The Match (It Happened in Charleston 1)

Mr. Jones pulls out his phone and frowns down at it. He answers it, turns around, and walks back out without even so much as a glance to the rest of us. These people are something.

“I can’t do this right now, Mama. I don’t want to inflict our crazy on an innocent bystander.” Evie gestures toward me.

I have no idea what to do right now. Do I come to her aid? Do I turn into a bouncer and throw these people out? I’m not prepared for this, but I want to help somehow.

Mrs. Jones acts as if she doesn’t hear Evie’s comment. “We won’t be long.” She runs her finger across the small entry table and then examines it for dust. “Honestly, Evelyn, what has happened to you? This place looks like a pigsty.”

I expect Evie to take offense to this, but instead, when I look at her, I notice that she’s looking at me—and she looks amused. No, not amused. She looks like she’s about to crack up laughing. And then I realize she’s looking at my hair.

I glance in the mirror on the wall and find that my hair is sticking up in all directions from where I ran my hands through it while Evie was getting the door. But this, coupled with Evie’s little outfit, looks more than incriminating. I quickly smooth it down.

“If you’re just here to comment on my cleanliness, Mama, you can just walk right back out. I’m happy with the way I live.”

“That’s not why I’m here. Although, I do feel compelled to mention that if you would stop being foolish and accept Tyler, you would be able to move out of this cardboard box.”

Wait a minute. Who’s Tyler?

“I don’t live in the 1800s, Mama. I’m not going to accept a man’s proposal just because he has a big estate. Am I the only one who thinks this idea is ludicrous?”

Proposal?! Apparently, Evie’s not as unattached as I thought…

Mrs. Jones’s eyes suddenly shift to me, and I can see her sizing me up. “Is he the reason you’re not accepting Tyler?” She’s looking at me, but it’s clear that she’s not talking to me.

“Okay, this conversation is over,” says Evie. Hmm. Not going to lie, I kinda wish she would have answered that question. Evie walks back to her door and opens it. “Time to go, Mama.”

Mrs. Jones turns a smirk to me. “If my daughter won’t answer me, I’ll ask you. Exactly who are you to Evelyn?”

“He’s a friend,” says Evie before I have a chance to open my mouth.

Mrs. Jones makes a guttural noise and then starts to stroll toward the door at a leisurely pace. “I only came by to inform you that your cell phone bill was overdue. If I don’t see your payment in our account by the end of the week, I’ll be forced to have your phone turned off.”

Turned off? Is this woman insane? She sounds more like a villain in a movie, threatening to bash Evie’s kneecaps in if that AT&T money doesn’t show up soon.

This reminds me of something Evie said the first time we had coffee about her bank account matching her age. At the time, I thought she was kidding. But now, I’m genuinely concerned.

“Of course,” her mother continues, “if you decide to have a relationship with Tyler, all of those ugly bills will go away. And you are welcome to come live in the guest house for free until you and Tyler marry.”

“Great, not going to happen,” Evie bites out. “Message received. You can leave now. Tell Daddy I said thanks for stopping by to check on me.” Her sarcasm is thick, and although I’ve never seen her like this, I understand it. Admire it, even.

I feel a protective energy coursing through me, and I’m powerless to stop it. If this villain in the baby-blue pant suit doesn’t leave in the next minute, I’m going to end up throwing her out myself.

Mrs. Jones shakes her head at Evie. “You’re making a mistake, dear. I just want the best for you and your future.” That almost sounded nice. And maybe it would have been a kind parting had she stopped talking there. Mrs. Jones casts a disgusted glance over Evie’s appearance one last time. “And for heaven’s sake, Evelyn Grace, you shouldn’t be so easy. It’s unbecoming of the Jones name.”

Okay, that’s it. I’m following hot on Mrs. Jones’s heels, but Evie reaches out and catches my chest before I can follow the monster out. She shuts the door quickly and puts her back to it like she doesn’t trust me to not wrench it open and go after Melony Jones. Probably for the best. Not sure I trust myself right now.

I stare at Evie for a minute, waiting for the floodgates to open or her fury to burn hot. Instead, her dimples pop, and she smiles. “Can I bring anything to the pool party on Saturday?”

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My mouth falls open. “How are you so calm?!” I feel like the Hulk, ready to rip my shirt off and burst through the ceiling, and she is just standing there, looking like a springtime fairy. “How are you not spitting angry right now?”

She shrugs and steps away from the door. “I stopped letting that woman steal my joy about fifteen counseling sessions ago.”

I don’t know what else to do, so I walk to Evie and wrap my arms around her. I want to hold her close because, somehow, I get the feeling she and Sam share more than just the same disability. I think Evie is tough as nails, but she’ll still cry into her pillow the second I leave.

For a moment, she seems shocked. She doesn’t move. Her arms are limp noodles beside her body. But then they finally lift up and wrap around my waist, and she squeezes me back as tightly as I’m squeezing her. It’s all I can offer her.

“They suck,” I mumble into her hair, and she laughs.