Only then did cold, harsh reality disappear, and I got a taste of the easy-going paradise that Cameron lived in full-time.
We got Agnes to the hospital, and I promised that I’d interview her for a story about her ordeal once she had fully recovered. Apparently, it would give her extra ‘street cred’ in her residential home. Muriel offered to do her makeup for the essential flattering photo and teach me about filters. Normally I preferred raw, untouched images, but I had an inkling that Agnes would enjoy a little soft focus.
Eventually, we pulled up outside my parents’ home. It wasn’t much, a simple whitewashed Craftsman-style cottage, but my granddad built it himself, and I hoped it would always stay in the family.
“I’ll give you a call soon,” Muriel said. “Once the signal’s working again, anyway.”
But I really didn’t want her to go. Even though we’d spent almost twenty-four hours in pretty much constant company, I wanted her to stay. And I wanted Cameron with us too; as much as I loved spending time with Muriel, the idea of being in a couple with her wasn’t right—the three of us were more than the sum of our parts—we balanced each other out.
“Aw, come in and say hi to my parents. Mom might be a bit of a character, but she doesn’t bite. I’m sure she’d love to see you again. Why not have a quick sweet tea, and then go?”
Muriel hesitated. I didn’t blame her; even though I had denied it earlier, I knew my mom never liked Muriel, though she never told me why.
She’d never been rude to other girls I’d brought home, not that there had been many, and anyway, Muriel and I had been entirely platonic back then.
But it had been at least five years since they last met, so I figured perhaps my mom had forgotten whatever issue she had. Muriel was a grown woman, and such a great one. Also my mom was awesome, so it made sense that they should get along, and it felt important that they did.
“If you come in, I promise I’ll never make you listen to The Smiths again for the rest of our lives.” I couldn’t think of a better bargaining chip, but this was a big one.
“And you’ll dance to Thong Song again for me, but standing up this time?”
“Naked, if you like,” I promised.
That made her blush, but it must have tipped the balance because she switched off the ignition with a sigh.
We walked up the path toward the house, and before we arrived at the door, my mom had opened it and was waiting for me with open arms.
“Mom.” I wrapped her in a hug; I wasn’t too proud to admit that I was a momma’s boy, even if it didn’t fit the brooding stereotype.
“We’ve been so worried. Cameron’s dad called and told us you were trapped. What the heck happened?”
“How about we tell you over some tea?” I gestured toward Muriel, who stood awkwardly at the bottom of the steps. “Remember Muriel?”
Mom’s eyes immediately narrowed. “Yes.”
“Well, she was trapped too, so she deserves some of your amazing sweet tea, don’t you think?”
There was a long silence that made me cringe before my mom finally relented. “If you say so. Come in, take your shoes off.”
Mom walked inside, and I gave Muriel an apologetic gesture as she walked up the steps looking like she wanted to kill me.
We took off our shoes and headed through to the kitchen, where my dad sat watching the local news channel.
“Bad storm last night, Hugh.” Dad didn’t remove his gaze from the TV.
“He knows that, Hank,” Mom snapped. “I told you, he was stuck in some bungalow somewhere. I can’t think how that happened.”
Muriel was admiring an antique sign on the kitchen wall, so she didn’t notice the evil eyes directed at the back of her head.
I glared at my mother and hissed, “Be nice.”
“Fine,” she mouthed back at me, but the way she slammed things around in the kitchen as she prepared the refreshments told me everything I needed to know.
What made me think bringing Muriel home would be a good idea?
If I was honest with myself, I hoped if the two women finally hit it off, the idea of moving here might appeal to Muriel even more.
As it was, she was more likely than ever to scurry off on an early flight back to LA and never return.
“There’s your tea. I’ve got ironing to do.” Mom left the room without even looking at us.
Gesturing for Muriel to pull up a stool, I placed my hand on the small of her back. I was sure I felt her flinch as I touched her.
Perhaps she was uncomfortable with being intimate in my parents’ house, which was hardly unreasonable given the reception we experienced.