Chapter 7
I’m running behind. Great. Mom’s going to love it when I show up to this swanky restaurant in my tennis shoes an entire (gasp) five minutes late.
I can picture her now, sitting at the table, tapping her French-manicured nails, apologizing to the waiter for her inconsiderate daughter causing such an inconvenience to him and his fine establishment. As if he really cares that I’ve delayed their ordering by five minutes. She’s also probably given him at least one other example of when I’ve let her down during my lifetime.
As Charlie and I spring from the Uber and dash into the restaurant, I’m almost willing to bet all twenty-six dollars in my bank account that our waiter knows I turned down the Tyler Murray’s hand in marriage.
I approach the table just in time to see my mom finishing up a monologue. The waiter looks at me with pity swimming in his eyes. I smile at the poor man who will have to wait on us this evening, because I know that no amount of money will be enough to erase the backhanded compliments my mom will offer our lowly servant tonight.
“Well?” I ask him. “Do you think I should have accepted his proposal or not?”
The waiter presses his lips together in an apologetic smile. Listen, lady, I just want a good tip tonight.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Evelyn Grace, don’t be so dramatic.”
I turn my eyes to the woman I’m forced to call Mother and suppress my overwhelming desire to laugh. I’m dramatic? The very lady who has probably alerted the whole serving staff of this restaurant to the fact that I’m five minutes late is calling me dramatic?
“Hi, Mom. Dad.” I pull out my chair and sit down, and Charlie takes his rightful place at my feet.
Dad gives me a halfhearted smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and grunts, going right back to perusing the menu he has held in front of his face like it’s Captain America’s shield. He’s been to enough of these “family” dinners. He knows how it’s going to go down, and he is not excited about it. That makes two of us, buddy. I wish I could check out like he has since I was sixteen years old.
Charlie senses my tension. He lies on my feet and keeps glancing up at me.
“I assume you have a good reason for being late to our dinner?” My mom doesn’t even wait for my butt to warm the seat before she begins her berating.
“Yep. I sure do.” I lift my menu and begin reading. Goodness, I hope they are paying for dinner tonight; otherwise, I’ll have to ask for a nice crisp water and a side of free cherries from the bar.
“Do you care to explain what that reason might be?” She’s blinking at me so rapidly I consider suggesting some eye drops.
I set down my menu. “I don’t think any reason I give you will be good enough in your eyes for my disgraceful tardiness. So, let’s just pretend that I had to save a child from a burning building and leave it at that.”
This does not make Melony happy. Her bright-pink lips are pressed into a line. “Must you always act as if I’m the devil? Is it really so horrible of me to wish for my daughter to be punctual to an event one of these days?”
Got it. We’ve started the manipulative portion of the evening. That was quick.
I look to my dad, waiting to see if he’s going to perform a miracle and intervene. His menu seems to have only become more engrossing. Stephen King has nothing on this restaurant’s list of dinner options.
I sigh, knowing I need to just say what needs to be said to get through this dinner as fast as possible. “I’m sorry I was late. I was across town training a little girl and her new service dog today. It went a little later than I anticipated, and I had to return the dog to her volunteers for the night.”
This is the part where a mother should say, Oh, I’m so proud of you and the amazing work you do, darlin’!
Not my mom. She looks bored to tears. “You wouldn’t have to be doing all this silly work if you would just take Tyler up on his offer.”
Silly work?I dig my fingernails into my palms to keep from crying at the table. “I can’t believe we are still having this conversation. I’m not going to marry Tyler, Mom. You’ll just have to find some other way to secure the family business, because I don’t care to sacrifice my happiness for it.”
“Again. So dramatic. Tyler would make you plenty happy.”
“How? By parading me around on his arm at cocktail party after cocktail party for the rest of my life?”
She’s giving me a look that says she sees no issues with that scenario. Of course she doesn’t. We couldn’t be less alike if I were an alien freshly beamed down from space.
“Your dad parades me around on his arm, and I happen to love it.”
“Well, I’m glad for you, Mom. But I’m not the same woman as you.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course you are. You’re a Jones just like the rest of us. Sooner or later, you’ll get bored with this independent kick you’re on and come to your senses. I just hope that Tyler still wants you when you finally wise up.”
I want to scream. I want to stand up and shout a battle cry. Maybe then she would finally hear my voice over the crazy ones talking in her head. “This is not a kick, Mom. This is my life, and you need to get used to it. I don’t want your money. Or Tyler’s money. And I sure as hell don’t want to spend the rest of my life having to pretend I don’t see it when he grabs a cocktail waitress’s rear end.”
“Evelyn Grace, what a terrible thing to say about a man. Now, stop talking about Tyler like that before he overhears you.”
I frown. “What do you mean ‘before he overhears me’?”
I look around, afraid that I’ll find Tyler standing right behind me. Not because I’m afraid of him overhearing me say I think he would be a no-good, cheating husband (I’ll say that to his face), but because I don’t want to have to spend any amount of time with him. Ever.
“Quit craning your neck like that. It makes you look like a giraffe hunting for leaves. Tyler is running late too, but you want to look your best when he arrives.”
“What?! You invited him tonight?!”
“Shhh. Lower your voice, young lady. We thought it would be a nice reunion for you two since you won’t spend any time with him. I can’t believe you haven’t even seen him since he moved back to town. Really, Evie, we raised you to have better manners than that.”
I am so angry my head might pop off my body. I push my chair back and shoot to my feet. Charlie does the same. He gives me the look that says, Let’s do this, girl. I’ve got your back.
He was at my feet during my weekly hour with my therapist; he knows I have her approval to leave when Mom starts putting me down. “I cannot believe you went behind my back and invited him here. Actually, no. I can believe it.” I shake my head. “I’m leaving. And until you can start learning to respect my boundaries concerning Tyler and me, our family get-togethers are over.”
This is the scene in every movie where the mom realizes the error of her ways. My mom’s mouth should fall open, and she should reach out to grab my hand to keep me at the table. She should apologize and tell me all she wants is for us to have a good relationship.
Nope. Maybe when hell freezes over.
Mom just sits back in her chair and lifts her brows in a taunting expression. “You’re being childish again.” That line should sting. It doesn’t. She’s used it too many times to count, so it just rolls right off my back. Or maybe it rolls right off my long giraffe neck.
I gather my purse and push my chair in to the table, not even bothering to reply to her. The brick wall outside would be more likely to understand my reasoning than my mom.
“Evelyn.”
I hesitate and angle back toward the table. A false hope blooms in my chest that maybe she wants to make amends. How ignorant of me.
She continues, “And just what am I supposed to tell Tyler when he gets here to see you?” I stare at her, my mouth falling open a little. This woman is unbelievable.
“Tell him if he had been on time, he would have been able to watch my butt walk away himself.” I shouldn’t be the only one scolded for being late. But I know he’ll get off scot-free because he’s precious Tyler Murray. If we were to marry one day and he cheated on me, Mom would say it was because I wasn’t giving him enough of what he needed.
Dad lowers his menu slightly to peek at me over the top. “That was a little too crude for my taste, Evie.”
Okay. Where is that nice waiter? I need to find him and ask him to hold me back before I jump over this table and fistfight my parents. I’ve never been one to resort to violence to solve a problem, but it’s never too late to start.
I turn around and raise a lackluster hand over my shoulder. “Have a lovely evening, you two,” I say in a bland tone that conveys that I mean absolutely none of it.
On my way out, I notice our trusty waiter headed toward my parents’ table with two drinks—the only two drinks my parents have ever ordered in the history of their lives: a glass of champagne and an old-fashioned.
I step into the waiter’s path, looking like I’m a gunslinger from the Wild West. I wish I were wearing cowboy boots with spurs on the back so they could clink as I move. “Whoa, there. Are these going to the table I was just sitting at?”
I must have wild eyes, because the waiter nods skeptically. He should be skeptical.
I give him my best John Wayne smile before I take my mom’s champagne off the tray and down it like I’m a college frat boy with major insecurity issues and something to prove.
After the bubbles have sufficiently burned my throat and threatened to come out my nose, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and charge out of the restaurant, just hoping to high heaven that I don’t bump into Tyler.
Here’s the problem with not having a car or a license. When you pull an epic move like storming out of a restaurant and drinking your mom’s champagne on your way out the door, you’re then forced to sit on the sidewalk with your service dog and find a ride home before you have to encounter the man you’re avoiding. Not to mention the major buzz that’s setting in because I forgot I hadn’t eaten much since the muffins at the Broadens’ house this morning.
I’m quickly scrolling through my phone, hoping to find that an Uber is only one street over and can pick me up, like, two minutes ago, but instead I’m met with a disappointing twenty-minute wait. That won’t do.
I feel pathetic, small, and broken—basically, what I like to call the Melony Jones special—and I want more than anything to get in a car of my own and peel out of that restaurant parking lot, leaving glorious black tire streaks in my wake.
I dial the next best thing: Joanna, who will probably peel out just to make me smile.
She answers my call with, “It’s going that well, huh?” She knew that I was having dinner with my parents tonight.
“Can you come get me?” Suddenly, I’m twelve years old at summer camp, and I want to go home because the popular girls are picking on me.
I hear some shuffling on the other end of the line followed by the sound of keys jingling. “On my way; just drop me a pin with your location.”
I don’t mean to cry. I really don’t. But the fact that Jo knows nothing about the situation and is likely in the middle of dinner with Gary, and she stops everything to come to my rescue, does me in. She acts like my best friend, my sister, my mom, and my grandma all rolled up in one. Although, I would never liken her to my grandma to her face because, hello, I don’t have a death wish.
I hear the sound of a garage door opening, followed by the closing of her car door, just before I notice a truck pull up and stop. The restaurant is on the main street, and the only vehicles that stop out front are either dropping someone off or picking someone up. Just then, the truck’s reverse lights come on, and I realize it’s backing up to stop right in front of me.
I might have been concerned that someone is clearly going out of their way to kidnap and murder me, but I think I’m a little too dizzy and buzzed to care. Instead, I openly inspect the lifted dark-gray truck and blacked-out wheels. The windows are so tinted that I can’t see inside. It’s not a bad truck to have to be abducted in.
Charlie’s ears perk up when the window starts to slowly roll down.
“Evie?” says Joanna. “Where should I head to?”
“Hang on,” I whisper, wishing that window would roll a little faster. “I think I’m being kidnapped.”
“What?!”
“Shhh.”
The window finishes its descent, and I peer inside the dark interior, not yet certain who my captor will be. A male voice calls out. “Evie?”
Imagine my surprise when the driver leans toward the passenger window, and I’m finally able to see the face of Jacob Broaden and his bright-blue eyes staring back at me. “Are you waiting for a ride?”
Of course he would drive a truck that only makes him look hotter. Of course he would. I wish he drove a minivan with an ugly stick-figure bumper sticker of him and his daughter wearing mouse-ear hats.
“Who is that?” Jo practically yells in my ear.
I pull my phone away with a wince, fairly certain I will never fully regain my hearing from that, and ignore her. “I—well, sort of. I was just in the middle of finding one.”
“Lie!” Joanna shouts again. “You already found a ride, remember? Why are you lying to this man?”
“Shhh,” I hiss at Joanna.
She makes a valid point, though. Why am I acting like I don’t already have a ride?
“Hop in. Sam and I were just headed to dinner, but I can drop you off wherever you need to go first.”
Hop in?Well, that’s an idea. One that I should firmly decline. It wouldn’t be good for me to get in that man’s truck. I already have the teeniest bit of a crush on him (read: massive crush), and I know that nothing good can come of riding with him too.
All morning, I caught myself glancing at him when I should have been paying attention to Sam and Daisy. It didn’t matter, though. He didn’t catch my glances because he seemed to barely realize I existed. He hovered on the outskirts of the room, only participating when instructed. But even then, his attention was mostly zeroed in on his daughter and Daisy, which only made my attraction to him deepen.
He might have been flirting with me over those first few texts, but now he has made it perfectly clear that he is not interested in me. And why would he be? He’s not old by any means, but he’s definitely older than me. He’s thirty-three to my twenty-six. (Of course I studied his age when I photocopied his driver’s license for paperwork.) He has a daughter and a tidy, established life; meanwhile, I live in a disorganized matchbox and my life is mostly chaos. It’s fine, though. I’m not interested in him either. And I almost mean that.
“Oh, that’s okay! I’m good to catch a ride with my friend across town. You guys go on to dinner.” My smile is all stars and butterflies, but inside I feel a little tremble. Why? Do I hope he fights for me? Or do I hope he drives off?
I am a human seesaw. Up and down I go. Take me with you. Leave me be.
“Who is this guy?” Joanna reminds me that she’s still glued to my ear. “He sounds sexy.” You have no idea.
“Come with us, Evie!” Sam bellows from the back seat.
I want to step closer so I can see her, but I know that’s a bad idea too. I need to keep my butt over here, far away from this family that I can very well see myself growing attached to when I shouldn’t. I’m already going to be spending every day this week with them; I don’t need to heap more coals onto the already blazing fire.
“Come on,” Jacob says with a cool-guy wave. His other hand is draped over the steering wheel, and he looks so effortlessly sexy. “Don’t make your friend come all this way. We’re happy to drive you.”
His persistence is throwing me off. Just when I think I understand what’s happening with him, he turns the tables. Earlier today, he was Mr. I-Don’t-Care-About-You, and now I could almost swear I see a hopefulness in his eyes.
“Well . . .” I glance around and remember that Tyler will show up at any moment. I really don’t want to be here when that happens.
“For Pete’s sake, go with the hot man!” Joanna says, and I hear her garage closing again. What a pusher. “I’m officially retracting my offer to come pick you up.”
I turn my back briefly to Jacob and Sam and cup my hand around the phone like I’ve seen people do in the movies. Apparently, this keeps anyone else from hearing what I’m saying. “Are you sure? I don’t know if it’s such a good idea.” I haven’t told Jo yet about my teeny-tiny, almost nonexistent attraction to Jacob.
“If he’s half as cute as he sounds, I’d say it’s a fantastic idea. And besides, you need more friends under the age of sixty. Honey, it’s about time I kick you out of the nest. Fly, little Evie birdie, fly!”
I roll my eyes as she ends the call. I never get to end it first. One of these days, I’m going to end it mid-conversation just to throw her.
I turn around with a tense smile. “Well, my ride just bailed on me, so I think I have to take you up on your offer.”