Total Rush (13 page)

“
I have an idea
.”

Gemma's ears perked up as she watched Sean at the stove, flipping pancakes. Last night, he'd made her a delicious portobello mushroom quiche and salad, followed by the most exquisite Scottish shortbread she'd ever tasted. They'd spent the evening relaxing, reading, and making love. Gemma thought that if she could fall asleep to the soothing, steady rhythm of the waves every night, she'd never suffer insomnia again. Of course, having Sean's body to spoon with and keep her warm hadn't hurt either.

Wrapping her robe tighter against the ocean chill, she approached him. “What's that?”

“How about we pop over to my folks' house this afternoon and say hi?”

“Your folks?”
Meet his parents? Now? So soon?

“Yeah. Sunday's the day my mom makes a big roast and my sisters and their families come over. I think it would be fun.”

Gemma didn't quite know what to say. She was flattered Sean thought her “family worthy.” It meant he thought their relationship had real potential.

Sean looked bemused as he slid two more perfectly done pancakes on a plate and poured more batter on the grill. “What? Are you nervous?”

“Of course! I want to make a good impression.”

He ruffled her hair, kissing the top of her head. “You will.”

Gemma's mind went into overdrive. “Is there a florist around here? Should I bring flowers? I can't show up empty-handed.”

“Relax! Yes, there's a florist. We'll stop off before we go to my folks.” Hope flickered in his eyes. “Is that a yes, then?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Gemma chirped happily. “I'd love to meet your family.”

 

 

Sean's family lived two towns over in Oceanside. Gemma was so nervous she couldn't speak on the short drive over. Instead, she contented herself with looking out the window, taking in the scenery, and trying to imagine what it was like for Sean to grow up here.

“This is it,” Sean announced after a few minutes, turning onto a leafy cul-de-sac. Gemma watched as Sean waved to a man washing his Lexus in the driveway; the man squinted to recognize Sean, then waved back. Sean slowed in front of a split-level with maroon shutters and white trim. The driveway was filled with three minivans. One had an image of the Twin Towers painted on the rear window, and beneath it the words FDNY FINAL CALL/9-11- 01/FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS.”

He hustled around to the passenger side and opened the door for Gemma, who could feel her heart beginning to race as they started toward the Kennealy house.

“Nervous?”

“A little,” Gemma admitted, grateful for his concern.

“It'll be a cakewalk, I swear.” They walked up the front steps. “Just two things,” he added, pressing the doorbell.

“What's that?”

“Don't get Tom started on the Jets.”

“And—?”

There was the sound of a lock being clicked back.

“Don't say anything about being a witch.”

Sitting in the
Kennealys' crowded living room, Gemma struggled to keep Sean's family straight. There were his parents, who insisted she call them Mary and Steve. There was Sean's sister Christine and her husband—Joe? Joel? Gemma wasn't sure she'd heard his name correctly, and was too embarrassed to ask him to repeat it.

Christine and Joe/Joel seemed to be the parents of three little girls, the youngest an infant. Or did the baby belong to his sister Pat and her husband, Tom? No, wait: Tom made a crack over dinner about both his
boys
becoming firefighters. That meant Pat and Tom were the parents of the twins. That left Sean's sister Megan and her new boyfriend, Jason. Luckily, Jason seemed as overwhelmed as Gemma, and she was glad he was there. It meant she wouldn't be the only one put under the family microscope at day's end.

“More coffee, Gemma?” Like Stavros, Sean's mom seemed to have the coffeepot permanently welded to her hand.

Gemma held up her mug. “I would love some Mrs. . . . Mary.”

“Here you go.” She topped Gemma off, moving in a graceful arc around the room, providing refills. Gemma contrasted Mary's easygoing nature with that of her own mother, who would go into full-blown cardiac arrest if anyone dared bring food or drink into her living room. In fact, she cordoned the room off with a velvet rope as if it were a museum.

Don't say anything about being a witch.
He couldn't have shocked her more if he'd turned to her and declared he had superpowers. What did he think she was going to do? Pull down her jeans and moon them all with her tattoo? She knew when it was appropriate to be open about it, and when it wasn't! Meeting a boyfriend's family for the first time fell into the latter category.

“Gemma, would you mind helping me with the dishes in the kitchen?”

Gemma smiled affably and rose, following Mrs. Kennealy and Megan. She was pleased to be included, though she knew part of the reason she was being spirited away was so they could quiz her about Sean. How many family secrets and stories had women swapped in the kitchen under the auspices of doing chores?

A system was quickly established: Mrs. Kennealy scraped food off the plates into the garbage. Gemma rinsed them, and Megan loaded them in the dishwasher.

“So,” Mrs. Kennealy began, and Gemma held her breath.
Here it comes.
“How long have you known Sean?”

“A few months. We live in the same building.”

“And you run your own store in the city, you said?” Sean's mother was looking at Gemma with interest.

Gemma nodded. “Yes. I sell books, candles, incense, that sort of thing.”

“Cool,” chimed Megan, who at twenty was the baby of the family.

“Sounds interesting,” Mrs. Kennealy agreed.

Megan looked up from where she was bent over the lower rack of the dishwasher. “Has he dragged you to a stupid firehouse party yet?”

“Megan.” Mrs. Kennealy flashed her a look of warning before smiling warmly at Gemma. “For some reason, my youngest daughter has a problem with firefighters, despite the fact half the men she knows do it for a living.”

“Maybe that's why,” Megan sniffed derisively. “It's like a cult. Get out now while you can.”

Gemma grabbed another plate and ran it under the tap. “What don't you like about it?”

“Megan.” Mrs. Kennealy's voice was a warning.

“Ma, she asked me!” Megan whined.

“Fine,” said Mrs. Kennealy with a long-suffering sigh. “Give her your little speech.”

Megan smirked triumphantly. “ ‘Why I Will Never Go Out with a Fireman,' by Megan Kennealy. One: They drink too much.”

Mrs. Kennealy glared with indignation. “That's a stereotype and you know it!”

Megan ignored her. “Two: They work fucked-up hours. Three: For what they do, the pay is absolute shit.”

“Nice language,” said her mother.

“Four: Over half of all firefighter marriages end in divorce. Why? Because five: Firefighters are about as open with their emotions as the Sphinx. And they drink. And the pay is shit so they have to work lots of overtime or second jobs to make money, so they don't see their families.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Oh! Did I forget to mention the pay is shit?”

Mrs. Kennealy's frown returned. “They don't do it for the pay.”

“Oh, that's right, they do it to serve, I forgot. Which brings me to six: I don't want to hitch my wagon to anyone who might die on me when he goes to work.” She smiled at Gemma gaily. “That about covers it.”

“Very nice,” Mrs. Kennealy said sourly. “I'm sure Sean will want to thank you for sharing your views with his new girlfriend—views which are immature, I might add.” She glanced up at Gemma apologetically from the plate she was scraping. “Megan prides herself on saying outrageous things just to get a reaction. Don't pay any attention.”

“It's all right,” Gemma assured her. She winked at Megan covertly to let her know she wasn't siding with Sean's mother, but inside, Megan's words had made her uneasy. “One thing Megan said did interest me,” she timidly admitted aloud.

“What's that?”

“Well, how do you deal with the danger factor?”

Mrs. Kennealy blinked. “You just do.”

“But how?” She hoped Mrs. Kennealy didn't think her too pushy, but this was preying heavily on her mind. If she and Sean were truly going to be a couple, she was going to have to deal with the harsh realities of his job.

“Sean's father and I had a rule: Never go to bed mad at one another. That advice holds whether you're married to a firefighter or not. Beyond that, the only advice I can give is if he wants to talk, listen, and if he doesn't, leave him be. The truth is, some women can't deal with it. The uncertainty drives them crazy.”

“So does the macho bullshit,” Megan added under her breath. “And the stress. And—”

Mrs. Kennealy spun angrily to face her daughter. “One more word out of you and you can find someone else to pay your college tuition, got that?”

“Fine.” Megan sulked.

Their dynamic made Gemma uncomfortable, reminding her of her own relationship with her mother at that age, the two of them constantly locking horns. Yet on another level, it felt completely normal. Dante-esque. She wondered if they sparred like this in front of everyone. If not, then it had to mean they felt comfortable around her. She felt accepted.

From out in the living room came the sound of roaring laughter. Megan rolled her eyes. “Some stupid firehouse story, I'm sure. They've got a million.”

“For once she's not exaggerating,” Mrs. Kennealy added with a rueful shake of the head. “They should write a book.” Her eyes strayed to the clock above the sink. “I hope Uncle Jack and Aunt Bridie get here soon. I'm dying for a piece of that chocolate cake.”

“So, have a piece,” Megan urged. “You made it. You've earned the right to nibble.”

Mrs. Kennealy frowned with disapproval. “That wouldn't be polite. And we don't want our guests thinking we're shanty, do we?”

Gemma blinked, confused. “Shanty?”

“Shanty Irish, as opposed to lace curtain.”

Gemma stared blankly.

Mrs. Kennealy looked surprised. “You've never heard that expression?”

“No.”

“It's an old, rude way of saying high-class Irish versus low-class Irish.”

“We're definitely low-class,” Megan joked.

“Speak for yourself,” her mother said. She bit her lip, restive, unable to tear her gaze from the cake sitting on the counter. “Maybe I will have a piece. I'm sure the O'Sheas won't mind.”

 

 

“
You were kind
of quiet during dessert,” said Sean when they got back to the Long Beach apartment.

“I was thinking about some things your sister said to me in the kitchen,” Gemma said, unbuttoning her shirt.

Sean didn't respond immediately, choosing instead to perch on the edge of the bed to remove his socks. When he spoke, his voice had an edge. “Let me guess: She gave you her ‘Why Firefighters Suck' speech.”

“Yup.” Gemma moved to the closet to hang up her blouse. “Why is she so vehement?” she asked over her shoulder.

Sean's eyes followed her. “Well, for one thing, she knows it's going to get up my mother's nose. And if there's one thing Megan enjoys, it's trying to raise Mom's blood pressure.”

“Ah, yes, parent baiting,” Gemma mused as she slipped out of her yoga pants. “One of the pleasures of being twenty.”

Sean chuckled in agreement. “The other reason she's so pissy is that she was dating a probie last year. They met at a St. Patrick's Day Dance at the Knights of Columbus Hall in Mineola, I think it was.” Sean looked tired. “Anyway, they were going all hot and heavy and pfftt! One day he just pulls the plug, no explanation, nothing. She's still not over it. Her way of dealing with it is to villify all of us.”

“Poor Megan.”

“Yeah, it was a pretty raw deal.” Sean rose to unzip his jeans. “I think she's pissed my dad wasn't around a lot, too. By the time she came along, he was doing a lot of carpentry work on the side to keep our heads above water.”

“I see.” So Megan wasn't exaggerating. The uneasiness Gemma felt in the Kennealys' kitchen returned.

“You and my mom seemed to get along okay,” Sean observed as he slithered out of his pants, standing there in just his briefs.

“She's nice,” Gemma replied with a smile as she unfastened her bra and put it to rest on the dresser. “She made me feel very welcome.”

Sean moved to the sliding glass doors looking out on the ocean. “When you were in the bathroom, she asked me what perfume you were wearing. Said it reminded her of the sixties.”

Gemma slipped on the oversized T-shirt she intended to sleep in, then joined him at the doors. “Is that good or bad?”

“Good, I think.”

“I hope.”

Moving behind her, Sean wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “Did you have fun today?”

Gemma's eyes drifted shut. “Yes and no.”

Sean lifted her hair, pressing his mouth against her right ear. “I'm listening.”

“I was a little upset when you told me not to mention being a witch.” She turned around in his arms. Some things had to be said face-to-face, though God knows, she wished they could have this entire conversation looking out at the dark ocean.

“Gemma—”