11—Dallas （Reserved Room）
Yep. Totally forgot about brunch with my family. I wasn’t entirely sure there was a plan for brunch. They live an hour from the venue, which is just enough time to make a visit required, but not enough for me to travel. My call-time is five tonight, so a brunch date at the venue seemed like the perfect compromise. Well, until getting caught up in the drama with Val and totally forgetting about it.
Thankfully, there’s an easy solution.
“Are you sure about this?” Val mumbles as I practically drag him through the building toward the room Bruce and Steve arranged for our reunion. He looks concerned as he scans the halls for some hidden threat, and I can’t tell if it’s nerves about meeting my family or fear of getting abducted by the Badge Police again. Either way, it’s so hard not to take his hand, but we can’t risk any PDA on this tour. (Fine, any more PDA.)
“So sure,” I say, glancing back at him.
Doubt flickers in his eyes, causing a pinch in my chest. How can he so effortlessly flood others with confidence, but not have any in himself? His name is already popping up in conversations about elite producers. People are constantly flirting with him, both professionally and romantically. (Although, since he’s always the same level of polite, I can never tell how much he notices or cares.) I’ve even had a few mega-star friends ask about him for their own work. Despite all of this, he still sees himself as an unknown dreamer playing with beats at his kitchen table. Sometimes the humility is refreshing. Most of the time, it makes me want to strap him to a chair in a million-dollar studio and force him to see how amazing he is.
Also, that might be illegal, but whatever.
“Don’t you want time alone with them?” he asks, slowing as we approach the open door. A shrill laugh blares from inside. Guess they’re here.
I grab his sleeve and yank him forward.
“Pretty sure they’ll want to see you more than me,” I say.
“What?” Now he really looks concerned. “They know about me?”
I squint at this highly intelligent, clueless man. “Do they know about the extremely talented producer who revolutionized my music and has become the talk of the industry? Yeah, they’ve heard of you.”
“You know what I mean.”
I sigh and press him against the wall beside the door, just out of view.
“They know how important you are to me,” I say gently. “Hey…” I tug his sleeve when his worried gaze drifts to the door. “They’re going to love you.”
Anxious green eyes land back on me, and then it hits me. Of course he’s nervous about meeting my family. I’ve seen what the word “family” means to him. Those are the people who tell you you’re worthless. Who drag you down and mock your dreams. They freaking extort money they know you don’t have just to hurt you. Gosh.
My heart hurts as I slide my hand down his arm and squeeze his hand.
“They’re going to love you,” I repeat. “I promise.”
He returns a tentative nod, but words won’t convince him. I’ll just have to show him.
After a final reassuring squeeze, I release his hand and move toward the door.
“Eeeek!” Mama screams, arms flailing as she runs toward me.
Within seconds I’m laughing through a crushing two-person hug. Then three. Then four. Geez, how many are there?
We’re a knot of laughter and limbs as we greet each other like it’s been years, not three weeks since I was home for Tia’s twenty-first birthday party.
“Hey, everyone. I can’t believe you all came!” I say, warming at the sight of the entire family. Wait, is that my aunt Lucy and uncle Howard? Unsurprisingly, my mother’s sister and brother-in-law are more interested in critiquing the offerings on the refreshment table than greeting me.
“And you must be Val!” Mama cries, turning her gush on him.
Val stiffens when she throws her arms around him and administers the patented Scott Family greeting. I’d intervene but it’s kind of adorable. He has no idea what to do as she squeals and squeezes, and when Dad goes in for a hug as well, Val looks totally lost. He doesn’t seem upset, though. In fact, I detect the slightest smile peeking out.
“Well, look at you!” Mama says, scanning Val from head to toe. “Look at him, Randall,” she directs at my father.
“I’m looking,” Dad says.
“Aren’t you a cutie pie? Larinda, why didn’t you tell us he was so handsome? Isn’t he handsome, CeCe?” she shouts to my aunt.
“Stunning,” she calls back without looking up from her inventory of the bagels. I see the spreadsheet and rating system already at work in her head. After fifty-some years of data collection, that thing must be massive.
Val does, in fact, look stunned. I’ll give her that.
“Ah! I just want to eat him up. Don’t you want to eat him up, Randall?”
Dad doesn’t look as excited about eating my producer but claps him on the arm just the same.
“It’s great to finally meet you, son. You’re younger than I thought. You can’t be much older than Tiara.”
He motions toward my sister, who’s already blasting giant heart eyes at my secret boyfriend. Crap. Didn’t think about that. To be fair, I didn’t know Tia was coming. Or Aunt Lucy. Or Uncle Howard.
I scan the room for more hidden family members, and sure enough, my baby brother, Ian, is stretched out on the couch playing some game on his phone. He probably doesn’t even know I arrived.
“You single, Val?” Dad asks.
“Randall!” Mom cries. “But are you?”
“Mom!” I say.
“What? It’s a fair question.”
“Tiara’s single,” Dad explains to me. “From what you’ve described, he’d be a great son-in-law. Best to keep it in the family, right?”
Oh my gosh.
“Don’t listen to them,” I grunt as I take Val’s arm and pull him further into the room. “Anyway, hello, everyone. This is Val Andrews. Val, this is my mother; father; sister, Tiara; brother, Ian; along with my aunt and uncle.”
“The ‘everything’ bagels have fennel seeds,” Uncle Howard calls by way of a greeting. “I despise fennel seeds.”
“It’s fine, Howie,” Mama says. “So, Val, tell us all about yourself.”
“Um, well?—”
“You’re from New York City, right?” Dad asks. “A real tough guy, huh?”
“Oh. Uh, not really. I mean?—”
“Yes! Look at those muscles,” Mama says. “CeCe, did you see his muscles?”
“There’s no chive-and-onion cream cheese, either, Ruby,” my aunt says. “There’s no chive-and-onion cream cheese,” she also tells me.
“Not too much muscle, though,” Mama continues. “The perfect amount, really. Don’t you think, Tiara?”
My sister bites her lip like she has plenty of thoughts about Val’s muscles, but thankfully is too shy to share them. I wish my parents had that issue. I knew they’d love him. I didn’t prepare for the fact that they’d love him too much.
“Hey, so the new hamster. How’s that going?” I cut in before this weird conversation can resume.
For the record, I also think Val has the perfect amount of muscles but that’s not something I ever planned on telling him. It’s not something anyone should ever tell anyone, really. Which means it would be the first thing my parents say.
“It smells like shit!” Ian calls over from the couch.
“Ian!” Mama cries. “Apologize right now!”
“To what? The hamster that’s not even here? Sorry, Muffy!” Ian declares in a dry tone.
Mama crosses her arms and shoots a glare at my brother. Typically, I’d jump in to prevent this from escalating, but Muffy’s odor is a vast improvement over the previous topic. I know Val thinks so as he shifts awkwardly, waiting to see what will be thrown at him next. His smile is more amused than offended, though, and the relief is real. This could have been way worse.
“That’s quite the interesting tattoo you have beside your eye,” Dad says. “Don’t see a lot of face tats in our circles. What’s it mean?”
Like that, for example.
“Dad,” I groan. “Don’t answer that,” I say to Val.
“We’re just curious, sweetheart,” Mama says.
“Yes, but?—”
“It’s fine,” Val cuts in with an uncomfortable smile. “It’s a long story. Short version is my parents were upset about my life choices and said if I ever got a face tattoo, they’d disown me. So I did.”
Oh.
My own parents are silent for maybe the first time ever as they study Val with shocked, sad expressions. My stomach aches when his jaw clenches like he’s fighting something heavy and dark. I’ve often wondered about the tiny X by his eye. It seemed like such a simple and insignificant design to put in arguably the most prominent place on your body. Guess there’s nothing “insignificant” about it after all. There’s definitely more to this story.
“Wow. And did they disown you?” Tia asks.
I fire a glare at my sister, but she’s glued to Val like Jarvis to his own reflection.
“Yeah,” he says in a flat tone.
More silence.
“They sound like dicks,” Ian adds, looking up from his game.
A smile tugs at Val’s lips as he shrugs. Mama doesn’t even yell at Ian for that one.
After several long seconds, she claps her hands and turns to me with an overly enthusiastic smile. “So tell us about the engagement! We want every gory detail.”
Well, crap.
Val’s expression dims again as I swallow air down my very dry throat. I think I need a bagel too. I don’t mind fennel.
“It’s good,” I mumble on my way to the snack table.
A neat pile of fennel seeds now rests beside the tray of bagels. A second pile of onion flakes is amassing beside it as Uncle Howard takes issue with that garnish as well. He knows there are plain ones, right?
“Larinda! We drove all this way to congratulate you in person,” Mama chides, tugging me around by the elbow.
“You drove less than an hour, and you didn’t even know I was going to be engaged when we discussed this.”
I certainly didn’t. In fact, now is the perfect time to tell them it’s not real. That I’ll be breaking it off and?—
“Well, I already booked an appointment with Bethann. Remember Bethann from Sunday school? She’s so good with preparations. She did Uncle Burt’s funeral—may he rest in peace. Remember your great-uncle’s funeral? Wasn’t it elegant, Randall?”
“Very elegant,” Dad says. “She did the ‘Block of Blocks Block Party’ too, didn’t she?”
“With all the blocks! Yes! Remember that, CeCe?” she calls to her sister.
“Too hot, too loud, and nobody likes that many squares in one spot,” Aunt Lucy snaps. “The bagel spread was nice, though.”
Ouch.
“Well, anyway, Bethann is so excited to help. So is the Neighbors In Need committee and my book club. Oh! And I was able to get us an appointment with Letisha! Remember her from middle school choir? She does dresses now and they’re fantastic. Aren’t they fantastic, Randall?”
“Very fantastic.”
“You’re already booking things? Don’t book things,” I say, anxiety swirling in my stomach.
Tell them.
“Nonsense! I’ve been waiting my entire life to plan my child’s wedding. I brought the box of binders. Did you bring in the binders, Randall?”
A box of binders?
“Now’s probably not the best time,” I say before they can retrieve whatever that is. “Thanks, though.”
“Gotta say. We were a little surprised,” Dad says. “You’ve been dancing around with that fellow for so long. We were wondering if you were ever going to hitch your wagons together. Guess it’s time to finally make room in the corral.”
Ugh! And when did wagons and horses make such a comeback?!
“Thanks, Dad. But?—”
“I’ll say this, though.” He gives me a hard look and points his someone’s-getting-in-trouble finger in the air. “If I ever find out that he so much as gives you a look you don’t like, he’ll need an entire team of stylists when I’m done with him.”
Uh-oh. Dad is not going to like the truth about this engagement and what Jarvis did to get it.
“He already has a team of stylists,” I mutter.
“Another team, then. He’ll need an entire league of teams, you hear me?”
“I hear you.”
Great. Now what?
I turn back to the bagels.
How can I tell them the truth when Mama already has her social calendar booked with wedding events and Dad is threatening to mess up Jarvis’ hair? Pretty sure “bullying me into being engaged when I explicitly told him I didn’t want it” would count as an offense in my father’s eyes. The last thing I need in my life right now is a murder trial. Plus, I hate disappointing my family. I love them dearly and they’ve always been so supportive of me.
Even worse, if I tell them, I’m telling everyone. In case it wasn’t obvious, they’re not exactly vaults of discretion. The entire world would know this whole thing is a sham before I even got to the hallway. As much as I want that, I’m not sure I’m ready for the fallout. There will be an explosion when the engagement is called off, and I’ve been conditioned not to do anything without considering all possible ramifications. I have no doubt the label already has a detailed, outlined plan vetted and in place for when the time comes.
Even if I do go rogue and break things off on my timing, I need to make sure I have my own PR plan in place to control the narrative before jumping on that landmine. I’ve barely processed the mess as it stands, let alone who I’d be hurting and what I’d be damaging when I blow it up. I’d have to warn Mae, my manager, Steve, and a host of other people first. I’d definitely have to make sure Val is prepared for the fallout that will undoubtedly land on him. In fact, he’ll probably be hit the worst when he becomes the easiest target and scapegoat for all parties involved.
Val. He’s been silent this entire time, and when I peek at him, a grinding twists in my stomach. What’s he thinking right now? Are his pleading looks begging me to set the record straight or begging me not to? See, that’s the problem with selfless men. They’re so hard to predict. I had it easy with Jarvis.
Suddenly, I decide I also don’t like flakes of stuff on my bagels and start a new pile of poppy seeds. Uncle Howard shoots me an approving look.
“Were you surprised?” Mama asks. “Where’s the ring? Why aren’t you wearing the ring, sweetie?”
The ring!
Crap, crap, crap!
“Oh. I… uh…”
“She can’t perform with it on,” Val says.
I cast a surprised glance at him, but his expression is unreadable.
“Gets in the way of the equipment,” he explains.
“Ah, yes. Good point,” Mama says. “Maybe you can have a smaller one made. You probably should, anyway. It was quite garish from what we saw on the internet.”
Garish is a good word. There’s not much about this situation that isn’t garish, actually.
Val’s gaze lands on me, and I see the flash of pain before he blinks it away. My chest hurts, my throat… so many things hurt right now. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for him to say. Actually, I can imagine it because it would gut me if our roles were reversed. It also proves he agrees with my decision not to disclose the truth yet.
“I like your hat,” Tia says to him.
Somehow he manages a smile. “Thanks. Tiara, right?”
“Yeah, but everyone calls me Tia.”
“Cool. Larinda says you’re going to culinary school. What’s that like?”
I want to cry and scream as he subtly leads my sister away to give me privacy with my parents. Sometimes I hate how well he reads me. How much he cares about me. How he’d do anything for me, including support my attachment to another man if that’s what I wanted. But it’s not what I want. It’s not, I just…
My parents’ eager grins are hovering dangerously close to my very generous threshold for personal space.
Tia laughs at something Val says, and a stab of jealousy shoots through me when I see her swat his arm. She’s clearly enamored. How could she not be? You know what else I hate? That I don’t have to wonder for a second if Val will cross a line with her. He won’t. I trust him more than I trust myself, even though he’s the one being wronged in this moment.
But most of all, I hate that I’m in love with the most incredible person I know, and I can’t tell anyone.
“The tomatoes are sliced vertically,” Aunt Lucy snaps. “Who the heck slices tomatoes vertically?”