“Thanks.” I tossed it back, cracked my neck, and made my way toward the laughter.
I froze midstep when I saw my Mom reach out to hold Avery’s hand.
Damn it, I hated memories. They never stayed put, did they? Our parents had always been close. Hell, my parents actually went to Avery’s graduation, though I stayed home and got drunk off my ass, all the while staring at her graduation announcement and picture like a wasted loser.
“What’s so funny?” I said once I reached them.
“Oh, our Avery.” My mother didn’t mean to claim her, did she? By proclaiming ownership of Avery, my mother would give her the wrong idea about what she meant to me, and the last thing I needed was to explain to the Blacks why I broke another one of their daughters’ hearts . . . over a simple misunderstanding. Then again, it was Avery’s fault to begin with. She was the one who had said something to Erin. She was the reason I was even IN this situation.
“Mr. Thorn, we’ll seat you now.”
The hostess grinned from ear to ear as she eyed me up and down, and she definitely grazed the front of my pants with her fingers when she laid a napkin across my lap.
Avery elbowed me in the chest—hard.
“Oh dear.” My mom noticed the jab and covered her mouth. “Is everything okay?”
I grabbed my water glass and took a big gulp so I wouldn’t be expected to respond.
“Perfect!” Avery said a little too loudly. “I just have this weird reaction whenever other women try to grope my man.” She glared up at the hostess. “Especially in front of my future in-laws.”
I spit out the water all over the table.
Avery offered a sugary smile. “Groping is rude, don’t you think?”
The woman paled and shook her head. “Your, um, waiter will be with you shortly.” She then basically ran off.
And I was pounding my chest, trying not to choke on my own spit while my parents’ eyes widened.
Oh shit, was Mom crying? She used the white napkin to dab at the corners of her eyes, not that it helped, because more tears appeared.
This. This was my hell.
Thanks, Avery.
Maybe I should have had her promise not to lie about shit rather than to be nice. Apparently, being too nice was a very real thing. And it was currently staring at me like a deer in headlights, and I had no idea how to fix what she’d just done.
My dad stood just as the waiter approached. “Champagne for the table!”
“Dad.” I shook my head. The waiter was grinning ear to ear—of course he was, because I was about to pay out the ass for this dinner. “We don’t need champagne.”
“Sure we do!” my dad thundered back, his gray bushy eyebrows drawing together like two sexually frustrated caterpillars. Damn it, Avery! My own sexual frustration was playing tricks with my mind. “We’re celebrating.”
“Oh!” The waiter beamed at us. “What are we celebrating?”
“My son!” My dad wiped a tear from his cheek. “He’s getting married to this terrific young woman!”
It was Avery’s turn to choke.
There was nothing else I could do—just pat her back and then, when she looked at me with horror-stricken eyes, slide my hand under the table and squeeze her knee with force, all the while smiling through my clenched teeth. “I. Hate. You.”
“Feeling’s mutual.” She grinned and then slapped me lightly on the cheek.
“Oh, Bill, just look at that.” Mom sighed dreamily. “Didn’t I always tell you they were perfect for each other?”
My dad gave an eloquent grunt and shooed the waiter away, most likely to grab the most expensive champagne on the menu.
“You did.” Dad reached for his water. “I believe on several occasions you told Lucas he was marrying the wrong Black sister.”
They were being kind.
Helpful.
In their own sick, psychotic way.
Because from their end of the table, everything looked fine—I was finally with the right Black girl, the girl they’d loved all along. The girl whose soccer games they’d cheered at.
Avery finally spoke. “Um, I think you misunderstood.” Her eyes were wide with panic. She looked exactly how I felt.
When I had left Marysville for a job in the city, she was left to deal with the ramifications of my actions. She’d suddenly gone from being a part of my family to . . . nothing. Oh, my mom still gave Avery birthday presents every year.
Not that I was supposed to know about it.
But the fact that my parents were even offering that little olive branch made my chest hurt.
I pinched Avery’s thigh and shook my head.
My parents were silent.
And because my mom believed herself to be a bit of a psychic, she slammed a hand over her mouth before exclaiming, “YOU’RE HAVING LUCAS’S BABY!”
“Oh dear God.” I looked for a quick exit, and at one point even contemplated sliding under the table and pulling all the screws free so it would slam on my face and knock me unconscious.
“NO!” Avery shouted just as loud as my mother had. Shit, I could just see the wheels in her head turning. She always was a fixer, and there was no doubt in my mind she was trying to find a quick way to fix everything while still making me look like the golden son. Avery had to have heard how strained my relationship with my parents had been over the years—it’s not like the tension was a secret. Why? Why do that for me? I’d only asked her to dinner, not to save me. And yet there she was, about to do exactly that. Or at least try, anyway. “No, no, no, you, um, see.” Yeah, good luck getting out of this one. She looked to me for help.
I shrugged and took a long drink of water.
After all, this scenario existed because she’d opened her big fat mouth in front of my sister, and there was literally nothing I could do other than watch the train wreck.
“Oh, do go on, sweetheart.” I winked.
After glaring at me, she snapped her attention back to my parents and stage-whispered. “Sorry, I’m not pregnant. But I do have a question—not to get too personal, but does ED run in the family?”
I choked on an ice cube while she slapped me on the back, then started rubbing.
“She’s joking!” My voice was hoarse. “She’s kidding, she’s—”
“Oh, honey.” My mom’s voice was grave. “Do you think it’s because of . . .” Her voice lowered, as did her head, like she was getting ready to finish the thought under the table. “. . . you know, the accident?” She pointed at my crotch.
I would probably never get an erection again.
Thanks, Avery.
I waved all future sexual encounters good-bye and stomped as hard as I could on Avery’s foot.
She burst out laughing and reached for a piece of bread. “It’s been so fun catching up, I’m so glad we did this.”
“I hope you choke on that bread,” I said through clenched teeth, whispering against her neck like I was nuzzling her instead of contemplating wrapping my fingers around her porcelain skin and giving a little squeeze.
“Do I know about this accident, Patty?” Avery just had to ask.
And Mom, being Mom, just had to answer. “Oh, he was such a small boy.”
“Still is.” Avery said under her breath.
I squeezed her knee again. She gave a little yelp and stole the bread right off my plate.
“Thief,” I whispered.
“Liar,” she countered.
“Well, it’s the damnedest thing,” Mom continued, completely oblivious to the war zone across from her. “He just loved that little game where you drop the game pieces down the slots and they line up—you know, the one with the holes.” Mom waved her hand in the air.
Our waiter approached.
Thank God.
“Here is our most recent favorite, nominated for its clear taste and . . .”
I tuned him out and shared a look of pure evil with Avery.
“You wanna play, little girl?” I cupped her cheek with
my hand, using my thumb to flick her lower lip. “I’ll play.”
“Bring a cup.” She winked.
The waiter filled my champagne glass, and Avery’s attention was back on my mom. “Are you talking about Connect Four?”
“He liked the holes.” Mom covered her mouth with her hand, but it didn’t matter—her voice carried, it always carried. It pained me to admit how often I was the topic of one of her inappropriate conversations.
“You said that.” Dad poured himself a glass of champagne and lifted it in the air toward me.
God, I’d need to consume that whole bottle to start forgetting this evening.
“He.” She made a motion with her pointer finger. “Loved.” Oh, here it came. “The.” Another jabbing motion. “Holes.” The last was said in the creepiest of whispers.
Avery gasped.
Dad chuckled and belted out, “Never did figure out how he got his little hot dog in there!”
Tears pooled in Avery’s eyes, and then she burst out laughing with my parents while I poured myself more champagne.
“Sweetheart”—Avery elbowed me—“why the holes? Do you think it’s because you have a fascination with sticking things . . . where they have no business going? And Patty, I ask this with all seriousness . . .”
I swore under my breath.
“Was he an equal-opportunity hole user? You know, sort of like if there was a hole, he just wanted to stick something in it.” She briefly pressed her lips together. “I guess you could say, like having a different hole every day of the week, perhaps?”