Teaching Willow: Session Four by Paige James Page A

is by my side, I know that there is nothing to fear from life.  Or from people.  I have everything I need in him.
     He accelerates through the stop sign and takes the next left, putting us on the street where I grew up.  “Second one on the right,” I tell him.
    As he eases the car into the driveway, I see the curtains in the living room move. I’m not at all surprised that my parents were watching for us, all too curious, I’m sure, to see what Ebon drives and how we act when we think no one is watching.  When he shifts into park and cuts the engine, I lean over to kiss him gently on the lips and rub my nose against his.  He stretches his big palm across my near-bursting belly, which he so often does, reminding me of the connection that we share, of the family that we will soon become. 
    “Don’t worry, baby.  It’ll be fine. I promise.”
    “I trust you.”
    He smiles.  “Good. You should.”
    Ebon gets out and comes around to my side to open the door and help my awkward ass out of the car.  I can just imagine how my mother gasped and covered her mouth and how my father’s lips thinned in fury when they saw me just now.  There’s no mistaking my current maternal state and this is the first they’ve heard of it. 
    We amble up the sidewalk toward the front door, Ebon’s hand resting comfortingly on my achy lower back.  When we stop, he clacks the knocker against the front door.  Even such a small act, one he performs without hesitation or intimidation, reminds me that he’s in charge and that I’m in good hands.  The best hands.  His hands.
    My father opens the door, disapproval written all over his face. 
    “Mr. Masters,” Ebon begins casually.  “A pleasure to see you again, sir.”  He offers his hand.  Dad glares at it for at least five seconds before he takes it. 
    When he doesn’t say anything immediately, I ask, “Can we come in?”
    “Of course,” my mother says, piping up from behind him.  Being the uppity person that she is, I can always count on her to mind her manners in front of strangers.  “Can I get you something to drink?” she asks, her eyes and her haughty expression trained on Ebon.
    “No, I’m fine, thanks.  Willow?” he asks, turning to me, always considerate.
    “A glass of water would be nice, Mom.”
    She nods and floats off to the kitchen in her beauty queen way.  I’ve always thought my mom acts as though she’s on life’s big beauty pageant stage, with her fake smile and her practiced grace.  Few people know what she’s really like. She’s a very convincing actress.  Sage is the same way, only without all the polish or pretense.  Her vapidness is pretty much out there for all the world to see, whereas Mom hides it well in most cases.
    Dad leads us into the living room and Mom quickly returns with a tall glass of water, brimming with ice cubes and garnished with a lemon wedge and a mint leaf.  Hoity toity.
    Ebon and I sit together on the couch.  He immediately takes my fingers and laces them with his own before resting our entwined hands on his thigh.  If there was any doubt about why he’s here or what our relationship is (which I seriously doubt there could’ve been), he put it to rest with this subtle statement.  He’s laying claim.
    My mother perches demurely on the edge of a small settee while my father stands across from us, his hands stuffed into his pockets and his face rolling with thunder.
    “I see that you’ve further disgraced my daughter, Daniels,” Dad snaps without preamble. 
    Ebon’s fingers tighten around mine for a fraction of a second before they relax again.  His expression isn’t overtly hostile, but I know him well enough to read him when others probably can’t.  My father has no idea that he’s treading on thin ice.
    “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Masters, but maybe I can put your mind at ease,” Ebon says politely.  He glances at me, his lips going from a tight, controlled smile to a genuine