“I’ll have biscuits and gravy, please.” The diner was nearly empty. 

Martin looked at Kimberly and said, “We just drove eleven hours straight. The whole trip you’ve been talking about fried chicken, okra and corn bread.”  

“It’s too late for a big meal. It’s comfort food, Martin. I’m tired, I need a hot bath and I’ve the grime of Chicago on me”

Martin Jamison and Kimberly Kelso, a Biloxi, Mississippi native, had met nine months ago at work. Martin was introduced to Kimberly before he even found his office, which, it turned out, was situated right across from hers. Martin liked Kimberly immediately. By lunch time he was sure he was in love.

Martin was tired too. It was almost midnight. He ordered scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. When it arrived, he asked for ketchup. The server gave him a long look. Kimberly spoke up. “He’s not from around here.”

The server brought him a bottle of hot sauce. “Give this a try, Sugar.”

They spent the night in a roadside motel in Jackson, Mississippi, on the northern edge of Capitol Street. Jackson Arms was a holdout from the old days, before motel chains put local motor courts out of business. The next morning, they went back to the diner for breakfast. On their way there, Kimberly explained the ketchup problem to Martin. “It’s just not done down here.”

“I’m glad you told me before I met your family. I certainly don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with them,” he said. “Is there a statute that prohibits putting ketchup on a hamburger, by any chance?’

“Very funny. Daddy is going to love you.”

After breakfast, (Martin ordered pancakes) Kimberly said, “Let me drive. I know a shortcut that will cut off at least 45 minutes of our drive to Biloxi.”

Martin handed her the keys to his Jeep. “Perfect, I need to get some sleep. The bed in that room was probably bought at a surplus store that sold mattresses used during basic training in World War II.”

“I didn’t realize, until just this moment, that you can be cranky when you don’t get enough sleep,” she said.

As she pulled out of the parking lot, Martin said, “We’re even. Last night I discovered you keep secrets.”

“What in the world? What secrets?”

“The ketchup thing. Who knows what else?”

Their relationship had become serious. While they hadn’t moved in together, they had discussed it. Martin was ready, but Kimberly felt if they were ready to move in together, they were ready for marriage. “I’m an old-fashioned girl I guess.”

Martin thought it over for a few days before buying her an engagement ring. “I love it,” she said, “but we have a longstanding family tradition. You have to ask Daddy for my hand first.”

Martin grabbed a suitcase from his closet. “I always wanted to see Biloxi.”    

Since Martin’s family lived in the Chicagoland area, Kimberly met them several times. The first time she met them, his mother served ribs, macaroni and cheese and cornbread she’d made herself. “I thought you might like some Southern food,” she said. “I can’t make it exactly the way your people do, but I tried.”

Kimberly was gracious, of course. But on the way home she said, “Your family thinks I’m a country bumpkin.”

“You’re not?” She refused to speak to him for a while.

When they arrived at the Kelso home, Mrs. Kelso came running out to the driveway of their spacious home to greet the couple. She embraced her daughter tightly and enthusiastically welcomed Martin to Biloxi. The house, fronted by huge white columns and a front, double-door entrance, made Martin a bit nervous. He had grown up in a modest home. This place was palatial.

Mrs. Kelso led them into the library, where Judge Kelso was waiting. There was a huge oil painting of the judge in his robes over the fireplace. Jonathan Kelso was a State Supreme Court justice. He lightly hugged Kimberly and gave Martin a tight-fisted handshake. “My daughter says you studied the law at Northwestern.”

“Yes sir, I did.”

“I suppose that’s all right.”

“He passed the bar on his first try, Daddy.”

“Illinois laws are not very complicated,” the judge said.

“That’s true,” Martin answered. “Otherwise I’m sure Abraham Lincoln would never have become a lawyer.”

At this, the judge laughed. “Kimberly, you finally found a man who isn’t afraid of me.”

Everyone relaxed. The four of them had a pleasant conversation, which continued through lunch on the veranda. Judge Kelso made everyone a Mississippi Punch to go with a fried catfish and hushpuppy meal. After lunch, the judge beckoned Martin, saying, “Why do I have the feeling you want to talk to me?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say Kimberly tipped you off.”

The judge smiled and nodded. “Let’s go boy.” They walked back to the library.

“Sir, I came to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage. I can assure you I will treat her as well as you’ve treated Mrs. Kelso all these years.”

Judge Kelso looked at his hands, absentmindedly picking at a tiny scab on his palm. “You’ll need to do better than that. I bought Mildred the finest of everything. Used her daddy’s money to do it.” He exhaled. “Don’t get me wrong. I worked hard and made a name for myself. But I wasn’t around much.” The older man stood and started pacing.

“You plan to live in Chicago? I won’t lie to you, we were hoping Kimberly would come home, make a life here in Biloxi, near us.”

“We’ve talked about it. I think Kimberly would like to live here. I’m not opposed to it.”

“Happy to hear it,” the judge said. “So, Mr. Martin Jamison, you have my blessing.”

“Thank you. I want you to know I plan to become an adopted Southerner.”  Martin had no such plan, but it felt right in the moment.

Judge Kelso was not impressed. “You do? You sure are off to a slow start, asking for ketchup with your eggs.”