The Relationship Clause

Chapter 15

“Oh my gosh,this chicken is divine.” Junie moans, eyes closed, fork still in her mouth. It’s distracting as all get out. I need to find more reasons to cook for Junie, and fast.

Kiera kicks my shin under the table. A little too hard, I might add. I glare at her, but she only smirks and tosses me a napkin. “Here, Owen. For the drool.”

If looks could kill, my sister would be so dead. But I can’t fully deny the implied accusation. The more time I spend with Junie, the more I realize how drool-worthy she is.

“I still can’t believe you had no idea Owen cooked,” Dad says, chasing his bite with a generous swig of wine. He’s already on his second glass. “If I had his culinary skills, I’d have women begging to eat out of the palm of my hand, if you know what I mean.”

I try to hold back a grimace at the disturbing image his words conjure up. Kiera, not so much.

“Ew, Dad, stop.” Kiera’s eyes are wide with embarrassment, face contorted in disgust.

Dad chuckles. “Come on, Kiera Bear, we’re all adults here.”

“No, we’re adults. You’re still Dad. And don’t call me that.”

“Trust me, Fred, you’re the lucky one,” Junie says, winking. “Whatever you do, do not become an adult.”

More laughter rises around the table, and I can’t help joining in. In my wildest dreams, this is not how I thought dinner would go tonight, all of us more or less happy, talking normally, teasing, and laughing. Dinner with Dad is usually a chore at best, but with Junie here, she seems to be taking the work right out of it, and we’re all at ease.

Suddenly, I’m imagining having Junie at my side during other random daily tasks. Would her presence have the same effect as it does now? Driving through busy traffic, walking down aisles of the grocery store together, strolling hand in hand along the paths that wind beside the Reedy River, waking up next to each other…

“Owen? Hello?”

Another kick lands on my shin. I start, looking up to find three sets of eyes staring at me with varying looks of curiosity.

“I don’t think he heard you,” Kiera says, smirking. “His mind is clearly distracted by other things.”

Understatement of my life. I wasn’t simply distracted. I was in full-blown daydream mode. My eyes flick to Junie who’s looking a little flustered herself. Heat explodes up my neck as if she somehow read my previous thoughts.

I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”

But whatever it was, I don’t find out because Junie’s phone rings. “Oh, um, sorry guys. I need to take this.” She gets up and moves to the kitchen.

“Dad,” I hiss as soon as she’s out of earshot. “You mind taking it easy on the wine tonight?”

“Yeah, seriously, Dad. Slow down,” Kiera says.

“Pssh, come on,” Dad says, his words already sounding sluggish as he pours himself another glass. “Your mother isn’t here. I can drink as much as I want, whenever I want.”

I roll my eyes. Great. Now we’re going to have to figure out a way to get Dad to stop drinking before he gets totally sloshed and ruins the night for everyone. I glance at Kiera, ready to convey telepathically what we need to do to keep the worst from happening, but instead of finding my sister ready to conspire, she’s gathering her purse and keys.

“Kiera? What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m so sorry, but I got a text from my roommate.” She waves her phone around as if to prove it. “She’s locked out of the apartment, so I need to run home.”

“What? No, you can’t—”

“Owen, I’m sorry, but my hands are tied.”

“What about dinner? Dessert?” I nod pointedly at dad who’s finishing off the glass he poured just minutes ago.

“Umm…” Kiera looks uneasy then shrugs. “I’m sorry, Owen, but I can’t leave my roommate locked out until who knows when. I have complete faith in your ability to handle dinner on your own. And as for dessert…” She hops into the kitchen and grabs a ramekin of crème br?lée. “I’ll take it to go. Thanks for the food. Tell Junie bye for me. Bye, Dad!” And she’s gone.

Ugh. I’m going to get her back for this one day.

I’m thinking of how I’ll get my revenge when Junie’s one-sided conversation catches my attention.

“I thought you said you’d be coming back to the States after you finished climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. I wanted us to have lunch together, remember?”

I don’t need to see Junie’s face to know how she’s feeling. Disappointment colors her voice.

“Yeah, I know… Right… That does sound like a good opportunity… No, you shouldn’t pass it up. I’ll be fine… Yeah, we’ll get together when you’re done. Give me a call when you’re wrapping up… Uh-huh… Okay… Love you too, Dad… Okay, bye.”

It’s a couple of minutes before she rejoins us at the table, and when she does, she’s got a smile on that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. Was she crying?

“Everything okay?” I ask

“Mm-hmm. Fine. Where’s Kiera?”

“She had to help her roommate with something. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“She said she’s fine,” Dad says, waving. “Couldn’t help overhearing you talking to your father. What does he do for a living?”

Ugh. I want to shove him. Junie is clearly not “fine.” Any guy who’s spent any amount of time with a woman knows when she says she’s “fine,” what she means is that she’s the complete opposite. Dad should know that, considering the fact that Mom used the term on an almost daily basis. I picked up on that at an early age, and I swear, it’s saved me more times than I can count, whether it was with Kiera, in the workplace, or with a woman I was interested in.

Fine almost never means fine.

No wonder my Dad ended up divorced.

“He’s a travel writer,” Junie says, pushing her potatoes around her plate.

“Really?” Dad shoves away from the table, grabbing his glass with one hand and massaging his gut with the other. The absolute picture of disgusting. “That sounds like an exciting job.”

She makes a tiny snorting noise. “Yeah. Exciting.”

Dad nods and smiles, then goes back to sipping his wine.

“But you don’t like that he travels so much.” I say the words softly, tentatively, not sure how she’ll react.

Junie’s eyes widen, and she tries to force another fake smile. “Oh, no, I love that he gets to travel. It’s good for him. He’s always had a wandering spirit ever since my—I mean, ever since I was little. It’s hard sometimes, but it’s better this way.”

Junie’s words pierce my heart, not because of the words themselves, but because of the way she says them. As if she is trying to convince herself they’re true.

“I’m not good at staying in one spot for long. In all aspects of my life.”

Those were her words to me that night while we demoed her house. Is this part of the reason? I noticed she didn’t mention anything about her mom. Where does she fit in this picture?

Dad, of course, changes the subject completely and starts asking Junie about whether or not she’s ever been to Italy. The conversation flows easily as we get out dessert since Junie seems eager to change the subject anyway, but I can’t join in. I’m chewing on my thoughts the same way I’d chew on a hangnail. Soon, my mind feels a little red and raw.

I wish I could ask Junie more about her dad, more about her conversation with him. I wish I could hold her close and soothe away those tiny, little, anxious lines that have formed beside her eyes.

But I’m her boss. We signed a contract. She’s focusing on her career, and I shouldn’t do anything to mess that up. I don’t even want a relationship.

And yet…

“That was delicious,” Dad says, dropping his spoon into his ramekin and licking his lips. His words are slurred as he pats his pockets looking for something. “I’m glad we were able to do this tonight, but I must be going. Junie, you’re a lovely woman.”

“You’re not planning on driving tonight, are you, Dad?” I ask, standing and preparing for a fight. I’ll wrestle his keys away from him if I have to. It’s definitely happened before.

“No, no. I’m looking for my phone so I can call a ride. Have you seen my—Ah, thank you, Junie.” He taps on his phone for a minute, then holds it out proudly. “See? I’m not driving drunk.”

“Yes, Dad. Good for you.” Clearly, the alcohol has made him a docile drunk tonight instead of his usual rowdy drunk. I still don’t like it, but it’s a welcome change. Junie’s effect as well? Or maybe it’s because he’s drinking only wine and not another type of alcohol. Either way, I’m grateful, happy even, to see him go like this of his own accord.

“I should get going too,” Junie says, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Oh.” Not quite as happy about her leaving.

“Well, go on. Give her a kiss,” Dad says out of nowhere.

“What?” I barely choke out that syllable. He’s drunk. Obviously, this is the wine talking. His eyes are bright, and he’s swaying a bit as he stands. But he looks serious about his words.

“I said, kiss ‘er.” Dad swipes at his mouth noisily. “I’m not blind. You two say yer a couple, but I don’ think you touched each other once since she stepped foot in here. Wasupwidat?”

My pulse is suddenly rushing in my ears. I kind of thought Dad wouldn’t notice something like that, but he clearly did. And now he’s turning into that loud, obnoxious drunk I hate so much. But I guess he was always there, it was just taking him a little longer to come out this time.

“Dad, this isn’t appropriate. I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Excuse me?” Dad’s face reddens like a beet. Crap. Loud, obnoxious drunk is going to turn into angry drunk if we’re not careful. “I’m the parent here, Owen. I think I know when I’ve had too much to drink.”

“Okay, Dad. Fine. Whatever you say.”

Now please go home. Please forget about—

“What’s the big deal? I’m trying to break the ice. You two are so uptight. Loosen up. Just kiss her.”

“Dad, no. I’m not going to—”

“Kiss her!”

“Dad!”

“It’s okay, Owen.” Junie’s voice, small and breathless, barely catches my attention through my anger. She’s somehow crept up to my side, inches away, looking anxiously between Dad and me. “Kiss me,” she says simply.

Those two words dislodge something inside me. As if a giant iceberg was hanging on to the edge of a cliff, but someone took an icepick to it and sent it plunging into the freezing, churning ocean below. It’s like I’ve had the desire to kiss her for a while now, but never gave myself permission to acknowledge it.

Now it’s all I can think about. The tilt of her mouth, the flush of her cheeks, the way her hand rests lightly on my arm. Will her raspberry-red lips taste as sweet as they look?

But, no. This is still wrong.

This is my crazy man-brain thinking—or rather, not thinking—when there are other, more important factors to consider. Namely, Junie’s feelings on the matter.

“Junie, I’m not going to let my dad bully us into—”

But I don’t get to finish my sentence, because suddenly, Junie pushes up on her tiptoes, wraps her hands around my neck, and pulls my mouth to hers.