Hudson

“It’s so …” I glance out the window as our plane makes its descent. Checking for the airport, I don’t see it yet. I only see a whole lot of … nothing.

“Farm-y?” Mari finishes my sentence.

“I was going to say flat, but farm-y works.”

The plane begins to shake and dip, every move exaggerated by the impossibly small size of this plane. Mari tightens her lap belt and grips the handles of her seat, closing her eyes. I tilt my head from side to side, stretching my strained neck. I can’t remember the last time I flew coach, and I can’t recall if I’ve ever flown on a plane this small that wasn’t headed toward some tropical island paradise destination, but alas, this was all they had coming out of JFK to Omaha.

“You okay?” I ask as the plane pushes through another bout of turbulence. The door to the lavatory swings open, hitting the wall, and a flight attendant rushes to secure it. I feel the urge to reach for her hand because she really seems to be in distress, but I don’t know if that would make things worse.

Mari nods as the plane drops in altitude. “I’m fine. This turbulence is … making me sick to my stomach.”

The captain’s voice comes over the speakers, telling us it’s a balmy seventy-two degrees over Omaha right now and we’ll be landing in approximately seven minutes.

“Here.” I reach for the airsickness bag and hand it to her, but she waves it away.

“I’ll be fine,” she says.

“You’re yellow. I’ve never seen a yellow person before.” I half chuckle.

Without saying a word, she yanks the bag from my hand and covers her nose and mouth, squeezing her eyes tight. The plane drops once more and Mari empties her pretzel-filled stomach with one sickening retch.

* * *

I check the time on my phone as Mari comes out of the women’s restroom just outside our terminal. Her hair is combed, her lips are slicked in balm, and the faint scent of mint trails from her lips.

“Feeling better now?” I ask.

Her hand rests on her lower stomach and she nods.

“Let’s grab our luggage. Did you order a car service for us?” I ask.

“My parents are picking us up.”

“Wait, what?”

“They insisted. My dad’s a great driver. You won’t even notice he’s not wearing a suit or driving a limo.” She fights a smirk.

“Smart ass.”

We follow the signs to the baggage claim, arriving just in time to see our luggage pass by. Lunging simultaneously, we nearly knock each other over before turning to see a woman with bushy gray-blonde hair trotting in our direction with open arms.

“Mari!” the woman shrieks, happy. She wraps her arms around Mari and squeezes her tight, her matching blue eyes brimming with tears. “It’s so good to see you. Look at you! You look great! We’ve missed you so much. Come on, your father’s parked in the pick up lane. I told him not to, but you know how he is. Man won’t listen to save his life.” After a second, her smile fades and she turns her attention to me, seemingly unsure if I’m with them or simply following them.

“Mom, this is Hudson,” Mari says. “Hudson, this is my mom, Margo.”

Margo stares in my direction, taking me in like she’s never seen a big-citied suit before.

“Mari, you said you were bringing a surprise, but I didn’t know you meant you were bringing home a boyfriend.” Margo’s thin red lips spread into a smile as her expression lightens. Before I realize what’s happening, she’s wrapped her arms around me, her face pressed against my jacket. “He’s so handsome, Mar. And he smells good too!”

I chuckle. I’d hug her back, but she’s got my arms pinned to my sides.

“Thank you,” I say when she lets me go.

“Actually, Mom. He’s not my boyfriend—we’re engaged.” Mari winces, half-covering her pretty lips with a nervous hand.

“You’re what?” Her mom’s careful stare navigates between us.

“We’re getting married.” Mari flashes her eight carat engagement ring, her mouth inching up at the sides.

Margo grabs her hand, bringing the ring close to inspect it. “Is this real?”

Mari nods.

“Good, God.” Margo lets her daughter’s hand fall and steps back. “That’s, um, beautiful. Wow. I’m … speechless.”

Mari turns to me. “For the record, my mom is almost never speechless, so …”

“Shall we head to the car?” I ask. “If the airport security here is anything like New York, he’s probably seconds from getting a ticket.”

Margo laughs. “Oh, sweetheart. Nothing out here is anything like New York.”

* * *

I’m seated behind Abel in the backseat of a quad cab Ford pick up. Every chance he gets, he checks his rearview, though I suspect he’s looking at me. So far he seems nice. A bit quiet, but nice. Certainly not the shotgun wielding, threat-spewing small town father I’d conjured up in my head.

“So Hudson, where are you from originally?” Margo calls from the front seat. Abel’s window is down and the truck’s noise nearly prevents me from hearing my own thoughts.

“I was born in Manhattan, attended school mostly in Connecticut. At least until college,” I answer.

“Where did you attend college?” she asks.

“NYU,” I answer.

“Dad, it’s super loud back here. Can you roll your window up?” Mari holds her hair back, keeping it from whipping around in her face.

A moment later it’s quieter, but it’s an awkward sort of quiet. I almost preferred the chaotic road noise.

“We should be home in about twenty minutes,” Margo announces, not that anyone asked.

Abel reaches for the radio, tuning to a country station and cranking up the most depressing song I’ve ever heard. Pulling in a deep breath, I glance out the window and take in the sights of the flattest terrain I’ve ever seen. Couldn’t they have at least had the decency to plant a few extra trees out here? There’s nothing to look at. Nothing.

Except Mari.

Subtly turning my attention to my affianced, I let my eyes follow the curves of her body, head to toe. Her soft blonde hair. Her full, rose-colored lips. Her crossed legs and the way her hand is slipped between them as she leans her head against the glass.

She must feel me watching her because out of nowhere she straightens her posture, whips toward me, and mouths, “What?”

“Nothing,” I mouth back.

“Stop staring,” she mouths.

“I’m not.”

Fighting a smirk, she rolls her eyes, but not before letting them linger for a few seconds more.

* * *

“Hudson, I just have to apologize.” Margo clutches her hands over her heart as we stand in the foyer of a 1970s-era split level. The exterior is painted cream with baby blue shutters and a soaring oak tree that’s likely been there for decades. A basketball hoop is affixed over the two-car garage and a parked, tarp-covered car takes up one of the spots. “We had no idea you were coming, so the bed situation is a little … well, Abel’s been sleeping on the sofa because he threw his back out last week. And we turned the guest room into a man cave just after Christmas. You’ll have to stay with Mari in her room.”

“That’s fine,” I say. “No need to apologize.”

“It’s a double bed.” Margo winces. “It’ll be tight.”

“It’s just two nights. We’ll be fine,” Mari says. “Hudson loves to cuddle anyway. Don’t you?”

She winks in my direction.

“You know me well,” I say.

Abel glances at me through the corner of his eye. I’m sure the idea of some strange man sleeping in his daughter’s bed with her doesn’t exactly appeal to him, but it is what it is. I’d offer to stay at a hotel, but I don’t want to insult them.

Hoisting our luggage up half a staircase, we turn to the left and head down a bedroom hall.

“Mari’s room is the last one on the left.” Margo points. “Bathroom is over here on the right. We all share one and the lock is broken, so just knock before you go in. I’m going to get supper started, so feel free to make yourself at home while you wait.”

Her mother leaves, and we head into a small bedroom painted in a sunny shade of yellow with a small double bed anchoring a wall covered in posters and photographs. In the corner rests a mountain of stuffed animals, many of which have clearly seen better days, and a rainbow lamp is nestled on a scratched white nightstand.

“I can’t believe you’re in my childhood bedroom.” Mari plops down on the edge of the bed, her hands sliding across the floral comforter.

“This room looks like the early two-thousands had a baby and that baby threw up all over.” I move closer to inspect the collage wall. “Backstreet Boys, Mari? Seriously? Ninety-Eight Degrees?”

“I had a boy band phase. So what?”

I take a seat beside her. “It smells like … fruit … in here.”

“That’d be Mr. Strawberry.” She points to the corner. “My stuffed bear. Still smells like a dream after all these years.”

“Mr. Strawberry? What an original name.”

“Eight-year-old me takes offense to that.”

“Eight-year-old you should be offended. That’s an atrocious name for a bear.”

“He smells like strawberries and came with a strawberry on his t-shirt. It made sense,” she says, shrugging.

“If we ever have fake babies to go with this fake marriage, remind me not to let you name them,” I tease.

“Fake babies weren’t part of the contract,” she says, tutting her finger. “If you want the privilege of breeding with me, it’ll cost you.”

“Breeding with you? What are you, a dog?”

“I have good genes, Hudson. You saw my parents. Mom’s in her late forties and sometimes she gets carded when she tries to buy margaritas at Los Charros.” Mari shrugs again.

“Anyway. All this talk about genes and babies is making me lose my appetite. Where should I hang my clothes for the weekend?” I rise from the bed, scanning the small room and heading toward her closet. “Is there room in here?”

Mari flinches. “Probably not.”

Yanking the doors open, I’m met with a wall of clothes upon clothes, all crammed in so tight I doubt a man could fit a piece of paper between them.

“What is this? Every article of clothing you’ve ever owned?” I shake my head.

She rises, closing the doors. “I was an only child. And my parents liked to spoil me. I couldn’t throw them out. They worked hard to be able to buy those for me.”

“So you’re just going to keep them forever?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about when I’m going to throw them out. Honestly, I was waiting for one of them to suggest it, but no one’s said anything, so they’re just hanging out in the closet for now.” Mari points to the dresser. “You can use the bottom two drawers. They should be empty.”

“What are you going to use then?”

“I’ll just keep everything in my suitcase. Not a big deal.” She watches as I place my suitcase on her bed and begin unloading. “Do you really need all that stuff for two days?”

“I hate being unprepared,” I say. “That’s why I have Marta overpack.”

Mari takes a seat on the side of the bed, her leg bent underneath her. “Speaking of Marta … when you told her what we were doing, did she act weird about it?”

I glance to the left. “No. Not at all. Why?”

“No reason.”

“Did she say something to you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why are you asking?” I ask.

“It’s nothing. I was just curious if she was on board or not with this,” she says. I call bullshit.

“Does it matter what Marta thinks?” I ask. “She’s my employee. I’m sure she has a lot of opinions about me, but it’s her job to keep them to herself. You let me know if she’s ever conducting herself in an unprofessional manner.”

“Marta is great.” Mari forces a smile. “Anyway, dinner’s probably going to be ready soon. We stay in here much longer they’re going to think we’re messing around, and then dinner’s going to be just as awkward as the ride home was.”

“It wasn’t awkward.”

“It was so awkward. I don’t think my dad knows what to make of it all. Can’t say I blame him.” Mari moves toward the door, her hand clutched around the knob. “Come on. We can’t hide in here the whole weekend. Let’s show them how over-the-moon in love we are. Babe.”

I smirk, making my way to her. I’m loving this playful side of her and whatever it is she’s bringing out in me. In a weird way, while I’ve orchestrated this entire situation, it kind of feels like it’s us against the world.

We have this secret, she and I. And the trust between us, while it’s still sort of gelling, it’s actually kind of hot.

Slipping my hand around hers, I lead her down the hall toward her mother’s kitchen, which smells of frying ground beef and fresh vegetables. Halfway, I stop to admire the childhood school pictures that line the hall in grade-order. As a kindergartener, Mari had a chubby face and a smattering of light freckles that have since faded. In first grade, her front two teeth were missing, but it didn’t keep her from smiling her heart out. From the looks of her second grade picture, she must have attempted an at-home perm.

“Stop.” Mari yanks on my hand. “Come on.”

“You were a cute kid,” I say.

She turns to me, her eyes smiling. “See, you already have something in common with my parents. They were convinced I was the cutest kid ever to walk the face of the earth. They even got me a talent agent. They were convinced I was going to be the next Hilary Duff.”

“How’d that work out for you?”

“I was in a JC Penney catalog. Once.”

“Adorable,” I say as she pulls me into the kitchen. My stomach rumbles as I breathe in another whiff of her mother’s cooking. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed home-style fare.

“There they are,” Margo announces over a sizzling pan on the stove. “Have a seat, guys. Food’ll be done shortly.”

I take a spot next to Abel, who’s still looking me over with a blank expression on his face. I like to think I’m good at reading people, but this man is stone-like, unmoving.

“Dad,” Mari says, grabbing his attention. “How are things at the shop? Staying busy?”

Margo brings a plate of biscuits and deposits them in the center of the oak table. Abel steals one, shoving half of it in his mouth.

“My dad owns a repair shop,” Mari says. “He can restore just about anything. People are always bringing in their clocks and lawnmowers and weed-eaters and bread makers. Random things. Not much he can’t fix.”

“Is that so?” I ask, turning to Abel. “I’ve always believed some people were just born with a natural inclination to take things apart and put them back together the right way. There’s some inherent curiosity in there, too, to see how things work. I find those sorts of things fascinating myself. I love to look at things from a very basic level, all their parts and pieces, and fit them together.”

“Hudson, what do you do for a living?” Margo calls from the kitchen.

“I’m an architect,” I say.

Abel’s eyes move from me to his daughter, and he points as he chews. “Weren’t you working for some asshole architect in the city? This isn’t him, is it?”

I watch the color drain from Mari’s face.

“No, no,” she says, her tone almost frantic. “This isn’t him. This is a different architect. We met at a … work thing … I was there. And he was there. And we met.”

“Good,” Abel says with a huff. “If you brought that jerk here, I’d be kicking him to the curb.”

“Dad.” Mari tilts her head, releasing a nervous chuckle. “I’ve been ranting and raving about how nice we are here in Nebraska. Don’t make a liar out of me.”

“Here we are,” Margo interrupts, bringing over a skillet of what appears to be noodles and hamburger drowning in some kind of cheesy sauce. “I hope cheeseburger pasta’s okay with you, Hudson? You don’t have any allergies, do you?”

“None,” I say, placing a paper napkin over my lap. “Smells wonderful, Mrs. Collins.”

“Please, call me Margo,” she says. “Dig in. I can’t wait to hear more about how you two lovebirds met!”

Mari and I exchange looks.

“You want to tell them?” I ask her.

“Maybe you should?” She bats her lashes, resting her chin on the top of her hands. “You tell the story so well.”

Chuffing, I smirk as I dish up a couple ladles of cheeseburger pasta. “Okay, well, it was a snowy day in January. I was headed to an architectural conference at this hotel on the Lower East Side. I walked in, dusted the snow off my jacket, and glanced around to get my bearings. Only I found myself distracted by this blonde woman holding an armful of blueprint tubes as she chased after her boss, who clearly didn’t appreciate her hard work—I could tell that just by looking at the schmuck,” I add. “Anyway, I watched her. I was captivated, really. She carried herself with such poise and grace. I saw her chatting with someone she knew, maybe another co-worker? I’m not sure. Anyway, she smiled, and I was a goner.”

I place my hand over my chest.

“I knew then and there that I had to meet her,” I say. “I had to get to know her. I wanted that beautiful smile of hers all to myself. So I introduced myself.”

Abel watches me, unmoving, and Margo is clearly entranced by my story.

Reaching my hand across the table, I place it over Mari’s.

“When the moment was right, I approached her,” I say. “I told her my name. Asked hers. She wasn’t interested. Not at first. It wasn’t easy. I can’t say it was love at first sight, at least not on her end. But we talked a bit more, and we were able to find some common ground. After that, we began spending time together. And now here we are.”

“Tell us how you popped the question!” Margo bats her hand at me, giddy and giggling.

“We were wandering Fifth Avenue one afternoon, after an amazing lunch at our favorite restaurant, and we stopped in front of a Cartier store. There was a display in the window that caught her eye, and I don’t know what came over me, but I decided right then and there to ask her to marry me,” I say.

“I told him he was insane,” Mari interjects. “And then he dragged me inside and forced me to pick out the most beautiful ring I’d seen in my life.”

“True story.” I squeeze her hand. “Anyway, I had to lock this one down before she got away. She’s special, this woman. Knew that from the moment I saw her.”

Margo dabs at her eyes, and Abel’s expression softens for the first time all afternoon.

“Well, can we just say, we’re so excited to get to know you, Hudson,” Margo says. “It’s absolutely wonderful seeing our daughter so in love, and maybe things are happening a little fast, but I want you to know that we’re thrilled to have you join our family.”

Margo pushes her chair out from the table, coming around and giving me another bear hug.

“Thank you,” I say.

Abel clears his throat. “Yes. Welcome to the family. Congratulations, you two.”

“When’s the wedding?” Margo asks.

Mari glances my way, lifting her brows as if she, too, is curious.

“We’re still settling on a date,” I say, bringing her hand to my lips and pressing a kiss into her soft skin. “But the sooner the better.”