Page 88 of The Marriage Auction 2: Part 2

“That sounds awful.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine allowing something to take over my body and mind like that.”

I shrugged. “I enjoy it, depending on my mood. If I need to ignore the world, letting go of it all is a pretty stellar option and nobody gets hurt. I’m not out drowning my sorrows in a vodka bottle, then getting behind the wheel and driving.”

“I see,” he murmured.

Over the last week, Jack had gotten a lot more comfortable with my chosen business and preferred method for combatting my anxiety disorder. He was now working with me to figure out the best ways to delegate business needs internally while still expanding.

“Have you considered working with a lobbyist to legalize cannabis federally?” he asked.

I groaned. “Ugh, I hate politics.”

He chuckled. “Most people do, but as a businesswoman, you cannot shy away from the things you don’t like simply because they are difficult. If this were my business, one of the first things I’d do is hire a lobbyist. If there’s too much involved in fighting the governmental restrictions on cannabis at the national level, then start with the state level. Work within the communities and states already trying to make change. Filter money into their causes and campaigns. Become the voice of legalization everywhere. You’re already one of the top distributers, why not take it to the next level?”

He made complete sense, but that didn’t change the fact I had zero interest in political anything. My entire family avoidedpolitical discussions and debate. My father even had to drag my mother and sister kicking and screaming to the voting booths every year. Mostly because you can’t gripe about what isn’t working in the world if you’re not actively using your right to vote to make changes in your own backyard.

“Because I don’t want to get in front of a camera or speak at rallies,” I trembled even imagining such a thing. It was hard enough being on stage at the auction, but there, I didn’t have to speak, which made the experience doable. “I’m a horticulturist, Jack, not a politician or a community activist.”

“Ah, but you are an activist in your own way.” He emphasized his statement with a pointed finger. “You constantly go through the list of benefits and medical conditions your product aids when challenged by those who don’t know any different.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to do it in front of an audience or a camera.”

“We could easily have the lobbyist do that on your behalf, but in order to go fully nationwide and eventually global, you have to start where you can have the biggest effect on your business. And it seems the only problem you have now is the state and nationwide restrictions.”

I slumped against his side. “I just want to play with my plants and help people heal,” I griped.

“And I just want to drink the beer we brew, sit on the porch with you, and rake in the profits. Unfortunately, that is not how it works.”

“Lame. We can talk to Dad about the idea of hiring a lobbyist at dinner tonight.” My stomach took that moment to growl.

Jack laughed, kissed my temple, and led me back through the long lines of plants toward my parents’ house.

When we made it to the porch and up the back stairs, my mother was already setting out dinner. Instantly the scent of garlic, tomatoes, rosemary, and oregano hit my nose. “Oh baby,you are in for a treat tonight,” I said as Mom set a platter of baked breaded eggplant onto the table. Behind her, Dad carried a pot that I knew by scent alone held Mom’s homemade soy Bolognese sauce.

“Eggplant parmesan?” Jack licked his lips and held my chair for me.

“Something like that,” my mother said and smiled. “Good evening to you, my son.”

I rolled my eyes. “Mom, he’s not your son-in-law yet, and what happened to saying ‘Hi, Sunny.’”

“You shush and leave me to my manifesting,” Mom quipped.

Jack sat down very slowly, taking in the environment as though he could lay eyes on the magical fairies that messed with him last week.

Autumn snorted as she set down a tray of bread.

“Is that your…”

“Garlic-infused homemade ciabatta? It sure is.”

“Is something happening? Why are you all bringing out the big guns. Mom’s eggplant from the garden, her soy Bolognese, Autumn’s mouthwatering bread.” I snagged a slice and bit into the warm doughy goodness.

“We thought maybe we should share some of our favorite dishes with Jack. Show him how great it is to be here, eat fresh from our garden, live close to your parents…” Mom’s voice trailed off as I thought about what she wasn’t saying.

“Mom…” I warned.

“What? I’m not doing anything but making sure Jack knows how welcome he is here. How happy we are that the two of you are finding your place in one another’s lives right here in Eureka.”

“Mom…” I growled. “Don’t.”

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