I must have fallen asleep at some point because when the van stops moving, I notice and finally open my eyes. I swallow, sitting up and fixing my hair, which I straightened this morning, so it’s parted down the center and pin straight up to my elbows.
“Are we there already?” I ask.
“No. We stopped at Cracker Barrel.”
I rub my eyes and groan. “Why?”
“I love Cracker Barrel. Come on, girls,” Dad says.
And dammit, I should have totally predicted this. My dad always stops for this damn chain. Between this, Bojangles, and Waffle House it’s a wrap. Forget the fact that normally he’s on a restrictive low carb, high fat, organic as heck diet. I groan again as I get up and stretch my arms over my head and sideways. Unfortunately, for a second I forget who else is sharing this vehicle with me, and when Jagger stands up and glances in my direction, our eyes meet. My heart kicks into gear, thumping at my neck, my ears. He keeps staring and I swear I see anger in his eyes. Anger. It’s enough to make me want to scream at him, punch him in the gut. I do neither of those things. Instead, I swallow and force myself to look away. It’s not that he’s not worth my pain. It’s not that he’s not worth my rage. It’s that I can’t have this conversation right now, not in front of my freaking parents, who don’t have a clue what’s going on. All of us walk out of the van and over to the restaurant, where we’re told to wait fifteen minutes. I start walking around in the little store. I love a good store. Soon, Misty joins me, and then my mom, who already has an apron and cast iron pan in her hands. We’re called to our table and I realize that Jagger makes it a point to let me pick a seat before choosing one on the opposite end of the table. He’s avoiding me. He’s angry at me? My blood simmers. That’s rich. If this is how this weekend is going to go, so be it.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Jo
“I am so happy you’re here!” Mildred says loudly, her smile wide as she stretches her arms open to hug my mom.
Mildred and Roberto Cruz are the quintessential sports power couple. Mildred was a track runner in the Dominican Republic, who won a medal in the Olympics. Roberto was a baseball player who was discovered by the Braves when he was just fourteen years old. I don’t know their entire story on how they immigrated here, but I’ve heard enough immigrant stories to know it couldn’t have been easy, even with a major league team facilitating it. Leaving family behind and moving to a foreign country could never be easy. My family has been here since my grandparents moved to Raleigh and both of my parents were born here, so I can’t relate to what the Cruzes have been through. Not that they’re crying about it. Roberto is a hall of famer who signed multimillion-dollar contracts with sponsors and Mildred hung up her cleats early on to become a journalist and is now the founder and CEO of a magazine that rivals the best of them. When I asked her why she decided to go that route she said her goal was to put more marginalized people on magazine covers. It’s not just a sports magazine, but a lifestyle brand that she’s built from it. It’s safe to say that they’re living the American dream. Mildred, who has her hair up in a sleek high ponytail, walks over to Misty first, hugging her tightly and smiling wide, and then me, doing the same.
She has long arms like her sons’, which is why it’s no surprise that they’re all so tall, with one parent who’s well over six feet and another who’s right on the cusp of it. Mildred could have been a model, with her height, thin frame, olive complexion, and bright green eyes. She small talks with us outside before welcoming us inside her home, which is stunning. I’d been there when I was young, but that was before they remodeled the place. Now it looks very much like a modern-day farmhouse, sleek yet classic, with neutral tones and open spaces. What makes it stunning, though, is the view. The back of the house overlooks the mountains, and the entire thing is made of glass, so it’s all you see. I stand there for a long moment, admiring the beauty, until Jagger and Maverick’s deep chuckles pull me out of my reverie. When I turn around, I see them both hugging their mom and letting her kiss their cheeks. I might hate Jagger, but I feel my lips tug into a small smile at the sight. Most guys our age are quick to dismiss affection from their parents. Not these guys though. I’d forgotten what a tightly knit family they are until now. Always together, never arguing in front of people, never going against what their mother tells them. I sit with that for a moment. Me, who completely goes against everything her parents say because I always think my ideas are better.