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“Because things have been weirdly volatile, with clinic stuff and the pregnancies and … and …” I stumble over my excuses. “We don’t bring friends to Sunday dinner.” Or emotionally unavailable men we have sex with in parking lots. None of us have ever brought a guy to Sunday dinner who we weren’t dating. Jonathan was the only man I ever invited. I never even invited Jonah, afraid someone might betray me and reveal my true feelings.
Tyler shrugs. “There’s a first time for everything.” But there’s that look of determination on his face, much like the day Jonah invited him to the Ale House.
“Well, okay, you’ve already met my father, so you know what he can be like. My nieces are fine. They’re picky eaters and they’re loud, but cute. Vicki will spend the entire dinner trying to set us up. Liz will spend it judging me. Oliver isn’t here, which is too bad because he’s a good buffer for my lazy and obnoxious brother-in-law, Jim, who thinks he has a say in how I run my clinic. It will be one of the worst nights you’ve had in a long time.”
His frown grows deeper, more thoughtful as he considers that. “So, it’s this way, right?” He starts moving toward my parents’ house.
I grab onto his forearm, stalling him. I’m still not sure if he’s being serious or if this is all a game to unsettle me, but he needs to understand. “I don’t know what kind of questions they’re going to ask you about your life.” I give him a pointed look.
“I’m not as fragile as you think, Marie. You don’t have to protect me.” His voice is soft, warm.
“I know. I just …” My eyes drift to his mouth. I just want you to kiss me again. “What are you doing here, Tyler?” Besides confusing me.
He swallows. “Remember when you said maybe we could grab a coffee or dinner sometime?”
“Yeah?” All those months ago, back when I put myself out there, and he promptly shut me down.
“So then, let’s do that.”
Is he saying what I think he is? “You want to complicate your life?”
He reaches up to gently stroke a wayward strand of hair off my face. “I think that’s happening, whether I want it or not. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I’m honestly not sure what’s happening.”
He jerks his head toward the house. “Come on … I don’t want to miss your horrible family dinner.” Giving my forearm a gentle squeeze, he leads me the way I came with backward steps and a mischievous smirk.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I trail after him, my boots caked in mud.
And my heart soaring with new possibilities.
* * *
“Quit playing with your food,” Liz warns Tillie.
“I don’t like bones in my chicken,” the nine-year-old grumbles, her chin resting on her propped arm as she stabs at the meat with her fork. “Why can’t we have beef?”
“Because the smell of it makes your aunt Vicki want to throw up,” Vicki says from the end of the table, shoveling spoonfuls of pureed carrots into an impatient Molly’s gaping mouth, her own plate of food growing cold.
“I don’t like bony chicken, either!” Nicole whines.
“Eat everything on your plates or no dessert,” Liz hisses. Her temper is unusually short today, and I can’t tell if it’s the physical strain from the first trimester or the mental strain from missing the glass of wine she normally has with dinner. Probably both.
“I get twenty-two miles per gallon in that truck,” Jim announces around a forkful of chicken, having tuned out his children and wife.
“Is that good?” My mom feigns interest.
“Not as good as if they’d bought that truck used. May as well have flushed fifteen grand down the toilet as soon as they drove it off the lot,” my dad counters while Jim’s mouth is too full to respond.
Beside me, Tyler sits, eating and watching and answering the odd question thrown at him about the Iditarod and his seasonal park ranger position.
“Have more chicken, Tyler.” Mom gestures toward the platter in front of him.
“I’m good for now. Thanks, Eleanor.” Tyler smiles politely at my mom. “I still have a piece.”
“What about green beans?” She holds up the casserole dish. “Or carrots?”
His smile widens. “Still got some of those, too. Thanks.”
She pauses a beat. “Potatoes?”
“Jesus, Eleanor. The man hasn’t even finished his plate!” My dad gives my mom an exasperated look.
“Jee-sus!” Nicole echoes, bursting with laughter as if my father’s made a joke.
“Don’t say that!” Liz scowls at my dad. “Either of you!”
Dad winces at his granddaughter. “Sorry, Tyler, it’s been a few years since we’ve had someone new at the table. Well, a new male grown-up. Not these little urchins.” He casts a wink toward Tillie and Nicole. “My one son-in-law, the one who’s at work right now, eats like he has a hollow leg, and this one has no problem helping himself to thirds.”
