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I shake my head. There's no reason to apologize. I want her to be happy. Even if that makes things complicated.
Thankfully, my parents don't just stand in the kitchen and project their voices. They enter the room with dinner. Dad sets a tray of enchiladas on the table. Mom places the plates of fixings next to them.
Dad doesn't say anything. He scans the room, raises a brow, looks to Mom. Somehow, he conveys everything in his mind to her.
She nods, absorbing the information, and shakes her head don't.
But he does. "Do we need to have the talk again, Cassie?"
Ugh. Kill me now. "No, thank you."
"Are you sleeping with Damon?" Dad asks.
"We're seeing each other." I use my practiced response.
"Seeing each other naked, yeah," Zack adds.
Mom shoots him that same don't look. "Nobody wanted me to date your father, either."
"Hey!" Dad raises his arms in mock protest.
"I'm still surprised my brother didn't kill you." She laughs, lost in a memory.
"He was waiting for an excuse, yeah." Dad nods. "Just like your brother is."
This is such bullshit. "What if, instead of this patriarchal obsession with who is claiming my body, we could all stop acting as if it's normal for a man to threaten to kill because another man is touching a woman?" I offer.
Zack waves his hand get real. "If anyone is going to kill Damon, it's Daphne."
And there it is—
As if summoned by Zack's stupidity, Damon joins us. He's holding two short glasses of clear liquid and ice. One with half a lime. One with a single lime slice garnish.
They're different drinks.
That means something. I think.
Damon looks around the room, noting the tense mood. "Why do I get the feeling no one wants to talk about me?"
Zack laughs. Laurel too.
Mom and Dad not so much. Daphne or Jackson either. The four of them look at Damon with the same concern.
They know something. Or they see something.
And while I do appreciate them looking out for me, I don't appreciate the attitude. I'm an adult. I can date anyone I want.
"If you have something to say about my boyfriend, say it." I address the entire room. "Otherwise, can we please sit and eat?"
"Can we eat and say things about your boyfriend?" Zack tries to break the tension with a joke.
The air stays thick.
Ugh. "Seriously. If you have something to say to me, please say it now. This is the moment at the wedding. Speak now or forever hold your peace."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cassie
Dad looks at me the way he did when I was a kid and I was sick. Fuck, I'm worried, but I don't want you to know I'm worried.
He's better at hiding the concern these days, but I'm better at seeing it too.
Despite the this is fucked expression on his face, he agrees we shouldn't make my love life the center of attention, sits, tells everyone else to sit.
No one takes the floor. We all settle into our seats, serve ourselves, discuss family outings, vacation plans, the typical how was your week stuff.
Laurel is killing it at the fashion company. Jackson is working a billion hours a week at his law firm. Zack is effortless in the off-season. Somehow, despite his I take nothing seriously attitude, my brother is a well-paid professional athlete.
When it's my turn to share my week, I give everyone the rough outline of our plans. The songwriting, the album, the opportunity to work with two different musicians, even the strange weekend collaboration. Thankfully, everyone accepts this as a legitimate excuse for not making dinner next week.
Slowly, I settle into the conversation. I drink another gin and tonic. I tease my sister about her dress. Damon gushes over my songwriting skills. Daphne and I explain the plot of The Matrix for the ten millionth time.
Jackson watches her carefully, lighting up when she laughs.
No one mentions it, but everyone notices.
For two hours, everything is easy. We finish dinner, clear the plates, help with cleaning. I don't think about the status of my fake relationship. I don't worry about Damon's personal life. I don't care whether or not my parents approve of my choices.
Then I head outside to grab a little air, and I find Dad at the patio table, all that concern in his eyes, and my lightness disappears.
Somehow, I know what he's going to say the second I look at him.
"Have a seat, Cass," he says.
"Why do I feel like I'm in trouble?" I ask.
"When were you ever in trouble?" He smiles in that Dad sort of way. "You got straight As."
"A lot of teachers scolded me for writing poems instead of paying attention."
"Did I?" he asks.
"A few times, yeah." I sit. "You're more strict than you act."
"You should have seen me back in the day." He takes a long sip from his glass of whiskey. "With Miles."
Damon's dad.
"I was worried," he says. "All the time. I kept thinking I'd wake up to a call from hotel security. That someone found him, in his bed, over-dosed."
