Quadruple Duty: All or Nothing

“I’m sorry momma,” Dakota apologized. “I was on assignment. And where I was… well, communication was impossible. I just barely got back in time to spend the last few hours of Christmas with Sammara, and—”

“Sammara, huh?” His mother’s mouth twisted, as if my name tasted sour. “Well I suppose it’s nice at least somebody got to enjoy you for the holiday.” She smirked at me slyly and looked away. “Even if it wasn’t your family...”

The passive-aggressive comments continued, throughout their reunion. Truthfully, I wasn’t all that surprised. I’d known going in: the whole thing was bound to be an uphill battle.

“Your room is ready as always,” his mother was saying. “I guess I could make up the guest room. For your girlfriend. For—”

“Momma she’s my fiancé and you know it,” Dakota protested. “I already told you we got engaged.”

I watched her stiffen. She actually looked like she was in pain.

“Engaged, huh? Is that what you call it?”

“Momma—”

“Marriage is between a man and a woman,” she said nonchalantly. “Last time I checked.”

Dakota shook his head, sorely disappointed. He was struggling and I felt terribly for him.

“Of course, maybe I’m just old fashioned,” his mother prattled on. “I don’t really know what passes as normal these days. What kinds of things your generation tries to slip past—”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Dakota cut in, “because we’re not staying here.” He paused as his mother whirled on him. “We’ve got a hotel.”

That part had been a hard sell for him; not staying with his own family, on his family farm. Still, a hotel made much more sense. The last thing I wanted to do was impose myself on people who didn’t like me to begin with.

No, if we were ever going to build a relationship, Dakota’s parents and I, it would be better off for everyone involved if I were introduced in smaller doses.

“Which hotel?” his mother asked.

“The Renaissance.”

I watched as the old woman actually guffawed. “That’s not a hotel! It’s a bed and breakfast! You might as well stay he—”

“Whatever.”

The look she gave Dakota was venomous. I saw him glance to his father pleadingly, but there was no help there either.

“Fine,” his mother said with mock impassivity. “I suppose you won’t be eating here either?”

Dakota took her by the arms. “Don’t be ridiculous momma, of course we’re eating here.”

For a moment his mother’s facade fell, and I caught a glimpse of the kind, caring woman beneath. I could see the closeness between them, lying just beneath the surface of her anger.

“Fine then,” she sighed. “Better wash up.”

Dakota smiled. “Thanks momma.”

“Better show your friend…” she stopped herself. “I mean girlfriend…” She glanced over at me pointedly. “I mean fiancé where the bathroom is…”

Twenty-Five

SAMMARA

It was an awkward night, but somehow I got through it. I focused my attention mostly on listening, and speaking only when spoken to. It was something so completely foreign and unlike me, it was like being a different person altogether.

Under any other circumstances, I would’ve told these people to piss off. But these were Dakota’s parents. They loved him and cared for him and raised him into the beautiful person I knew and loved.

Therefore, they deserved leeway.