Chapter 6 #5
Mo took a healthy swallow of wine. When he’d played hockey, Orson always emphasized that Mo needed to be more selfish, take more shots, not pass so much.
Are you there, Satan? It’s me, Mo. I will give you my eternal soul if you make the ground open up and swallow my parents.
“Maybe it’ll rub off on other people he spends time with,” Mo said sweetly.
Claire’s face pursed like she’d bitten a lemon, but what was she going to say?
The dig went over Orson’s head, but his red cheeks said this wasn’t his first glass of wine. It might not even be the first bottle. “One can hope!”
Mo was half-convinced Adam would make an excuse and drag him into the restroom just to ask what the fuck was going on.
He had the look of a man who’d woken up to discover he’d sleepwalked into a pit of vipers.
But before either of them could make a shallow excuse and escape for a semi-private breakdown, the servers appeared with their appetizers.
“Oh, wonderful, my favorite.” Claire beamed at the server. “Thank you, Francois.”
Francois set a small covered plate in front of each of them and then removed the tops to reveal the restaurant’s signature appetizer.
“Have you tried escargot before?” she asked conversationally, as Adam’s soul left his body through his eye sockets.
“Uh, no.”
“You’ll love them.” She picked up her tiny fork and speared a snail. “Just so rich and decadent.”
It would serve her right if Adam pulled an Exorcist on the table.
Mo had expected his parents to come out swinging, but he hadn’t anticipated this level of psychological warfare.
Deftly, he used his own fork to spear an escargot from Adam’s plate, removed it from the shell, and handed it over.
He shouldn’t have to make as much of an ass of himself as Mo’s parents were, if he wanted to participate in this ridiculous one-percenter pissing contest.
“It’s okay if you don’t.” Mo glanced at Claire out of the corner of his eye. “They’re an acquired taste.”
Perhaps one day, his parents would acquire some taste too.
To his credit, Adam managed to put his fork into the snail without causing a biological hazard, and he raised his eyes to meet Claire’s across the table as though he was sizing up an opponent on the ice. Finally, he seemed to realize the game. “You must have discovered them on your travels?”
Mo watched in horrified fascination as he put the bite into his mouth. Adam kept his face neutral as he chewed and swallowed, then delicately dabbed his lips with his napkin.
Point to Adam.
As Mo had predicted, his parents catapulted themselves into showing off.
They talked about Nice, Milan, Barcelona, Geneva, Oslo, and even Moscow: “We haven’t been back recently, of course,” Claire hastened to add, after wistful sighing about the coffee at a particular café near Red Square.
“It’s just such a shame, all this conflict. I miss traveling more freely.”
Adam met Mo’s eyes.
What the fuck is wrong with her? Adam’s eye twitch asked.
I fucking told you, Mo answered with his brows.
When the escargot plates were whisked away and immediately replaced with the main course, Adam excused himself to the restroom. He had the tight, wild look about the eyes that Mo’s parents inspired in rational, intelligent people.
Mo watched his progress out of sight and then looked at the lobster placed before Adam’s seat.
He’s not coming back, he thought bleakly. Any sensible person wouldn’t. They’d run for the hills and forget about any promise they’d made to pretend to be Mo’s boyfriend.
They sat in awkward silence. Even if Mo wanted to engage, he couldn’t find his tongue. The dread that Adam must have called an Uber made him feel queasy.
Adam was too serious and responsible to actually run away. Right?
But he couldn’t fully repress the idea.
“Well, our lobster is getting cold,” Claire said.
“Yes. He can’t expect us to wait on him when he left after the food arrived.”
Claire tutted her agreement, and they both picked up their cutlery.
Mo didn’t pick up his own. He, at least, could be polite and wait for Adam’s return.
“Moritz,” Claire said, “don’t be stubborn. Enjoy your meal.”
Mo folded under their judgmental gaze and picked up his fork.
He’d only just poked at his food when Adam returned, proving gallant if obviously addle-brained.
He didn’t even react to the fact that they’d started without him. He just smiled and nodded when they made snide comments about the food going cold and picked up his fork, to their smirking satisfaction.
Of course, neither of them noticed what became glaringly obvious to Mo: Adam didn’t like lobster.
He was trying to hide it, pushing the food around and eating the non-lobster items on the plate, but it was obvious to anyone who could notice anything beyond themselves.
Mo was an idiot. He should have asked about food preferences. Well, Mo couldn’t go back in time, but he could help.
“Oh God, babe, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think.” He shook his head theatrically and scooted his plate toward Adam’s. “You can’t eat all that butter sauce—you’ll have heartburn all night. Here, take my potato and give me some of your lobster.”
Adam blinked and his mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “Oh—you don’t have to—”
“Moritz!” Orson chided. He exchanged glances with his wife. “You didn’t tell us about this condition! We could have ordered it with lemon, or asked for salmon instead—”
“I totally forgot.” Mo credited his childhood growing up on impromptu acting lessons with Sage’s mom for the ease with which the lie came out.
Or maybe it was the childhood under Orson and Claire.
He made apologetic eyes. “He doesn’t like to admit it—you know how tough guys are. It slipped my mind.”
Meanwhile, Adam took advantage of the distraction to swap the food.
“We could still order something different,” Claire began.
But Adam had caught on to Mo’s game and shook his head. “No, it’s fine, Mrs. Du Pont. Mo’s right, I should be more open about it. I enjoyed the taste I got to have anyway. No need to delay dinner further because of me.”
Of course there wasn’t—after all, this dinner wasn’t about him.
Conversation trundled along. Maybe it was the lobster or the wine or promise of whatever dessert was forthcoming, but the senior Du Ponts managed not to be offensive for several minutes.
Mo even started to hope they’d escape before his parents said something truly horrific, when Orson started to whine about his latest secretary—one of many rotating unfortunate women who worked a more general support role than Miss Daisy.
“So this Marriah says she tried to change things but can’t because of Jacobson. I told her only an idiot or an incompetent blames other people.” He scoffed.
Adam’s eye twitched. Mo reached out a foot to knock their toes together. Just a little longer.
“Sounds like she can’t do the job,” Claire said acidly.
“I’m starting to think she can’t! And now, thanks to her, we’ll have to delay our departure for Switzerland.”
“By how much?” Claire actually sounded concerned.
“Only a few days,” Orson reassured her. “We’ll still be there well before Christmas.”
Mo didn’t drop his fork, but only because he had a death grip on it already—he hated talk of Switzerland. But this was the first he’d heard that they planned to spend Christmas in Switzerland.
“Oh, will you be in Europe for the holidays?” Adam said politely.
Mo looked at him and their gazes caught. Adam’s eyes widened slightly. Mo wondered what his expression was saying right now. Could Adam read his shock and hurt and disappointment and resignation?
With Sage out of town, Mo would be left alone on Christmas.
Not that he wanted to spend the day with his parents—it likely would’ve turned into something like tonight, but with less posturing.
But at least for the weeks leading up to the holiday, he would have had the comfort of knowing he had plans.
“We decided to return to Saint Moritz this year,” Claire simpered. “It’s our favorite, and it seemed appropriate for our thirtieth anniversary year.”
Right. Because that was more important than their son.
“Well, that’s serendipitous,” Adam said in a bracing, cheery tone. “I’ve wanted to ask Mo—I didn’t want to take him away from family during the holidays, you see. But this way, it’s just good timing.”
“What is?” A little puzzled frown wrinkled her forehead. A charming look. Mo wondered how long she’d practiced.
“Having Mo come with me to Fredericton for the holidays, of course.” Adam kept smiling like he’d received wonderful news.
Too busy staring at Adam in shock, Mo had no idea what his parents thought of that.
“Fred Rick Town?” Claire repeated.
Adam chuckled. “Fred-rick-ton. It’s one of the three towns in New Brunswick large enough to call itself a city.
That’s where I grew up and where my parents live.
I’m going home for Christmas—the Canyons lucked out and have five days off in a row this year, so I’m expected to be there as soon as possible on the twenty-second.
They’ll be thrilled to hear Mo can come with me after all. ”
Adam wanted to take him home to meet his family? Surely not. That was insane. Not when they weren’t really…
“Oh, well, Christmas in Fredericton”—Claire said the name carefully, like it was in a foreign language—“that sounds charming.”
Orson snorted. “No Saint Moritz, but I guess Canada will have snow.”
“Probably,” Adam agreed placidly. “I can’t promise skiing or fancy resorts, but there will definitely be Christmas decorations older than we are and too much food and maybe some skating or tobogganing if you play your cards right.” He winked at Mo.
“Tobogganing. How… rustic,” Claire said faintly.
Mo didn’t spare her a glance, too busy staring at Adam with disbelieving eyes. “You really want to take me home for Christmas?” Then, remembering his parents, he added, “I mean, do you think we’re ready for that?”