“Damn.”
“Yeah. Damn.”
Oliver takes a breath to speak, but then hesitates.
“What?”
“You probably don’t even remember this conversation, but during the Halloween Party?—”
I cringe. “Oh, God.”
“You were talking about how holidays with your family suck, but then I suggested tagging along with you next time, and you thought that was a great idea.”
“Oh, absolutely not,” I say quickly. “I couldn’t put you through that. I dragged Celeste along last year, and she referencedGet Outseveral times.”
“Well, as you have pointed out to me in the past,” Oliver gestures to his lanky body. “I’m a white guy. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“They’re kind of awful people,” I continue. “Celeste and my stupid cop brother-in-law got into a heated argument, too.”
Oliver shrugs. “I don’t really bother arguing with people like that. It’s just a waste of energy.”
“You say that now, but just wait until they all start deadnaming me and talking about immigrants.”
I could swear I see Oliver’s eye twitch. “I could ignore that if you asked me to.”
“Also, everyone would immediately assume you’re my boyfriend,” I counter. “It would be a whole thing.”
Oliver drops my gaze. “Yeah, I guess that might make things awkward between us, especially now that you’re not with Nikki.”
Plus, I think that if Oliver pretended to be in love with me, it would break me. But he doesn’t need to know that. Instead, I smile. “It’ll be fine. It’s just one dinner. I’ll survive.”
A moment later, my phone starts buzzing again, but this time it’s even more incessant. As soon as I recognize the reason, I’m filled with dread. It’s a phone call.
Oliver leans over towards it and peers at the screen. “It says ‘Mom’.”
Fuck. With a growl, I scoop up my phone and jog to the kitchen. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, DEADNAME! Are you busy?”
My gaze lands on Oliver, watching on curiously, but I turn away. “Not really. What’s up?”
“Great! So, hear me out.”
Shit, a preface? I grip the counter and brace myself for whatever insane shit my mother is about to say that necessitates a preface.
“Your father and I are discussing whether to invite one more small family to Thanksgiving. They’re a couple from our Sunday School class, and they have a son who currently attends Georgia Tech. He’s very handsome and smart, and right around your age.”
Oh, god.
“We had lunch with them after church today. Your dad and I discussed it and thought you might enjoy having someone your age to talk to. And who knows, maybe you’ll become friends. Maybe even more?”
My nails dig into my palm. I can’t believe my parents are trying to set me up with someone who is essentially a stranger.
“However, your father thinks you might not appreciate our trying to play matchmaker for you, so I wanted to run it by you first.”
I shake my head emphatically. I cannot let this happen. “Um, actually?—”
“All I ask is that you keep an open mind and give him a chance, even if it’s only as a friend.”
