Chapter 5 #2
He nods. “They’ll keep monitoring things, but yes, I’m cancer-free.”
“And Maggie’s son?”
My dad shakes his head. “He passed,” he says softly. “Almost two years ago.”
I swallow, my eyes finding Jacob again. He’s turned to the side, so I can only see the curve of his cheek, the sharp line of his jaw. He has one hand on Maggie’s back, and he’s bent down, lowered in height so he can meet her gaze.
He told me he’d lost his parents, but I didn’t know he’d lost his best friend too.
A ding chimes, and Maggie hastily wipes at her eyes. “We need to check in with the caterer before dinner,” she says. She offers a wobbly smile in my direction. “My cousin just told me she’s discovered a new allergy, and I need to make sure her meal is switched before we start eating.”
“I can do that, Maggie,” Jacob says warmly, but she places a hand on his arm.
“Thank you, but Ajit and I need to talk to them before tomorrow anyway.” She tells us she’ll see us at dinner, and then she and my father walk away.
Jacob glances at me. “We should take our seats,” he says.
“Right.” I look out at the room, round tables scattered throughout. I step close to one, picking up a little place card with a name spelled out in cursive.
“You weren’t on the guest list,” Jacob says, his tone a bit gruff. “So you wouldn’t have been on the seating chart.”
“Oh.” I rub the back of my arm. “That makes sense. Maybe—I’ll just—” I scan to see if there are any extra chairs, but stop when Jacob lets out a huff of breath.
“Come on,” he says. His hand comes to the small of my back, the pressure light, the barest sensation. “You’ll be at the family table. At the front.”
“Oh.” I don’t move forward. “I don’t know if I should—”
The pressure at my back grows firmer. “Maggie will want you there.”
I peer up at him. The kind, pleasant expression he was wearing earlier has completely disappeared. He looks…frustrated, almost. And I can’t figure out why.
“Did I do something?” I ask him.
He drops his hand to his side, his fingers flexing wide. “What do you mean?”
“You’re…I don’t know. If I said something insensitive or did something that offended you, I’d like to know.”
“You didn’t,” he says.
“Really?” I blow out a breath. “You just seem like…you’re not acting like yourself.”
He grows stiff beside me.
“So, if I did anything—”
“Everything’s fine,” he says. The corners of his mouth stretch into a tight smile.
“It’s not,” I say. “You weren’t like this a few minutes ago. And you definitely weren’t like this last night.”
He inhales sharply, then pivots to face me. “With everything going on, maybe it’s better that we don’t talk about that. Let’s just focus on today, and the wedding, and—”
“And what? Forget that it ever happened?”
“Yes.”
His swift delivery pierces me. “Is that what you want?”
“It…” He hesitates, something flickering in his eyes. “Yes,” he says, his voice a little gentler. “It is.”
I take a step back. “Okay,” I say. “I won’t bring it up again.”
We walk in silence to a table at the front as I try to process what’s happened. I can’t figure out why this man’s done a complete 180 on me. He seemed eager to pick things back up before, but now he wants to keep his distance?
Was anything he said to me true? Or are these the standard games he plays, the words he uses to reel a one-night stand in, then let them go?
He pulls a chair out for me, and I take it without comment. A server comes around, asking if we’d like white or red.
“Either,” I say, tearing off a chunk of the roll on my side plate. My knife struggles through a cold slab of butter, and I give up on spreading it. I put a chunk of it on the roll instead, fold it over, and pop it into my mouth.
There are only a few others seated at the table so far, a few of Maggie’s relatives. I exchange light conversation with the cousin I met earlier as I eye the empty seat beside me.
As I feared, my father fills that empty seat a few moments later. Maggie takes the seat to his right, the one next to Jacob.
I can feel his gaze on me, but I pointedly ignore him, lifting my glass and taking a healthy swallow.
Red, then. I’m not sure what kind.
Someone asks what my father and Maggie have planned for their honeymoon, and I half listen, finishing off my roll. I reach for my glass, intending to take another sip, but am surprised to find it empty.
I’m not a big drinker usually, but my body’s settled into a warm glow, one that’s distracting me from everything going on, and I don’t feel like leaving it.
“You travel a lot, right, Neelu?” Maggie says. “Maybe you have some advice for us?”
“Advice for…”
“Sky,” Maggie says.
Sky?
My confusion must show, because Maggie continues. “Yes, Skye. Where your father and I are going for our honeymoon?”
I blink. “You’ve never been?” The Isle of Skye can’t be more than a five-hour drive from here.
She shakes her head. “Neither of us have.”
“It’s not uncommon,” Jacob chimes in. “Most of the people who visit are tourists from outside Scotland. I’ve never been either.”
“Well, of course you haven’t,” I say, pointing my knife at him. “You never leave Aberdeen.”
His mouth parts.
Shit. I’m not supposed to know that.
Maggie’s eyes bounce between the two of us, and I speak before she can ask any questions. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any advice. I’ve never been either.”
I pause as the server returns, setting down salads in front of us. I spear a piece of lettuce on my fork. “Really, this is the first time I’ve been back to Scotland since…”
My father shifts in his chair.
“How long would it have been?” I ask him, my tongue loose, my inhibitions lifted. Why should I be the only one feeling uncomfortable here? The more the merrier.
“I think you were ten,” he says.
“That’s right,” I say. “And we didn’t travel anywhere that trip. We barely even left the house.”
My father fidgets again.
A server refills my glass, and I reach for it, my eyes meeting Jacob’s above the rim. He’s glaring.
Salud, pal. I take a long sip.
The table grows quiet for a moment, but Jacob doesn’t break eye contact. His expression and voice are hard when he says, “So, all of this traveling you do, is it for business or pleasure?”
And I’m so glad I’ve finished swallowing, because otherwise I would have choked. “It’s for work,” I say.
“Ah.” Jacob leans forward. “And what is it you do for work?”
Heat floods my face, my cheeks burning. I don’t want to tell him. I don’t know how this new, sharper-edged version of him is going to respond. “I work in television.”
“A travel show?”
“There’s a travel element to it,” I say. “But it’s primarily a dating show.”
Jacob doesn’t snort, but from the way his mouth twists, it’s almost as if he’s holding one in.
It hurts, this judgment from a man who seemed so different last night, but the sting doesn’t last for long.
“You’ve seen some of it before,” Maggie tells Jacob. “It’s the show Ajit and I watched all last summer.”
I pivot to my father. “You’ve watched Love in the Sun?”
“I…” He ducks his head slightly. “Yes, I’ve watched it.”
He has? He’s never told me that before. I didn’t even know that he knew the name of the show I worked on. But maybe it was just a coincidence, something Maggie put him on to.
Plates of chicken or fish are placed in front of each of us, and the table-wide conversation dies down as people start eating.
“I didn’t know the show aired in the UK,” I say to my father.
He slices into his chicken, his gaze averted. “It doesn’t, but Maggie found it online. On streaming.” He pauses. “How is it all going? Your work?”
“Good. Great, actually. I got promoted this past year. More responsibility, so I’m even busier than before, and the traveling’s still a lot”—and the network is as stubborn as ever—“but overall, it’s going well.”
“That’s good.” He reaches for his water, but he doesn’t pick it up. He just holds it, his fingers tightening around the glass. “And your mother? She’s doing okay?”
There’s no inflection in his words, no intonation, and his face doesn’t show a hint of what he’s thinking.
“Yes. She’s happy,” I say. I don’t offer anything more. Dad knows that Mom got remarried years ago, but except for that call he made to her six months ago, I don’t think the two of them have spoken in years.
“I’m glad,” he says, the words quiet.
Maggie pulls him into a conversation then, one she’s having with a relative on her side, and I watch my father join in, his posture immediately relaxing.
It pokes at something within me, putting pressure on an old bruise. I take another sip of my wine.
But that feeling only grows with every word I hear him speak, his voice warm and friendly. With the way he laughs at someone else’s words. With the way he watches Maggie, an open, tender expression on his face. With the wry smile he sends Jacob’s way when it’s time for him to give his toast.