Page 28 of Rory Rides Her Fake Fiancé
“I mean this place is turning into a white-collar jailhouse. Who’s going to move in next? Bernie Madoff?”
“I think he’s dead,” I say.
“What do you mean criminal?” Rory asks again.
“He worked for Wells Fargo,” Mrs. Patterson snaps. “All those predatory loans. How they’re still in business I’ll never understand.”
“Grandma, I doubt he was actually the one giving out loans.”
“He was management. Even worse!”
Rory puts her face in her hands. “Okay, we’re getting off topic.”
“We have a topic?”
“Grandma, there’s something I?—”
A server interrupts Rory. “Are you ready to order?”
We are. We do. It’s a process, because Mrs. Patterson asks a lot of questions and Rory tells her to be nicer to the staff.
Watching Rory and her grandmother is like watching a tennis match. I sip my water, reveling in this reveal of Rory’s life.
Mrs. Patterson turns back to her granddaughter as soon as the server walks away. Her eyebrows bunch together. “You look pale. You’re not knocked up, are you?”
I choke on my water.
Mrs. Patterson peers at me. “I hope you’re better in bed than you are at drinking.”
“Grandma.” Rory closes her eyes like she’s praying. “Morgan and I have something to tell you.” She leans back, digs the ring out of her pocket, and shoves it on her finger. “We’re getting married. I know it’s fast, but you got engaged to Grandpa after two weeks of dating, so, you know . . .”
Rory trails off.
Two cosmetically-thickened eyebrows go up. “Well.” Her gaze darts between me, Rory, and the ring. And then they stay on the ring. “Well.”
There’s a moment of silence. Rory reaches over, grabbing my hand from the armrest of my chair, and holds it, plunking our jointed hands together on the table. The angle is weird, so I shift my grip so our fingers are intertwined. And then, because I can, I bring the back of her hand up to my lips and kiss it.
Rory’s eyelashes flutter, and it breaks the spell over the table.
“Well, good,” Mrs. Patterson says. “You can start coming by twice a week now. Maybe you can keep Bartholomeow company when I’m at the fitness classes.”
“I’m not driving all the way here twice a week just because I’m engaged, Grandma.”
“Why? How far away do you live?”
That second question is directed at me.
“About twenty minutes.”
Mrs. Patterson points at me and speaks to her granddaughter. “It’s not that far once you move in. Twice a week,” she insists.
“I’m—I’m not moving in with him,” Rory stutters in surprise. Then she backpedals. “Yet, I mean. We’re going to wait?—”
“Why? You moved at the drop of a hat last time.” Mrs. Patterson snaps her fingers. “What, is your fiancé not a good enough reason to move?”
“I moved for you.”
“Exactly.”
