44. Graham
44
GRAHAM
Sunday dinner at my parents’ house is usually a predictable thing. Same house, same meal rotations, same fucking noise level that should be illegal for a gathering of less than fifteen people.
Normally, I don’t mind it. But right now, I’d rather be anywhere else. Preferably buried inside my wife instead of listening to Beau and his best friend argue about which of them could win in a footrace like we’re twelve-years-old.
“Remind me why we’re here?” I grumble into my wife’s ear.
She swats at me, but I catch the grin on her face. It makes me want to kiss it off of her, replace it with my second-favorite expression of hers.
“Tradition, right?”
I capture her hand in mind, dropping a kiss on her knuckles. “Yeah, usually my brother’s best friend isn’t here though. I thought Mason moved away.”
“You’re not wrong,” Mason says from across the room. “Wilder and I moved to an old ranch property out on the county line. Your parents were kind enough to invite us over for dinner tonight.”
Francesca starts toward him, hand extended. “Hi, I’m?—”
“My wife,” I interrupt her.
She just rolls her eyes, her smile never leaving her pretty face. “Francesca,” she drawls.
“Mason. And this here is my son, Wilder.” He shifts his baby to his other arm, shaking Francesca’s hand.
The kid eyes Francesca, then promptly shoves his fist into his mouth with a grin.
Francesca smiles back at him. “What a cute little thing.”
Mason beams. “I like to think so.”
My mom bounds into the room and pulls Francesca into a hug. I hang back, watching my mom embrace her the same way she hugs her own children. The easy affection between my wife and mother. Francesca fits in so seamlessly, like she’s always belonged here. It makes something warm unfurl in my chest, spreading through my veins like honey.
My mom hands Francesca a stack of plates and murmurs something that has my wife tipping her head back in a laugh. The sound wraps around me, bright and effervescent, chasing away the last of my lingering irritation.
It’s only then my gaze snags on my sister, Abby.
I frown. “Is this some kind of Carter holiday I don’t know about?”
Beau chuckles from next to me. “Nah, just a regular Sunday.”
I grunt, unconvinced. “When did Abby get into town? I thought she had some big project to finish at work.”
Beau drags his hand over his smirk. “Dunno, man. I’m as surprised as you.”
Dinner is the usual chaos. Conversation overlapping, laughter, Wilder banging his tiny hands against the tray of his high chair while Mason eats one-handed. Eloise’s youngest sister, Vivienne sits next to my mom, chattering away about her school project. Her other sister, Margot, sits next to Cora, talking about some music festival.
Eloise and Beau are currently laughing at some private joke, and my wife is engaged in a conversation with my sister, her fingers tracing patterns across the top of my thigh. It’s distracting as hell.
I interrupt them with, “You’re blonde.”
Abby touches the ends of her hair, almost like she forgot she changed it. “Yeah. Trying something different.”
Francesca smiles. “I like it. It looks so good against your complexion.”
Something in Abby’s shoulders eases, and I file that away for later. “Thanks.”
Abby smiles, but there's something tight around the edges, something that makes me sit up a little straighter. I know my sister, and right now, she's hiding something.
Before I can press further, my dad clears his throat from the head of the table. “So, Mason, how’s the new place treating you and little Wilder?”
Mason grins, bouncing Wilder on his knee. “It’s great. Lots of space for this little guy to run around. And the sunsets out there? Unreal.”
My mom beams. “That’s wonderful, Mason. I’m so glad you and Wilder are settling in well at your new home. We’ll have to come visit soon and see those sunsets for ourselves.”
Mason nods, his smile softening. “We’d love that. Everyone is welcome anytime.”
As the conversation flows around me, I keep my attention on Abby. She’s quieter than usual, pushing food around her plate and only offering brief comments when directly addressed. It’s not like her. Abby is always the life of the party, the one leading the conversation and keeping everyone engaged with stories.
Something isn’t right with Abby. I can feel it in my gut. She’s too quiet, too withdrawn. It could be nothing - maybe she’s just tired from traveling or stressed about work. But my instincts are rarely wrong when it comes to my family.
I catch her eye across the table and raise a questioning brow. She shakes her head almost imperceptibly, her smile tight. Later, she mouths before turning her attention back to Mason and Wilder.
I let it go for now, but make a mental note to pull her aside before we leave. If something is going on with her, I can help. I’d rather not use my software to figure it out, but I will if I have to.
By the time dessert rolls around, the noise level in the dining room has reached a decibel that should require ear protection.
Beau and Mason are still talking shit about that hypothetical footrace, but now my dad’s chimed in, making bets. Cora’s scrolling through her phone, shaking her head like she’s embarrassed to be related to any of us. Vivienne and Margot are whispering about something that makes them giggle every few seconds. Francesca, ever the diplomat, is helping my mom clear plates and somehow still managing to keep up a conversation with Eloise.
I should be used to this. I am used to this.
And yet, all I want is to be home with my wife, in bed, where I don’t have to share her with the world.
Francesca catches my eye from across the room, like she can read my mind. A small, knowing smile tugs at her lips, her fingers brushing subtly along the inside of her wrist—a promise.
The only thing keeping me in this chair is that look.
That, and Abby.
She’s been off all night. I’ve been watching, cataloging every too-quiet moment, every glance she ducks, every forced smile. And it’s not just me. Beau’s noticed too. He keeps cutting looks in her direction, frowning between bites of pie.
Abby stands, dusting imaginary crumbs off her hands. “I’m gonna head out. Long day tomorrow.”
I push my chair back and follow her into the kitchen. “I’ll walk you out.”
She doesn’t argue, which means I’m definitely right.
Francesca’s voice floats in from the dining room. “Beau, I think you owe Mason an apology.”
Mason lets out a victorious whoop , and my brother groans dramatically.
I shake my head and nudge Abby toward the door. Once we step into the night air, she folds her arms tight across her chest. “You don’t have to do this, Graham.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” I correct, keeping my voice even. “Talk.”
She exhales, eyes flicking toward her car. “It’s just work stuff.” That’s a lie. I say nothing, just wait. After a beat, she mutters, “And some other stuff. I’ll tell you soon, okay?”
I hold her gaze. “If you need anything?—”
“I know,” she interrupts, forcing a real smile this time. “You’ll be the first person I call.”