Misunderstandings (Woodfalls Girls 2)

“It’s only until spring. You’ll appreciate it more when it’s not so frigid.”

His words hit me like a bucket of water had been dumped on me. Spring was months away. Did he really think with our dating track records that we’d still be together by then? Sure, we were getting along well at the moment, but up until now, my longest relationship was in the eighth grade when Garrett Blinn and I decided we were a couple after a rousing game of Spin the Bottle in Tressa’s basement. We lasted four whole weeks. The first week was bliss as I added his name to every square inch of my notebooks. By week two, I was wishing I had saved a little space for other doodling. By the third week, his wet lips on mine no longer held the same appeal they had during Spin the Bottle, and by the fourth week into our relationship, I was busy plotting different ways to break it off with him. In the end, he wound up with a bloody nose and a busted lip when I punched him for trying to stick his hand down my pants during a make-out session. The tale of how he had acquired his busted lip spread like wildfire through our small school. Needless to say, my next relationship was two years later. After Garrett, I was pretty much a two- to three-week kind of dater. Experience taught me that most guys showed their true colors four weeks in. Considering Justin and I were just shy of three weeks into our relationship, he was probably banking on a fairy tale to think we would make it to spring.

“I can’t wait,” I answered, deciding now was not the time to get into the logistics of failed dating.

The grocery store was packed with harried shoppers who were frantically searching for the last few items they needed. Buggies with crying children and women arguing over the last bag of russet potatoes were just a few of the obstacles we had to maneuver around in our search for cranberry sauce. We were about ready to declare the trip a failure when a helpful bag boy found us a dented can behind one of the registers. Justin hurried and paid and we hustled out of the store.

“Damn. Women get scary when it comes to shopping,” Justin said, hopping into the jeep and slamming the door quickly, as if the insanity of the shoppers were an airborne virus.

“You’re not kidding. Life lesson here: Never visit a store on a holiday,” I added, relieved we had made it out alive. “They were like vultures in there.”

“I sure hope Grandpa appreciates this,” he said, tossing the bag with the single can inside into the backseat.

“He better do backflips when you show it to him,” I added, fastening my seat belt.

“That would be funny as shit,” Justin laughed.

“Truth.” The fact that he had the same dry sense of humor as me was definitely a perk.

My good mood dissipated when Justin pulled into his overcrowded driveway behind four cars I didn’t recognize.

“How many people did you guys invite?” I asked, slinking down in my seat.

“Relax, it’s all family,” he said, climbing out of the driver’s seat.

“Swell. That helps so much,” I grumbled.

“Hey, Uncle Fred,” Justin warmly greeted a good-looking distinguished gentleman. He appeared to be roughly the age of my mom.

“Justin, how’s the art?” his uncle replied, pulling Justin in for a massive bear hug.

“Not bad. How’s the insurance business?” Justin countered.

“Not bad,” his uncle Fred returned, laughing. “And who is this lovely lady?” he added, turning to smile at me.

“This is my girlfriend, Brittni,” Justin said proudly. He pulled me closely against him like I was a coveted possession. I fought the urge to elbow him for his possessiveness.

“Girlfriend? That’s terrific. We’d all pretty much given up hope that my nephew here would find a nice young lady,” Fred said, shaking my hand with both of his.

“Oh, I’m not nice,” I answered.

He threw his head back and roared with laughter. “You are my kind of lady,” he said, putting an arm around me and leading me toward the house. Maybe it was the warm way he smiled or the twinkle in his eyes, but my natural instincts to stiffen up from a stranger’s touch never manifested. “So, how long have you been making my nephew a better man?” he asked, guiding me up the porch steps to the front door.

“Only a few weeks,” I answered, laughing uncomfortably. This was what I had been afraid of. By coming to dinner, I was giving the impression that we had a history.

“A beneficial few weeks, if the grin on my nephew’s face is any indication,” he professed, opening the front door for me.

The noise inside the house was overwhelming as we stepped into the entryway. Everywhere I looked there were people. An elderly couple sat on the sofa while adults stood around the room chatting. Children of various ages darted through the living room, dining room, and kitchen like they were on a racetrack. Every few seconds one of the adults would tell them to stop running.

“Everyone, this is Justin’s girl, Brittni,” Fred announced, nudging me into the middle of the chaos. I looked back at the door longingly, feeling like I had been thrown into a shark tank. Just when I thought Fred was a good guy. Suddenly everyone’s conversations became less important as a dozen eyes pivoted to look at me. With a gentle push from Fred, I was introduced to another uncle, whose name escaped me; Fred’s wife, Adriane; and his aunt Holly, who turned out to be Justin’s sister’s namesake, just with a different spelling. The three teenage boys playing the Xbox in the family room with Travis belonged to Fred and Adriane. The four younger kids running around with Hollie belonged to Justin’s aunt Holly and the uncle whose name I couldn’t remember. The adults all seemed nice enough, and the teenage boys were typical teenagers. They eyed me appraisingly before returning to their game. Hollie greeted me by giving my waist a crushing hug before racing back down the hall after her cousins.

After a few initial questions about my major and where I was from, the other adults quickly returned to their respective conversations. All the comments I had expected about how long we had known each other or how serious we were never surfaced. It wasn’t like they shunned me. They just accepted that I was there without question.

Justin and I stood around chatting with his grandpa and mother, who both had questions about the job he was doing for the hospital. I was distracted from the conversation by Justin’s uncle, the one whose name I couldn’t remember. He looked like he was watching the football game on TV, but every time my eyes drifted his direction, he was staring at me instead. If his wife hadn’t been sitting two feet from him, I would have said he was checking me out. It was completely creep-fest and grossed me out. His stares didn’t get better during dinner, and I made an effort to try to ignore him as he downed several beers. If the others noticed his behavior, they ignored it.

“What’s with your creeper uncle?” I asked Justin when we headed down to his apartment with our desserts in hand. >“Hey, they have like a hundred-year shelf life. How’s the art?” I finally asked, since we seemed to be on a tentative truce.

“It’s good. I do a lot of freelance stuff. That job at the hospital that you convinced me I should charge for snowballed into more jobs than I could handle. I guess I owe you a thanks,” he said, looking dismayed at the idea of giving me credit for anything.