Audrey
When we walk back into the house, each carrying two bags of ice Grant had to sweet talk the bartender into selling him, my mother gives me a disapproving stare. I’m a little bit buzzed, so I can’t seem to wipe the smile off my face.
Grant and I are laughing when we walk in, but everyone just stares at us for a moment.
“Look who I found!” he announces, and I giggle.
“A runaway.”
“I checked her collar. This is definitely her address.”
Roger fakes a laugh and comes to get the ice, but I feel my mother’s icy stare on me. “You’ve been missing all day, . It’s Christmas. You can’t just disappear like that on us.”
“It’s December 23rd,” I correct her, and Grant laughs but quickly stops when he notices that no one else does. “Sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t even think you’d notice.”
My grandmother is on the sofa, slowly shaking her head, like I need even more disappointment.
“We’re going to the restaurant for dinner tonight, and you need to go get dressed,” my mother says.
I look down at my outfit with a confused expression on my face. “I am dressed.”
“You’re not wearing that to Le Bisque,” she says in all seriousness.
I have every intention of arguing with her and telling her that I'd rather not go at all, but instead I look up and lock eyes with Grant who is standing by Roger at the wet bar in the front room. They are putting ice in the freezer as Grant makes a serious face, wide-eyed and scared looking. A smile pulls across my lips.
Maybe with him here, this weekend won't be so bad. He seems to be the only tolerable person in the group. Roger is cool, but he and I don’t really know what to say to each other yet. My brothers are both so serious and mature, each of their wives so into rich housewife shit that I can’t find a thing to talk to them about. They are currently sitting at the dining room table sipping back their wine today complaining about something. My niece and nephew are too into their phones to care about much else. My grandparents are just old, and my mother is either fawning over her new man or making sure I know what a disappointment I am.
I figure if I just do what she wants then I don’t have to cause a scene in front of Grant and maybe he’ll even keep me company at dinner. I bet if I ask, he’ll let me ride with him.
“You smell like beer and cigarettes,” my mother says a little too loudly as she comes closer, and my eyes go wide. I don’t want Grant to get in trouble for taking me to a bar, so I quickly smile and say, “Relax! It’s Christmas.” Then with a shrug, I turn and walk back to my room to change.
I take a little more time than I usually would getting ready for dinner. A quick shower washes off the beer and cigarette smell. Then, I actually blow dry my unruly hair, making sure my bangs are perfect. For the first time in weeks, I put on actual makeup and not just lipstick and eyeliner. The dress I pull out is gold and thin but hangs on my body loosely, hugging only my breasts. I skip the shimmery black leggings that I would normally wear under them, not entirely knowing why. Sure, it’ll mean being a little cold, but I want to feel sexy tonight.
The devil on my shoulder is reminding me that I want to feel sexy for Grant. But I think the devil on my shoulder is a bit of a hoe.
When I walk out to the living room, it’s quiet. Grant stands alone by the Christmas tree looking down at his phone. When he turns to see me, his eyes are wide as saucers as they trail down my body to my black wedges.
“Where did everyone go?” I ask.
“They had a reservation at seven, so I told them I’d wait here to take you.” He’s still staring at me in shock.
“Oh, sorry it took me so long,” I reply, feeling suddenly exposed...but in a good way.
“We should get going,” he says clearing his throat and pulling himself out of his stupor.
I follow him to his truck where he opens my door, holding a hand out to help me in. I’m pretty sure by the time I get myself half-hoisted into the seat, he has a front row view to my ass. I sort of hope he looked.
In the few seconds between when he shuts my door and crosses over to his side, I quickly remind myself that Grant is my step-uncle. He is much, much older than me. I don’t even know how much, twenty years? Thirty years? No, he’s not fifty. Maybe forty-five, tops. Still, I remind myself. He would never think of me like that. To him, I’m just a dumb teenager. So what if I have a little crush on my new step-uncle? No harm in that.
“You look beautiful,” he says without looking at me as he starts up his truck. He almost looks a little uncomfortable. “I should have said that when you came out of the bathroom. Sorry.”
A small laugh escapes my lips, but I quickly cover my mouth.
“What?” he says, looking at me with a furrowed brow.
“Nothing. I mean, thank you.”
Before he puts the truck into drive, he rests his arm on the wheel and turns toward me. “No, what were you going to say, ?”
I know that what I’m about to say could make things very uncomfortable, and maybe Grant is hell bent on keeping things between us safe and innocent. His mind might not be in the gutter like mine always seems to be, but fuck it. I’m going to say it anyway.
“You said you should have told me I looked nice earlier, but...you’re my new uncle—”
“Step-uncle,” he corrects me, and I have to swallow before I can speak again.
“Step-uncle, and you probably shouldn’t be telling me that in first place.” I look up into his eyes for the first time, and suddenly things feel dangerous. All day from standing outside smoking to sitting together at the bar, I could look into Grant’s eyes and it was comfortable, friendly, but now...it’s charged and exciting. “Not to mention, by the way you were looking at me, you didn’t exactly have to say it.”
I’m frozen in his eyes for a moment, this unspoken connection between us suddenly taking up all of the space in the cab of this truck. I didn’t just point out the elephant in the room. I pushed the mother fucker front and center and shined a spotlight on it.
“Alright then,” Grant says finally as he turns toward the steering wheel and puts the truck into drive. Then, he starts driving like I didn’t just imply that he was checking me out. Him, my step-dad’s brother. Him, old enough to be dad.
I sit quietly in my seat for the whole drive until we pull up to the restaurant, and before we get out, he turns back toward me. My pulse quickens.
“Next time you want to say something, , don’t bite your tongue. Say it.”
With a sly smirk, he turns off the truck and jumps out, rushing over to my side to open my door like we’re on some kind of date or something. He helps me down and we walk together into the restaurant, him holding the door open for me of course.
The hostess leads us to the giant table in the back where my family is seated. My mother gives me a disapproving look and points to the two open chairs on the back side of the table.
Grant and I squeeze into our seats next to each other, and I’m relieved that they saved two spots in a row so I could be next to him. He’s already my form of comfort where my mother is involved, like I need him to be my buffer.
When we sit down, his leg presses up against mine. It’s like we carried that electric current from the truck with us into the restaurant.
It’s warm in here, or at least it feels warm to me. Every time I look up at the other people at the table, my mother, my grandmother, my new step-dad, and my brothers, I feel like they all know the thoughts running through my head. The things I suddenly want to do to my step-uncle that I just met this morning.
Then, his hand brushes my leg, and I swear I’m imagining things.
He was just adjusting his pants, and his fingers just happened to brush my leg, that’s all, but the skin-to-skin contact was a siren in my head, and I can’t focus now. His hand is safely folded in his lap as he tells the waitress his drink order.
Everyone is talking about something, but I can’t seem to join the conversation. All I can focus on is his nearness. That conversation we had in the truck is stuck in my head. At the bar, it was like he saw something in me that I’ve been waiting for people to see. Men especially never get me, but suddenly, it’s like Grant does. If he was anyone else and a few years younger, I would have been dating him by now, but I can’t pursue this.
Can I?
His knuckles brush the bare skin below the hem of my dress, and I stop breathing. That was definitely intentional. He’s touching me on purpose.
He wasn’t adjusting or anything. He literally touched my leg on purpose with the intent to make me feel it, to feel him.
I grab the glass of ice water on the table and take a quick drink.
“Are you okay?” he whispers, turning his head toward me slightly.
I nod without saying a word.
Then he slides his knuckles slowly up my thigh until they are as high as they will go without anyone noticing, not that anyone is looking at us. They're all so deep in conversation, and my mother is so taken by her new man that she’s not showing me an ounce of attention.
We won’t do anything here, we can’t. It’s too close to others, and it would be far too obvious, so I know what he’s doing is distracting me. He’s toying with me, playing a cruel game that makes me want to drag him to the bathroom and have my way with him.
He turns to look at me, and I glance up into his eyes for a split second. I want to get lost in his stare.
“ is going to be a great lawyer. She sure knows how to argue,” my mother says to Roger, and I look up when I catch my name. She sends me a quick wink like that was somehow funny.
“Yeah, your mom’s been telling me that you are going to Northwestern for Pre-law. That’s very impressive.”
I nod obediently, but inside I’m shutting down. I’ll just ignore it for now. I don't care what they think.
“Actually, have you seen ’s drawings? She’s a very talented artist.” Grant’s voice seems to hush the whole table, and my mother looks almost offended as I watch her chew on her inner lip.
“Well, that is a great hobby to have,” she says flatly toward Grant.
“Sure, but with her talent it could be much more than a hobby,” he says, his fingers are touching my leg under the table again. I nearly melt.
My mother laughs, and it shreds a small piece of my soul. Rather than let it break me down, I push my fingers into Grant’s hand under the table. He responds by quickly squeezing them, and the connection is so strong, I can hardly breathe. We’re not looking at each other or even speaking, but right now I feel closer to him than I’ve ever felt to anyone.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Without taking his hand from mine, he replies, “You’re welcome.”