“It’s just one meal, Peter.” Mom rests a hand on Dad’s arm and squeezes gently. “Remember how much we used to love the holidays? All that food and beer? It was always the best time. And we always worked it off on the slopes.”
“I also remember it was hard to get back into a routine after,” he grouses, then shoots a look at June. “Any time off puts you at a disadvantage.”
Oh, casual shop talk at the dinner table, how I don’t miss this at all.
Done with this conversation, I go for the gravy boat the same time Henri does. Our fingers brush and we both jerk back, nearly launching our glasses of water off the table. After what happened in the snow, I’m conscious of her, how I need to be more careful about touching her.
“Here,” Henri says, the first of us to brush it off, handing over the gravy to Pen. “It’s amazing.”
Dad glares at her, and I can tell she sees him, but doesn’t flinch, which is impressive. He’s a man of iron resolve and has never been known to back down.
“You know you can touch each other? This isn’t a convent,” Penelope says. “You didn’t seem to be having any trouble outside.”
“Could you act normal for one second?” June saws at the slab of roast on her plate.
“Everyone’s thinking it!” Penelope proclaims then leans toward Henri. “Blink twice if this is a hostage situation. If you agreed to come here before breaking up with him, you don’t have to follow through with it.”
“No! It’s nothing like that!” I insist and reach for Henri’s hand in what is possibly the least convincing way possible, because the distance between our chairs is awkwardly far.
“I’ve just never gone home to meet someone’s parents before and it’s a big deal. I’m just nervous,” Henri lies, but it seems to work for now.
“Liam told us you’re about to start graduate school, that’s a big achievement,” Mom says.
“Yes. It’s a big step, but I’m excited to get into a career to help people long term. For now, I’m a bartender, and only help folks for a few hours at a time,” she says.
“Where’s the program?” Dad asks, eyes narrowing.
“It’s in New York. You know we met because of his articles? I was kind of a fan of his before I even met him. You could say he was my celebrity crush.” She scoops mashed potatoes onto her fork and takes a bite. “His writing is amazing, but of course you know that; you must have read his work.” The jab is subtle but I see that it lands, the vein in Dad’s forehead pulsing.
“Well it seems like you have a solid foundation that even some distance can handle.” Smiling to himself, he grabs his nearly full wine glass, pushes up from his chair, and stands. “This is as good a time as any to make it official.”
Couldn’t he have just waited one night? My gaze darts around the room. Across from me, June straightens, attention locked on Dad. A plate clatters as Pen stabs a piece of roast and shoves it into her mouth. Mom barely conceals the upward tilt of her lips as she takes a sip of water.
“Over the next few years, I intend to slowly step down as owner of Dulcet Point. This is going to be a time that will require a lot of patience as the transition takes place for the next generation of Hughes to take over.” He turns to me. “Liam, I’m so happy to welcome you home.”
All eyes are on me for only a second before glass shatters.
18
Henri
Water spreads across the table in front of Juniper. Shards of her cup shimmer all around her, some managing to land on the serving plates, making the remainder of the meal inedible.
“Stay there,” Ally directs.
“I’ll get the broom!” Liam leaps out of his chair. I have to shake myself from my state of shock before I follow after him.
What the hell does his dad mean Liam’s taking over the resort? Liam has a job that he loves and an entire life back in New York. And he’s expected to do . . . what? Just drop it and come back here?
I catch up to Liam in the kitchen as he’s pulling open a cabinet with cleaning supplies.
“Do you think I should grab a bag, or would that be hazardous?” He reaches in and picks up an empty dryer sheet box. “Maybe put it in this first?”
“I think you should tell me what the hell is going on,” I say. I hate feeling stupid and in the dark and right now I feel both of those things.
His shoulders sag as he turns to me. “I was planning to tell you. I tried in the car, but Pen ran up out of nowhere.”
“This is something you should have told me about weeks ago. I need to know these things or I’ll look like I don’t know you. A girlfriend wouldn’t go on defending a job you aren’t going to have soon. When are you quitting?” What I’m feeling right now isn’t the standard fleeting irritation that comes when my clients fail to disclose important information. No, it’s an ache that plunges deep into my chest.
