8 #2
“Then maybe stop saying things in stupid ways. Mom and I are doing just fine on our own. You and Grandpa need to stay out of it, and you know what they say about opinions. They’re like ass…”
“Jade!” A laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it, warm and tired and a little helpless.
She cut her eyes toward me. “You probably shouldn’t encourage me.”
“That ship sailed years ago.”
Even Matty managed a faint smile before remorse settled over him again. Before he could dig the hole any deeper, I picked up the platter and nodded toward the dining room. “Go sit down and make it up to both of us by avoiding anything stupid for at least ten minutes.”
He dipped his head and stepped back. “Fair.”
The second he disappeared, Jade leaned closer. “I deserve extra dessert for that.”
“You absolutely do.”
Dinner was awful.
It wasn’t loud or explosive. Nobody slammed a hand against the table, stormed out, or gave the family a story to repeat later. This was the polished kind of awful, strained beneath good manners while everyone quietly resented one another.
Dad kept the conversation moving, which only made the destination more obvious.
Every subject curved back toward Jude or me.
He asked Jude about work at the station and the youth baseball team he helped coach, then shifted toward the chief and whatever aggravation was happening at work.
After that, he turned to me and asked about the hospital, Jade’s school, whether I ever left the house for anything enjoyable, and anything else he could use to stitch artificial common ground between us.
It might have been funny if it weren’t so irritating.
Jade interrupted each attempt with the precision of a trained assassin.
Sometimes she was subtle. When Dad mentioned hiking, she looked up from her plate and said, “Mom hates hiking with men who talk too much.” Other times, she used less mercy.
When Jude asked whether I still spent weekends reading the romance novels I carried everywhere in high school, she set down her fork.
“Do you always remember random things about women who aren’t interested in you, or is my mom special?”
Dad gave her a look sharp enough to cut glass. She met it serenely and took another bite of green beans.
To my surprise, Matty began helping once he realized how hard Dad intended to push.
He didn’t make a show of it or openly take my side.
He simply interrupted whenever the conversation narrowed too obviously in my direction, offering a story from work, asking Jade about chemistry, or drawing Dad into an argument about their team’s chances that season.
He still didn’t see the full picture, but he was beginning to see enough.
Jude kept trying.
He never pressed hard enough to create a scene.
He used the same steady pressure he had always relied on, dressing persistence until it resembled charm.
He asked about my shifts and Jade’s art, then wondered whether I ever visited the lake anymore.
Every question sounded harmless alone, which somehow made them worse.
By dessert, strain had begun flattening his smile whenever I answered too briefly or turned my attention elsewhere.
Dad made one last attempt over coffee. “Jude’s still helping coach that youth team,” he said. “You always liked men who were good with kids, Lila.”
I nearly choked on my drink. Across from me, Jade set down her spoon with a soft clink. “Grandpa.”
Dad ignored her. “I’m only saying it’s nice when a man knows how to show up.”
Heat climbed into my face until my skin felt tight. “Dad.”
Jude leaned back and released a quiet breath, looking as though he were about to rescue the entire table from itself. “Mr. Morgan, it’s all right. You don’t have to do this.”
Dad frowned. “Do what?”
“Try to sell me.” Jude offered a modest smile.
For a second, nobody spoke. Then he glanced toward me and added, “Lila doesn’t need to be cornered into a conversation she doesn’t want. I’m not here to make her uncomfortable.”
Relief moved through me so quickly that it almost made me lightheaded. It was exactly the right thing to say, and gratitude caught me off guard.
Dad sat back, faintly annoyed at being corrected in his own dining room. “I was making conversation.”
“Then maybe let it be conversation,” Jude replied, keeping his tone easy.
Some of the pressure left the room. Dad looked chastened while Matty grew thoughtful. Across from me, Jade’s eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced by Jude’s sudden nobility, but she stayed quiet. I did too. By then, I was too relieved that Dad had dropped the subject to care why.
The rest of dinner stumbled forward more carefully.
Everyone looked tired by the end, as though we had spent the evening keeping too many small things from tipping over at once.
Dinner eventually limped toward its end, the night carrying the overmanaged strain family gatherings sometimes took on when nobody had technically fought, yet nobody had relaxed either.
At the door, I thanked Dad because despite everything, he was still my father, and love didn’t become simple merely because it grew exhausting.
He kissed my cheek and said he was only trying to think about my future.
I told him I understood, but that didn’t give him the right to choose it. Something shifted in his face at that.
It wasn’t enough, but it was something.
Matty came next with his hands shoved into his pockets and some of his earlier certainty gone. “You good?”
“I will be.”
His mouth twitched. “Still mad?”
“Yes.”
“Fair.” He stepped back and studied me for a second. “Drive safe, Li.” Then he looked toward Jade. “And you behave.”
She snorted. “Absolutely not.”
I smiled despite myself.
Jude stepped forward last. “Goodnight, Lila.”
“Goodnight, Jude.”
That was all. I gave him no invitation, softness, or opening he could turn into something more. He lingered for half a second anyway, as though warmth might appear if he waited long enough.
It didn’t.
Jade moved to my side. “We should go.”
So we did.
Once we were inside the car with the doors closed, I sat for a moment with both hands on the wheel and let the quiet settle around us like something earned.
The house filled the windshield, all neat lines, porch light, and good intentions bent crooked.
Beside me, Jade buckled her seat belt and released a long, theatrical breath.
“Well,” she said, “that was horrifying.”
I laughed, tired and helpless and real. “A little.”
“You owe me extra dessert for emotional damages.”
“You were not emotionally damaged.”
“Mom. Rude Jude tried to breathe near us.”
Another laugh came easier than the first. I started the car and backed out of the driveway while she muttered about overbearing men, civil compensation, and the heroic labor required to survive family dinner.
We reached the street, and the knot between my shoulders finally loosened enough for me to breathe.