and nuzzled her head into Eduardo's shoulder so that she wouldn't have to look her mother in the eye.
Consuela smiled easily, as if she hosted estranged mothers-of-the-bride for drinks all the time. “Well, what better way to help family come together than a wedding?” She graciously picked up the fruit tray and circled the group with it, offering the fresh strawberries and mango, along with a cocktail napkin. “And I cannot think of a better spot on earth for newlyweds to live than Paris. Paris is a city made for lovers,” she said enthusiastically, nodding her glossy dark head.
“Paris?” Jackson was about to pluck a juicy orange slice of mango from the fruit platter that Consuela was offering, but withdrew his hand quickly, surprised. “Who said anything about Paris? Sam's not moving to Paris,” he finished, more firmly.
“What my father means is that Eduardo and I talked about being long distance for a while,” Sam hastened to explain, leaning forward on the brocade couch. She ran her fingers through her hair nervously. “I'm planning to go to USC while he finishes out the year at the Sorbonne.”
Pedro frowned, stood stoically, and moved toward the fireplace. He put his hands into the pockets of his well-cut gray suit. “You here in California and my son in Paris? What kind of marriage would that be?”
Consuela nodded as she put the fruit platter back on the glass coffee table. “I agree. A new marriage is too tender a thing to endure such strain. Eduardo's father and I are no strangers to airplanes—we own one, as you probably know—”
“I've got a Gulfstream myself,” Jackson put in.
“This is not about planes,” Sam interjected hotly. She felt Eduardo put a calming arm around her shoulder. That helped. A little. But she was feeling squeezed in both directions.
“What I was saying,” Consuela continued patiently, “is that it is one thing to have a long-distance relationship when you have been married for many years and one of the spouses must travel. It is another thing in the first months. Don't you agree, Eduardo?”
“No, Mom, I don't,” Eduardo replied. He had a firm look in his dark eyes that spoke volumes. Sam breathed a little easier.
Sam saw Consuela bristle, and decided that, like her own father, Eduardo's mother was probably used to getting her way most of the time.
“Here's what I want to know, Sam.” Her father leaned forward and held her gaze, earnest and focused. “What's the point of rushing to get married—which I still am not in favor of, by the way—if you're going to live thousands of miles apart? If you're going to do that, why not just wait to get married until both of you are done with school? You only just finished high school. You have plenty of time. Maybe you wanting to live apart like this is a sign that you don't really want to get married.” Sam stared back at her dad. Looking particularly young in his baby blue shirt and patterned cowboy boots, he made her feel like she was being counseled by one of her Beverly Hills High classmates, not her father.
Dina stood up and moved a step toward her, so that she was hovering by the side of the couch. “I agree, Sam. I agree completely with Jackson.”
“Thank you,” Jackson said as he rose and stood by his ex-wife.
Jesus Christ. It was happening. Her mother and father—who'd barely communicated for ten years—were presenting her with a united front. It was maddening. Enough so that she decided she'd rather piss off her parents than piss off Eduardo's. She stood, too, and reached for the limeade pitcher.
“Would anyone like more to drink?” She turned to face Consuela and Pedro across the coffee table, her back facing her parents. “I'll think about France. Maybe that really would be the best thing.”
Eduardo's response was a beaming smile. His parents nodded in tandem and Consuela indicated that she'd like a refill. Sam leaned over to pour Consuela a glass of the pale green drink, and as she
Consuela smiled easily, as if she hosted estranged mothers-of-the-bride for drinks all the time. “Well, what better way to help family come together than a wedding?” She graciously picked up the fruit tray and circled the group with it, offering the fresh strawberries and mango, along with a cocktail napkin. “And I cannot think of a better spot on earth for newlyweds to live than Paris. Paris is a city made for lovers,” she said enthusiastically, nodding her glossy dark head.
“Paris?” Jackson was about to pluck a juicy orange slice of mango from the fruit platter that Consuela was offering, but withdrew his hand quickly, surprised. “Who said anything about Paris? Sam's not moving to Paris,” he finished, more firmly.
“What my father means is that Eduardo and I talked about being long distance for a while,” Sam hastened to explain, leaning forward on the brocade couch. She ran her fingers through her hair nervously. “I'm planning to go to USC while he finishes out the year at the Sorbonne.”
Pedro frowned, stood stoically, and moved toward the fireplace. He put his hands into the pockets of his well-cut gray suit. “You here in California and my son in Paris? What kind of marriage would that be?”
Consuela nodded as she put the fruit platter back on the glass coffee table. “I agree. A new marriage is too tender a thing to endure such strain. Eduardo's father and I are no strangers to airplanes—we own one, as you probably know—”
“I've got a Gulfstream myself,” Jackson put in.
“This is not about planes,” Sam interjected hotly. She felt Eduardo put a calming arm around her shoulder. That helped. A little. But she was feeling squeezed in both directions.
“What I was saying,” Consuela continued patiently, “is that it is one thing to have a long-distance relationship when you have been married for many years and one of the spouses must travel. It is another thing in the first months. Don't you agree, Eduardo?”
“No, Mom, I don't,” Eduardo replied. He had a firm look in his dark eyes that spoke volumes. Sam breathed a little easier.
Sam saw Consuela bristle, and decided that, like her own father, Eduardo's mother was probably used to getting her way most of the time.
“Here's what I want to know, Sam.” Her father leaned forward and held her gaze, earnest and focused. “What's the point of rushing to get married—which I still am not in favor of, by the way—if you're going to live thousands of miles apart? If you're going to do that, why not just wait to get married until both of you are done with school? You only just finished high school. You have plenty of time. Maybe you wanting to live apart like this is a sign that you don't really want to get married.” Sam stared back at her dad. Looking particularly young in his baby blue shirt and patterned cowboy boots, he made her feel like she was being counseled by one of her Beverly Hills High classmates, not her father.
Dina stood up and moved a step toward her, so that she was hovering by the side of the couch. “I agree, Sam. I agree completely with Jackson.”
“Thank you,” Jackson said as he rose and stood by his ex-wife.
Jesus Christ. It was happening. Her mother and father—who'd barely communicated for ten years—were presenting her with a united front. It was maddening. Enough so that she decided she'd rather piss off her parents than piss off Eduardo's. She stood, too, and reached for the limeade pitcher.
“Would anyone like more to drink?” She turned to face Consuela and Pedro across the coffee table, her back facing her parents. “I'll think about France. Maybe that really would be the best thing.”
Eduardo's response was a beaming smile. His parents nodded in tandem and Consuela indicated that she'd like a refill. Sam leaned over to pour Consuela a glass of the pale green drink, and as she
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