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I hesitated, biting my lip as I considered my options. Matt would be there, and the thought of facing him after all those ignored calls made me cringe. It had been three weeks since we’d talked at lunch. But continuing to avoid the issue wouldn't make it disappear. “Sure, Mom. I'll be there.”
“Fantastic! See you soon, sweetheart.”
As I hung up, I took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for the evening. I couldn’t avoid Matt or my parents forever. Normally I genuinely enjoyed their company. It was just a couple of hours—I could do anything for a hundred and twenty minutes.
When I pulled up to my parents' house, I braced myself for the inevitable confrontation and plastered on a friendly façade. Laughter echoed from inside, and I knocked on the door, feeling more like an outsider than ever.
“Rebecca!” Mom exclaimed as she opened the door, enveloping me in a warm hug. “We've missed you so much.”
“Missed you too, Mom,” I said, trying not to let my unease show. She led me inside, and I noticed Matt lounging on the couch, completely absorbed in a Diamondbacks baseball game. He didn't even glance up when I walked in, and I seized the opportunity to slip away to the dining room without making eye contact.
“Your father's just finishing setting the table,” Mom said, gesturing toward Dad as he meticulously arranged silverware. “Why don't you help him while I get dinner ready?”
“Sure thing,” I replied, trying to sound enthusiastic. As I helped Dad with the final touches, my thoughts raced. How would I navigate this evening without losing my cool or letting Matt get under my skin? I'd have to be on my A-game.
“Everything okay, kid?” Dad asked, concern lining his face.
“Of course, Dad,” I lied again, forcing a smile. "Just tired from work." He didn’t look convinced but thankfully let it go.
“Alright, well, let's get ready for dinner,” he said, giving me a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
The aroma of Mom's famous garlic-rosemary chicken wafted through the air as we all took our seats around the dining table. I settled in next to my father, hoping to use him as a buffer between Matt and me. The sound of clinking glasses and cutlery filled the room, along with the hum of polite conversation.
“Your mother tells me you've been swamped at work lately,” Dad said.
“Yep,” I replied, trying to sound casual. “It's been a busy month but nothing I can't handle.”
“Becca, you know you can always talk to us if things get overwhelming,” Mom chimed in, her gaze warm and comforting.
“Thanks, Mom, but really, I'm fine,” I assured her, silently begging for a change of topic. Thankfully, fate—or the universe—answered my plea in the form of an unexpected knock on the door.
“Who could that be at this hour?” Mom wondered aloud, rising from her seat to answer it. My heart skipped a beat when the door swung open to reveal Connor, looking ruggedly handsome in a plaid shirt and jeans. A bouquet of roses clutched in his hand and a sheepish grin.
“Sorry, I'm late,” he said, handing the flowers over to Mom. “I hit some traffic and didn't want to show up empty-handed.”
“Connor, sweetheart, it's so good to see you,” Mom gushed, pulling him into a hug. “You didn't have to bring anything, but these are just lovely. Let me find a vase for them.”
My heart squeezed again. He fit in our family better than I did sometimes. Connor’s parents had always been fighting when we were kids, and they eventually divorced. He’d spent a lot of dinners over here until he went away to college. Before that weekend camping trip, it had been a good three or four years since I had seen him.
“Hi, Mr. Grant,” Connor greeted my dad, extending his hand for a firm shake. “I hope you don't mind me crashing your family dinner.”
“Of course not, son,” Dad replied, chuckling. “You're always welcome here. Come, sit down and join us.”
Connor slid into the empty chair across from me, his blue eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before I quickly looked away. My stomach churned with a mix of surprise, annoyance, and—if I were honest with myself—an embarrassing amount of attraction.
“Connor,” Matt said, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Glad you could make it.”
“Wouldn't miss it for the world,” Connor replied, shooting him a grin that sent my heart racing.
For the remainder of the dinner, I focused on picking apart my chicken and nibbling at the garlic mashed potatoes. My ears burned as I listened to Connor effortlessly charm my parents by discussing everything from local politics to his recent hiking adventures. I chimed in every now and then with a non-committal comment, doing my best to keep my emotions in check and avoid direct conversation with either him or Matt.
"Did you hear about the new art exhibit downtown?" Connor asked my mom, who was an avid lover of all things creative. "I heard it's fantastic. Maybe we could all go together sometime."
“Sounds wonderful!” Mom beamed, clearly smitten with the idea. “What do you think, Rebecca? Would you like to join us?”
“Sure,” I mumbled, forcing a smile and momentarily meeting Connor's blazing gaze. Fuck, this was torture. I wanted to reach out to him. To have him hold me and tell me he was wrong and never should've let Matt get between us. But this was real life, not some sappy Hallmark movie.
As the evening wore on, I couldn't help but notice the genuine effort Connor was making to fit in and be part of our family gathering again. It was infuriatingly endearing, and my heart begrudgingly began softening toward him, letting go of some of the anger and resentment that had built up over the past few weeks. Was he here to see me or just hang out with Matt?
