19. Hunter #2
“When did you get married?” Stevie asks, smiling as she takes her seat beside me.
She unfolds her dinner napkin and settles it on her lap.
The servers move in, removing the domes from the silver platters, and filling our drinking glasses (soda for me, as usual, and lemonade for Stevie) but my appetite is completely wiped out.
Celeste looks a little self-conscious at Stevie’s question. “Only a week ago. In the Bahamas. It was a small ceremony.” She turns her head towards my father.
“Yes,” he confirms, putting his napkin on his lap. “Very small.” He doesn’t look at me.
“I bet it was lovely,” Stevie says. She sounds genuinely excited and interested, god bless her. I put my hand on her thigh under the table and squeeze. She puts her hand on mine and squeezes back.
“Oh, it was,” Celeste says, beaming. “But we’re having a much bigger party next month and of course you are invited. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Beside me, Stevie claps her hands. “Of course, we’ll come!”
I take a sip of my Coke, deliberately not looking at my father or grandfather or uncle.
They kept me in the dark, because they knew I would protest. Damn, I didn’t even know my father was dating anyone.
Celeste is beautiful and much younger than my father.
She has blonde hair that falls just to her shoulders and blue eyes.
She and Stevie even kind of look alike. My father has a thing for blondes, just like I do.
It pisses me off that we have that in common.
“It will be a grand old time,” Uncle Jack says, but I can hear the wryness in his voice.
“Let’s have a toast,” my grandfather says from the head of the table.
We all grab our glasses and rise along with him.
“To family, the most important thing in the world. To new family members that we are proud to welcome to the clan. And to future family members.” He winks at Stevie.
I try not to roll my eyes. The old dog knows me too well.
And yeah, Stevie is my future wife, that’s become clearer to me since this morning.
We all clink our glasses and sit back down.
For the rest of dinner, the conversation flows well enough.
I barely contribute, only speaking when spoken to.
Luckily, Stevie, Celeste, and Jack have plenty to say, discussing topics from planning the party to celebrate the wedding next month, to some new show about hockey players that’s a viral hit on some streaming service, and even to Christmas and New Year’s plans, even though they’re more than two months away.
“What will you wear to your party next month?” Stevie asks Celeste.
Celeste’s eyes sparkle. “I’m having this gorgeous white gown made. It’s off-shoulder with rosettes all along the skirt and bodice. It’s my dream dress.”
“It sounds beautiful,” Stevie sighs. “I have to start planning my outfit.”
If it were up to me, we wouldn’t be going to the party.
I don’t give a fuck about my father or his life, but unfortunately, Celeste seems like a good person, and now I’m worried about her.
Because nobody associates with my father in any capacity and comes out alive.
I glare at him over the rim of my glass, and he looks steadily back at me as if in challenge.
Motherfucker.
I surreptitiously check the time on my watch, wondering when it will be a good time to bail on this pathetic excuse for a family dinner.
“How did you and my father meet, Celeste?” I ask, deciding I might as well pretend to be cordial and get some answers while I’m at it, since I’m going to be stuck here for a while.
Celeste reaches over and puts her hand on my father’s on the table. She looks slightly shy. “I work at an art gallery downtown,” she says. “Your father walked in back in August and proceeded to buy one of the most expensive pieces we had on display. Then he asked me to dinner.” She blushes.
“How cute,” Stevie says, taking a sip of her lemonade. “Was it love at first sight?” I glance at her; she’s fully enamored with this meet-cute story. Her eyes are all sparkly. Oh, my na?ve little innocent.
Celeste laughs, but her eyes as she stares at my father are dreamy and wistful. “Maybe love at second sight,” she says.
Stevie sighs. “That’s so romantic.”
My uncle snorts, covering it up with a cough. Gramps shoots him a death glare. I meet Jack’s eyes across the table, and he smirks at me, raising his eyebrows as if to say, can you believe this bullshit?
“We’re having the party here at the estate,” my father says, and I know he caught the look that passed between me and my uncle. “We’ll convert the tennis courts.”
“Not at the country club?” Jack asks, swirling his bourbon and giving me another pointed stare.
“How modern.” The country club is where my father and mother got married.
It’s where a lot of the old money couples in this town get married.
It’s considered almost like a rite of passage.
Getting married at some other location doesn’t have the same gravitas, and people will talk.
I doubt Celeste knows anything about that though.
“The planner and I have such great ideas for converting the tennis courts,” Celeste says, excited and oblivious. “It’s going to look like a fairy tale.”
Stevie leans forward. “Will you tell me some of your plans? I love weddings.”
For the next several minutes, Celeste regales Stevie with all the minute details: twinkling fairy lights, chocolate fountains and candied butterflies, orange trees specially brought in from out of state, rose garlands hanging from the tented ceilings, a band playing Motown classics, koi ponds with lotus flowers, et cetera, et cetera.
The frown on Gramps’ face is magnificent. No doubt he’s questioning his new daughter-in-law’s taste. I sip my Coke to hide my grin.
“I’m thinking of having some peacocks wandering the grounds during cocktail hour,” Celeste says. “And I want to arrive in a Cinderella-style horse and carriage.”
This time, Gramps can’t quite hide his groan.
“That all sounds lovely,” Stevie says politely. I wonder how she would plan our wedding. I shake my head, getting ahead of myself, but ever since I thought about wife-ing her up this morning, the idea won’t budge. It just feels…right.
“Well,” Gramps says, making to rise. “It’s time for the men to retire to the library for our scotch break. You lovelies keep discussing the party. We’ll see you in a bit.”
I get up and follow Gramps into the library, giving Stevie’s shoulder a squeeze as I go.
Our scotch tradition is old. It goes all the way back to my great-great grandfather, or maybe even beyond.
Back in the day, after dinner, the men would leave the table to drink and smoke cigars in the library while the women stayed behind.
Then they would all reconvene in some other room. But I plan on leaving right after this.
Gramps goes to retrieve the Macallan ‘M’ from the sideboard. He pours some for everyone but me. My father eyes the soda in my glass with distaste. He hates that I don’t drink. I smirk and raise my Coke to him in a mock toast.
“I want to reiterate the importance of family,” my grandfather says, holding up his snifter.
“I’m so proud of you three. You honor the Cruise name.
Benjamin, you have proven yourself time and again to be a capable leader.
Jack, you are the glue that holds us all together.
” He turns to me. “Hunter, my boy, I’m more and more proud of you every single day. ”
“Thanks, Gramps.”
“To family! To us!” He concludes, and we all raise our glasses and echo him.
I drain my Coke and wonder if leaving in five minutes would be too rude.
All I want is to go home and bury myself inside Stevie’s tight, warm pussy.
I don’t know how to process my father’s news, and even though I usually shrug off my grandfather’s toasts and speeches, this one today has rubbed me the wrong way.
Spending time with Stevie will help shut off my brain for a few hours and I can get a good night’s rest.
My father comes to stand beside me while Gramps and Jack discuss something about the new art gallery.
“I expect you to be at the party next month,” he says.
I avoid his eyes. “You know I’ll be there.”
“You’ve been dodging my calls.”
“Been busy.”
He tsks but doesn’t say anything else.
Ten minutes later, I’m helping Stevie into her coat and she and Celeste are hugging goodbye, talking about going to lunch next week.
I exhale a deep sigh of relief the moment we’re back in my car, eager to put the entire evening behind me. And I’ll worry about what all of it means later. Much later.