“Then bring him to dinner. Your father will behave.”
“Mom, he didn’t just say something about Rowan’s dad,” I say, shaking my head. “He looked him in the eye and basically told him he’d end up the same way. Like everything Rowan’s worked for doesn’t matter. Like none of it counts.” The memory twists in my chest, anger and something softer, more protective, rising up together.
“Your father was out of line,” she says quietly.
“He didn’t just cross a line,” I mumble. “He seems to have made up his mind about who Rowan is and who he’ll always be.”
There’s another long pause, and I can almost see her pursing her lips, that expression she gets when she’s trying to find the right words.
“You can’t avoid your father forever, honey.”
“I’m not avoiding him,” I argue, though we both know that’s exactly what I’m doing.
“What if I talk to him first? I’ll make it very clear what the expectations are.”
“I don’t know…”
“Honey, your father may be stubborn, but he loves you. And I think, deep down, he knows he was wrong. He just needs a little push in the right direction.”
The idea of sitting at a dinner table with both Rowan and my father makes my stomach knot, but there’s also a part of me that desperately wants them to find some kind of peace.
“Why don’t you ask Rowan if he’d be comfortable with it?” Mom suggests. “He might surprise you.”
I let out a slow breath. “You think he’d actually want to subject himself to that again?”
“You won’t know unless you ask.”
She has a point.
“Okay,” I say, my shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’ll talk to him about it.”
“That’s my girl,” Mom says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “How about next Sunday? That gives your father a full week to practice being on his best behavior.”
I laugh. “I’ll let you know.”
We hang up, and I stare at my phone. How exactly do you ask the guy you love if he wants to spend a Sunday dodging your dad’s disapproving glances over pasta?
It’s not that Rowan’s been weird about my family. Just…quiet. Ever since the coffee shop standoff with my dad, he’s walked a wide circle around the topic. He just listens when I vent and plants kisses to the top of my head.
I set the phone down and wander into the living room where Rowan and Whitley are perched on the couch, the rich scent of hazelnut coffee filling the air. He looks up when I enter, eyes warming instantly.
He sets his mug down, arms open in a gesture that’s become home. “Hey. Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, dragging the word out as I cross to him and settle in his lap. “I just got off the phone with my mom. She invited us to Sunday dinner.”
His body stills for half a second. “Us?”
“Mmhmm.” I nod, looping my arms around his neck.
Whitley lets out a snort from her corner of the couch. “Oh,thatdinner. The one with the cold stares.”
Rowan glances at her, brow lifted.
I give a heavy sigh. “Mom says Dad’s going to be on his best behavior.”
Whitley hums. Rowan tries not to smile. “And you want me to come?”
I chew my lip, meeting his eyes. “Only if you’re comfortable with it. I know my dad is kind of nasty sometimes.”
