How to Stay Out of Prison: A Modern-Day Woman's Guide

Chapter 8

Nixon~

"So, I hear that we're finally going to get a daughter-in-law," my mother announced not two seconds after we were all seated around the table.

We were sitting in the formal dining room, and I was pretty sure that this was the only time that my parents ever used this room. If it wasn't Easter, Christmas, or this mandatory monthly dinner, my parents usually just ate at the kitchen table.

Jackson St. James Sr. was a retired judge, and Felicia St. James was a retired family attorney. So, with good, solid, long-standing careers behind them, they were able to afford the finer things in life, and their home was one of those finer things. However, their house wasn't big or obnoxious. On the contrary, it was a quaint two-story, four-bedroom home. It was the inside that made it classy because my parent's home was furnished in good taste. Thankfully, it was still livable; no need to take off your shoes before entering.

Now, between both my parents, they were a walking, talking, living law library, and while Lincoln had taken after them profession-wise, my parents had never pushed us one way or another in choosing a career. They hadn't been heartbroken when Jackson had said that he'd wanted to be a doctor, or when I'd said that I wanted to be an architect. They also hadn't celebrated the house down when Linc had said he wanted to be a lawyer. Our parents just wanted us all to be happy, and if we were happy, then that was enough for them.

Now, while this dinner took place in the formal dining room, we were still anything but. Casual clothes were worn everywhere, and curse words were only banned out of respect for my mother. Dad was the only one allowed to cuss.

"Jesus," I mumbled, placing a napkin over my lap. It was a paper napkin because my mother thought that cloth napkins were ridiculous and useless. "Is there nothing sacred in this family?"

"Nope," Linc answered.

"Not at all," Jackson added.

"Not since the day you were born," my dad threw in right before he took a sip of his wine.

"Don't be ridiculous," my mom chided.

My father set his glass of wine down, then speared me with a look. "Have you made it clear to the young lady that you're not gay?"

Jesus.

There really was nothing sacred in this family.

I cocked my head at the man. "I haven't even seen her since Friday, Dad," I answered. "Now, can we just eat a nice dinner without talking about Lyrical?"

"Lyrical?" my mother echoed. "Oh, my...is that my future daughter-in-law's name?"

I could feel my eyes bugging out of my head. "Mom," I said, steadying my breathing.

Her chocolate brows shot upward. "What?"

Weirdos.

All of them.

Still, it was hard to be stern with my mother. She was all of five-foot-two, and with the exception of Jackson getting her blue eyes, none of us looked like her. She had light brown hair, bright blue eyes, and her petite frame made us want to exist for nothing but protecting her and making her happy.

Mom was also all femininity while my father was all masculinity. Dad was strong, fair, and solid, and he had raised us to be the same. His only weakness was our only weakness, and that was Mom.

I went to cutting my rib-eye, wishing we could talk about anything else but knowing better. However, before I could answer her, Jackson decided to take the wheel. "Yeah, that's her name," he said, answering her. "Nixon's been stalking her the past few days, so he ought to know."