Page 52 of Love Felt Like This

Griffin is going to meet my family, and I have no clue what he’ll think of us. Maybe he’ll love everyone and all their baseball-card, slasher-impression, afternoon-cake-making fun. Or maybe…

Beau always laughed with Uncle Greg until he didn’t, and Beau thought Rob was a cute music-obsessed kid until he wasn’t, and my dad was Beau’s baseball buddy until baseball wasn’t cool anymore. And listen, I’m not dating Griffin, and it’s unfair to compare him to Beau, but…I’m protective of my family and their eccentricities.

Thankfully, the people in question are not remotely concerned.

Dad nudges the fireplace with the poker while Steely Dan spins on the record player. He does a little solo jig on the carpet while Mom mirrors his energy, dancing across the living room with her spoon spinning in a mixing bowl full of brownie batter. Greg reads his latest Western in a recliner but occasionally says aloud the parts he finds most interesting, even if nobody listens. Nana waters the sticklike plants near the sliding glass door that are barely holding on for the winter. Even Pudge and our cat, Steak, are fighting as usual, chasing and then rubbing against each other like it didn’t happen.

Life goes on.

I pull in a breath and let it out slowly.

This is just another guest. Just another family dinner. Nothing to worry about.

By the fireplace, Rob neurotically rearranges his video games on the shelf beside the TV—pulling one out, then putting it back, before pulling it out again and displaying it in front.

“I’m not sure Griffin plays video games,” I whisper.

“Oh, this?” Rob throws a thumb over his shoulder. “This isn’t for him.” He waves his hand away. “I was just cleaning. It’s…” He laughs with unease. “It’s not for him.”

The doorbell rings. Both Rob and I freeze, but Mom, Dad, Greg, Nana, and the animals keep existing normally.

I look at my watch. Griffin is five minutes early.

“I’ll get it,” I say, taking the carpeted steps down to our den. A dim lampshade illuminates the mismatched armchairs, plaid sofa, and foldout card table. Wood-paneled walls are covered in hiking photos, school pictures of me and Rob, and multiple out-of-sync ticking clocks.

I take a deep breath and swing open the front door. A long-expired Christmas wreath clangs against the outside. A wind chime tinkles on the porch in the breeze. And under the pale-yellow porch light, I’m greeted by Griffin with a red-faced Ava hiked on his hip.

He’s in a black hoodie, starkly contrasted by his daughter’s bright-pink puffer coat. His long brown hair falls to the collar, with locks partially clutched in Ava’s fist. Neither of them smiles, but Griffin isn’t much of a smiler anyway. He speaks through his eyebrows. Right now, he raises a single one—a Hey, how’s it going?

“Hey,” I respond, but my mind is racing. I hope he doesn’t want to shake hands. My palms are clammy. I shut my eyes.

Now, why would he want to shake hands, Beverly?

When I open them again, his single eyebrow arches higher. “Everything all right?”

I nod. “Yep. Come on in.”

Griffin wipes his boots on the doormat and crosses under the doorjamb. He turns slightly to guide himself through with Ava. Even if he didn’t have her, his bulky shoulders may not have made it.

I turn on my heel and guide him toward the stairs. “So, they’re gonna ask too many questions, but you don’t have to answer them.”

He grunts. “I’m not going to ignore your family.”

“And Rob is a huge fan of yours, so don’t mind him.”

“Who’s Rob?”

“My little brother. He’s also going through that phase where anything cool is automatically not cool, so don’t be offended. I swear he adores you.”

“I’m cool?”

The stairs creak as we head back upstairs. Griffin ducks as the low ceiling opens to the top floor.

Mom leans against the kitchen counter. “And who didn’t refill the coffeepot?”

My dad immediately points to me before I’ve crested the top stair.

“Tattletale,” I throw back.