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An awkward silence falls over the table as Brendan digs into his food without hesitation. I shovel my food around on my plate, but my mom keeps her hands firmly planted, refusing to take a bite without our guest.
“Emmett has been preparing to take over Jameson Automobiles,” I explain, trying to make excuses for him. “Which is really like running Jameson. He has already started meeting with the advisors of the company and has been really stressed.”
“I can’t believe that so much responsibility would be placed on someone his age,” my mom gapes.
“I know.” I sigh. “But he seems determined to prove to everyone that he is capable.”
Finally, the doorbell rings. I race to answer it and thankfully, Emmett is finally standing there with a bouquet of flowers in hand.
“Where have you been!?” I hiss quietly, yanking him inside and shoving him towards the dining table.
“So sorry I’m late,” he announces, rushing over to shake their hands and give my mom the flowers. “I stopped for these and then hit traffic.”
I instantly know his excuse his bullshit. It’s all backroads and neighborhoods between our houses and the local stores. There’s no where he could have hit enough traffic to make him almost an hour late. But I keep my mouth shut, still clinging to the hope that he can actually win my parents over.
“We just started eating,” Brendan tells him, motioning for him to have a seat.
“Thank you,” he beams. “This looks delicious.”
“Does your mom cook a lot?” my mom asks him innocently.
“All the time.” Emmett takes a big drink of water and clears his throat. “She’s German, so she likes to make a lot of dishes from her home. Recipes passed down through her family.”
“Oh! How lovely!” she chimes. “Authentic German cuisine. Huh.”
I peer up at him over my plate. He’s lying and I don’t know why. Sure, it might be a lot for them to take in if he was honest and told them their house was staffed with chefs, but they know who he is. They have to know how wealthy he is. And I’ve barely ever even seen his mom, much less known her to cook a meal for her family.
What bothers me the most is that I want to know why he feels the need to lie about these things. Is it out of some sort of pity? Does he think we’re so poor we can’t handle the idea of someone rich sitting at our dinner table?
“And how have all of you been holding up recently?” Brendan asks, subtly referring to Emmett’s father’s supposed suicide.
“Well,” Emmett answers curtly, shifting in his chair, “as well as could be expected.”
Lying again. We don’t even know where Bernadette is, but I didn’t expect him to actually come clean on that one.
The dinner trails off into small talk. Emmett does a great job of deflecting everything back to my parents, asking a million questions about their lives and their jobs. By the time they’ve answered one thing, he has another question ready to go. They love it, taking it as very polite and stimulating conversation. But I can see he’s only trying to keep from talking about himself.
Once we’ve finished eating, I offer to help with the dishes and suggest that Emmett and Brendan go find a movie for us to watch.
“Um, actually,” Emmett turns to me quietly. “I may need to go.”
“Go where?” I ask in a hushed tone. “I thought you and I were going to talk later tonight. We can’t spend a little time with my parents first?”
“Look, I came for dinner. What more do you want from me?” he hisses.
“Mom, actually…I’ll help you with those dishes later if that’s okay,” I stammer, quickly trying to come up with an excuse before the full extent of my anger becomes obvious. “Emmett just reminded me of a report we’re supposed to be working on together and we’re behind. We need to catch up on it. We’ll be up in my room!”
I yank Emmett away as she reluctantly agrees. I know the tension between us is probably painfully obvious. I pull him upstairs and slam my bedroom door shut.
“What the fuck, Emmett!” I belt the moment we’re alone. “My dad gets the nice, charming version of you, but they get the you that’s almost an hour late and lies about anything you actually say about yourself!?” He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “Don’t use your sister as an excuse again, either! You have no problem putting that aside when we’re making visits to your motel room. You could’ve given me and my parents a nice evening with you. Do you know how important this was to my mom?” I demand angrily. “She feels like she doesn’t know anything about my life. And she doesn’t…because of you and everything your fucked up friends and family have dragged me into since I got here.”
“Hey, your dad is just as messed up and would have dragged you in, too, whether we
did or not,” he defends. “Need I remind you, you would have been his prisoner if I hadn’t taken you instead.”
“Oh, yes, I keep forgetting how you kidnapping me was some sick way of saving me,” I sneer. “And no, Emmett. You don’t need to remind me of any of that. I’m all too aware. Which is why tonight was important. I wanted you to see my real family. Not my stupid biological father. My mom and Brendan mean everything to me. And they wanted to know you.”
“I’m sorry, Ophelia,” he answers in frustration, “it’s just not a good time. Let’s just find Bernadette, and then we can try again. I’m just getting more and more worried, and I don’t know what to do. What if I never see her again?”
