Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: I'll try to alternate points of view, but don't hold me to that. ;) The main stretch of Zoey's hometown is based on my own hometown. However, since my hometown is in New England and this is set in Louisiana, obvious changes were made. And for the record, I've never spent much time in Louisiana except driving through it. My entire idea of the state revolves around parts of my childhood living in North Carolina and Maryland, and from having family in Georgia. Please don't judge if I'm off the mark. I haven't been south of the Mason Dixon line in at least five years.
The plane ride was never ending. Zoey was positive she would grow to a ripe old age and die waiting for the plane to make its way from LaGuardia airport to the one in Baton Rouge. Not that the day had started off particularly well. She hadn't slept well the night before; she was too anxious about how she was supposed to pass of her platonic best friend for her fiancé. Would they be convincing? Would her all-knowing mother see right through them? How much physical contact would be required? And how much could she stand before things got awkward? And the real question: how much could she stand before she had to stop lying to herself? She didn't want to touch that one with a ten foot pole. Too sticky.
After her bout of insomnia, her alarm had decided to shut itself off, making her twenty minutes late for meeting Chase at their favorite coffee shop. When they finally made it to the airport, she had removed all of her metal belongings from her person and handed them to Chase. She made it through the detector unscathed, but Chase (having been too engrossed with talking with her) had walked through still holding her jewelry and belt. When that was figured out, he walked through but forgot to remove his own metal. Chase came about one key ring from being strip searched by airport security at seven in the morning. He found it amusing (he would, she had thought bitterly), but it only added to the headache growing behind her eyes.
Boarding the plane had gone off without a hitch, but the plane was overbook and crowded, and there was a toddler who had spent the first half of the flight screaming his head off. His mother had tried to shush him, but to no avail. It didn't help that she didn't particularly like flying; ever since that seventeen hour flight (give or take) from California to London, and back again, flying was on her list of things she'd rather not do again. She felt anxious and claustrophobic, and the thought that they were in the human equivalent of a sardine can 40,000 feet off the ground was bouncing around her brain. They hit a patch of turbulence, and she gripped the armrests so tightly her knuckles were white. She glared at Chase sitting next to her. He was leaning back in his chair, headphones pouring music into his ears, a small smile on his face. It wasn't fair. It really wasn't. She turned away from him to look out the window, hoping the view would calm her nerves. It didn't. Looking down at the buildings and patchwork farmland only reinforced the sardine can theory and made her slightly nauseous.
"Zo, you've got to relax," she heard suddenly in her ear, making her jump. A breathy chuckle followed the words, making a shiver go down her spine. Okay, that did not just happen. She turned to find Chase looking at her sympathetically, his music forgotten in his lap.
"Easy for you to say," she said. "You actually like flying."
"I don't like it," he corrected. "I just tolerate it better than you do."
"Same difference."
"You know more people die in car accidents every year than in plane crashes."
"Somehow that's not very comforting."
"Work with me, here," he said. "We're almost there. About an hour at the most."
"Can I get that in writing?"
"Well, you could, but we'd both have to sign it. Which means you'd have to let go of that armrest you're strangling," he pointed at the armrest, which creaked in protest.
"Ha, ha. Very funny."
"Thanks. I'll be here all week."
"Great."
"Besides, I think I've got something that'll take your mind off the plane," he gave her a boyish smile as a he rummaged through his carry-on bag. He extracted a worn red velvet jewelry box and passed it to her. "Open it." Zoey did and was affronted with quite possibly the most beautiful ring she'd ever seen. A simple platinum band, a square diamond flanked by sapphires. Simple, elegant, gorgeous. Was he insane? She couldn't even begin to think about how much this ring had cost. She had a cheap ring tucked in her suitcase she was planning to wear for the weekend.
"Chase—"
"I know you have a fake one in your bag. But I'll be damned if my fiancé is going to wear a cubic zirconia ring."
"I'm not your fiancé," she reminded him.
"You will be to everyone there," he said, shooting her down. "You don't want your family to think I'm cheap. Humor me."
"Still…"
"Don't worry about it," he cut her off with a dismissive hand wave. He took the box from her and plucked the ring from it. Without saying a word, he lifted her hand and slipped it on her ring finger. The simple gesture made her heart flutter. It's just pretend. This isn't real. But it sure felt real. Despite being in a cramped plane miles above the ground, it felt real. And though she couldn't be sure, she thought she saw his hand shake. He squeezed her hand before setting it in her lap. "There. Now no one will doubt your fiancé loves you." Hell, even she believed he loved her. It was an unsettling feeling.
"Thank you, Chase."
"Like, I said, don't worry about it," he squeezed her hand again and went back to his music.
"Okay, so don't be surprised if my family seems a little…odd," Zoey made the comment nervously as they turned the corner onto the dirt road leading into her hometown. The tires of the rental car, a large SUV, cut through the dirt and dust like butter, something she was grateful for. She'd learned to drive on her grandfather's ancient pick-up, with bald tires and a faulty transmission. Many an afternoon had been spent trying to flag down a neighbor to help her jump start it.
Zoey couldn't get over how little her hometown had changed. Then again, do small towns every truly change? There was still the local high school, set a mile away from the rest of the town, looking more like a prison than a place of education. Even the sign proclaiming it to be a school that read "Educational Facility" looked like it belonged more at a jail. The rest of the town looked like something out of the late 1800's. A cemetery sat in the middle of town, saved from the surrounding construction of houses and shops by a black wrought-iron fence. The gravestones in there dated back to before the Civil War, and for a moment, she worried about what Chase would think about the Confederate flags stuck in the grass along with the American flags fluttering in the breeze. The blocky brick building holding most of the "downtown" shops stood high against the oncoming dusk. She put on her blinker and took a left, going along one of five roads that led to a confusing intersection that would give anyone a headache if not accustomed to it.
"What do you mean 'odd'?" Chase asked. "Aren't all families odd?"
"My family's a little bit odder than your family."
"You've never met my family, Zo."
"I guarantee you my family is worse."
"They can't be that bad," he shook his head.
"Oh, you'll see," she turned onto another dirt road, this one leading away from the hustle and bustle of town. The road was long, and desolate. Trees covered in Spanish moss reached their branches out above them, creating an almost seamless canopy of green. The sunlight dappled in some places, but it was eerily reminiscent of being in a tunnel. Chase commented on how gorgeous it was; she was loathe to tell him that it was probably infested with chiggers and would give him a case of bug-bites so bad it would make chicken pox look like a walk in the park. She found that out the hard way the summer before going to P.C.A. There was not enough calamine lotion in the world to soothe that itch.
They eventually came to the end of the tunnel, where the fields were cleared to reveal homes dotting the country side. The first on their right was Zoey's home; the e-mail had said the reunion was being held at her great-uncle's, but given that was down the road, she felt it better to stop at her childhood home first. Tucked away almost a quarter mile off the main road stood a large, white, rambling farmhouse with a lazy, wrap-around porch. Zoey couldn't help but smile. She adored New York, but this was where she had grown up, and it would always have a soft spot on her heart. As they pulled closer, a black and white dog of unknown background came up to bark joyously at them, his tail wagging so hard it looked like he would take off at any minute. Another dog lying on the porch was the one Zoey knew; his name was Buddy and had been one of her best friends growing up. He was getting on in years now, and only lifted his graying head to give a half-hearted bark before going back to his nap. Zoey looked to Chase to gauge his reaction. He seemed placid, but she could tell he was getting nervous.
"You were expecting a plantation?" she teased. Chase started suddenly, but gave a winsome smile.
"Nah. I never had you pegged for a Southern belle, Zo."
"' Rhett... if you go, where shall I go, what shall I do?'" Zoey adopted an exaggerated Southern accent and did her best Scarlet O'Hara impression. She apparently did well, because Chase cracked up. Especially when she put her hand to her forehead and swooned.
"'Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn'," he finished, as she knew he would; he couldn't resist.
"Actually, the family did have a plantation back in the day," she said, pulling up next to a blue sedan and turning off the ignition.
"Really?"
"Yeah. My mother's side of the family has been here for years. We used to have a large spread a little north of here; we grew cotton, mostly. After the Civil War, it pretty much became a museum. It was passed down, but nobody ever really lived there. My great-grandparents sold it during the Depression. It was just too much to keep up with," she got out of the car and gave a stretch. "I've seen pictures. The electric bill alone would cost more than I make in a year. The money went into the family pot. Part of it went to pay for my tuition at P.C.A and then college."
"Mine came from a lucky hand in Vegas."
"Really?"
"No, but makes an interesting story, doesn't it?"
"Chase…"
"Sorry, dear," he gave her an impish grin. She glared and was about to reply with something not altogether wholesome when the front door of the farmhouse flew open and slammed against the siding with a loud bang!
"Zoey Brooks, you get over here and give your mother a hug!" a thin, attractive woman stepped out onto the front porch, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Zoey couldn't believe that after so many years of living in California, and then England, her mother didn't look out of place at all in the dusty fields of a southern farm. Gone were her business suits and Zoey knew her mother didn't miss them. As much as she loved her business life, it was exhausting and in her mid-forties, she had retired to the family farm in Louisiana. Now, she spent her time doing things her busy days had not afforded her a decade before, which ran the gambit from knitting (a newly acquired hobby) to babysitting her grand-nephews and nieces. And bugging her children for grandchildren to spoil.
"Hi, Mom," Zoey smiled and met her mother halfway for a bone-crushing hug. After a moment of suffocation by affection, her mother backed away and gave her a once-over.
"Oh, honey, you need to eat more. You're all skin and bones!"
"You always say that."
"And every time I see you, you keep getting skinnier and skinnier," her mother chucked her under the chin. "Don't worry. I've got dinner cooking in the kitchen. We'll do something about that. Now, where is that mystery man of yours? We're all just dying to meet him."
"Oh, right," Zoey turned to gesture to Chase, who was kneeling on the dusty ground, trying to placate the little black and white mutt that was jumping up in an attempt to lick him everywhere at once. He managed to pin the dog down to rub its tummy, which was met with a wagging tail and lolling tongue. Zoey couldn't help but chuckle when he went to stand up, only to be knocked onto his back by the little dog, obviously displeased by the interruption of petting. He finally gave up and gathered the mutt close, standing with it cradled in his arms. "Well, you already know Chase."
"You're engaged to Chase?" her mother sounded equal parts surprised and amused. A jolt of terror flashed through her for a moment. Her mother had known Chase for years, would know they were faking it, would tell everyone, and her entire plan would fall apart….oh, God. All of the doubt disappeared, however, when her mother pulled her in for another hug and gave an overjoyed shout. "I knew it. I knew it. Just wait until I tell your father. I just knew it!"
"Mom—" but her mother was already down the porch steps and embracing her "fiancé", dog and all. Chase looked a little bemused at the affection, especially juggling a mutt that was trying to lap his face clean.
"Hi, Mrs. Brooks," he managed, while Zoey mouthed 'sorry' to him behind her mother's back.
"Chase, it is so good to have you here," Mrs. Brooks took the dog from him and shooed it out into the fields. "Sorry about the dog. She's Dustin's, and he doesn't have her trained quite yet."
"No problem," he reassured her with the same winsome smile Zoey recognized he often gave her. "I think she's cute."
"She's cute, but she's a menace," Mrs. Brooks shook her head. "She chases the children, tore through the garden, got muddy paw prints all over my clean house, and she howls at the moon!"
"Mom, where is everyone?" Zoey asked.
"Well, we're split between here and Merv's. Half of the out-of-towners are here, half at your uncles, and everyone local is just driving down for the day on Sunday," she looped her arm through Chase's and led him towards the front door. "Which reminds me that they've all been dying to meet you, Chase. It's not often our Zoey brings someone home. Come on, I'll introduce you."
"Brace yourself," Zoey muttered to him as he passed. Boy, was he in for one hell of a surprise through that door. Suddenly, she felt as though she'd fed him to the wolves mercilessly. He volunteered, sure, but not for this. She could only hope she could find some way to make this up to him.
