"Hi, I heard you were home. Maybe we can grab some Chinese food before you crack down on studying?"
"Oh my God, Owen," I said. "You could not have come at a worse time. Please, just turn around and run."
Owen laughed. "There is no way I'm leaving now. Whose car is that?"
I pressed my forehead with both hands. "Seriously. I am so glad to see you. I didn't think I would after my dorm room and all that. But I'm telling you that you do not want to be here now."
"I'm not letting your father's misplaced anger keep me from seeing you," Owen said.
He dropped a kiss on the top of my head and strode past me to the front parlor.
Chapter Eleven
Owen
I was ready to face Mr. and Mrs. Thomas, but I was not ready for the other dinner guests. Trent met me in the doorway with a glass of wine. I almost wiped the cheeky smile off his face with my fist. Mrs. Thomas's white carpet was the only thing that saved him.
"Do I know you from somewhere?" I asked Trent.
His smile slipped a little, but he brightened with malice when Quinn joined us. "I'm Quinn's boyfriend."
"Ex-boyfriend," she said.
I handed her the wine that Trent had given me. "The cheater," I said. "Little late to be kissing up to the family, don't you think?"
"Advice you might want to take yourself," Trent said.
My father bolted to his feet. "Barbara, why don't you come help me in the kitchen."
It was too late. My mother was already weaving to her feet with a red-painted fingernail pointing straight at Owen. "How dare you come in here. How dare you come anywhere near Quinn. You must be the devil sent to steal my daughters. I can see horns on his head, can't you?"
Nicky was too afraid to answer, and tried to hide behind Trent.
"I can, Mrs. Thomas," Trent said.
"Barbara, dear, why don't you lay down before dinner? I can handle things down here," my father interrupted.
Her eyes were already filling with tears, the medication no use against the beginning of a downswing. "None of this would have happened if… I don't want any of this, anyway." My mother flew out of the room and up the stairs.
Just when I thought we could clear everyone out and be done with the whole disaster, my father said, "Quinn, why don't you help me set the table for dinner?"
"Are you kidding me?" Quinn hissed as her father pulled her into the adjoining dining room.
"Not at all. You created this mess, and you damn well better deal with it," Mr. Thomas said. "This kind of reckless and frankly disturbing decision-making is exactly why I've asked you to start coming home on weekends. Now, I don't care what kind of discomfort it causes you, you are going to serve dinner and we are going to act like civilized hosts."
I stepped towards the door to intervene, but Trent sidled in front of me. "Now, now, you should know better than to interrupt family affairs."
"This isn't entertainment. I'm going t
o help Quinn," I said.
Trent jutted out his chin and smiled. "Or what, you're going to punch me? That would be so perfect, don't you think, Nicky?"
"I think we should go, Trent," Nicky said. He rubbed his mesh-covered arms. "Who cares about dinner? Let's just go dance."
"You're making everyone uncomfortable," I said.
"Me? I'm not the one trying to trade in the dead sister for the younger one," Trent countered.