quick once-over of me, the couple glided out of the Bean as though they hadn’t just turned Murphy’s world upside down.
30
Ben
I didn’t hear from Murphy for the rest of the day.
After leaving the Bean, I downed my Americano in one gulp and headed over to Brenna’s to do a little handiwork. I was off and had nothing to do other than obsess over how today was going completely wrong. This was supposed to be my day to spoil Murphy.
And then I remembered. I had to pick up the cupcake cake.
How could a dumb cupcake cake ever be enough for Murphy with family resources like hers?
Not entirely sure Murphy really wanted me to join her with her parents, I decided to give her space. Of course, I wanted to text or call, reach out, run over and hold her while she told me I was enough, but I fought the urge.
My phone finally dinged as I was changing a light bulb at Brenna’s.
I’m sorry I ruined the day. Do you want to drive? I don’t need my parents to see my car.
That was it. No mention of her really wanting me there or needing me to be with her, but I chalked it up to her being stressed. Imagine being embarrassed about your car when it came to your own parents? The excuses I made for her might have been more for my benefit, but I needed to tell myself something.
I texted back, trying to sound as businesslike as she did.
No worries. Pick you up at 6.
Then I called the inn to cancel my own dinner and room reservations. Normally, they’d be sticklers about me canceling so late, but I mentioned being a doctor and needing to sleep at home tonight. It wasn’t a nice trick, but I wasn’t in a nice mood.
My despondent mood only grew worse when I knocked on Murphy’s door and a way-too-made-up version of her opened it, wearing a pressed blouse and sleek pants and mega-high heels. Her hair was blown out so straight it looked hard and brittle, and an inch of makeup she didn’t need was layered on her face.
Seeing how she’d changed herself to suit her parents, I felt my blood boil.
“Hi,” she said with a small smile.
“Happy birthday,” I said softly, trying to ignore Society Murphy as I leaned in for a kiss. Thinking about the cake, I decided we could salvage the day later—in bed. Just Murphy and me, and icing, and all the makeup long gone.
But then Murphy surprised me by saying, “Lipstick. Can’t kiss.” Waving me off, she didn’t even offer me a cheek to kiss. Instead, she secured her purse over her shoulder and stepped outside to shut the door behind her.
Even though I was physically outside her place here in Vermont, I was mentally transported back in time to our days at Pressman, where our relationship wasn’t meant to be public. When I was just the kid Murphy sometimes talked to. A shudder ran through me.
No, this is now. Murphy invited me to dinner. She wants me there. She said so in front of her parents.
Yet, we walked toward the Jeep in silence. Chatty Murphy was long gone—no sign of the retro combat boots or her freckled nose anywhere.
She let me open the door for her before she slipped in and checked her reflection in the mirror, not noticing the giant cake box in the back seat or whether I walked in front or back of the car. Sneaking a peek at Murphy after I closed her door, I found she was entirely consumed with herself, wiping some invisible smudge off her cheek.
“Christ, what did I get myself into?” I whispered to myself as I rounded the back of the SUV.
As I slid into the driver’s seat, Murphy finally acknowledged me and gave me an apologetic look.
“If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. I know . . . it’s my fault. I volunteered you for dinner, but please don’t think for a second that this will be anything but work. It won’t be a fun and relaxing evening. This isn’t a fun social date. But this is my life, working for my parents. I can’t seem to escape it, even here in Vermont.”
“Of course I’m going,” I said against my better judgment, accepting that this wasn’t going to be an evening where I’d leave feeling good about myself or successful in my own right. “I’m your guy,” I added, not knowing if it was for my benefit or hers.
Murphy sighed. “Again, I’m sorry. I know you were trying to surprise me for my birthday, but my parents swooped in
