“That’s all Connor.” I led them toward the kitchen, where Connor was sliding a tray of hors d’oeuvres into the oven.
He wiped his hands on a towel as Teresa set her wine on the counter. “Oh my god, are those stuffed mushrooms? Can I steal one?”
“They need four more minutes.” Connor checked his watch. “But I made extra phyllo cups.”
He was so calm. So in control. Meanwhile, my hands shook as I opened the wine Teresa had brought.
The doorbell rang. My parents.
Connor stepped closer immediately, his hand settling on the small of my back, warm and steady, and he murmured, “It’s going to be fine."
I wanted to believe him, I did. But my stomach churned with the premonition that this was how it all fell apart.
Hannah
Mymotherlookedexactlythe same: styled blonde bob, tasteful pearls, a pasted-on smile. My father stood behind her, already uncomfortable.
“Hannah.” Mom air-kissed both my cheeks. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Mom. Dad.” I hugged my father, who patted my back twice and then pulled away.
“This is my boyfriend, Connor,” I said, gesturing. “Connor, these are my parents, Linda and Robert.”
Connor’s posture straightened into Corporate Connor, the version that could charm board members and negotiate contracts.
“Mr. and Mrs. Donnelly. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He shook my father’s hand firmly, then offered his hand to my mother, who took it with an appraising look. “Can I take your coats?”
He made the hospitality seem effortless, hanging their coats in the closet, offering them wine and hors d’oeuvres, then guiding them toward the table where Teresa and Eddie were already settled.
Connor had set the table with cloth napkins and flickering candles. The perfectly pink prime rib sat at the head of the table, and the sides looked straight out ofBon Appetit.
“This is quite the production,” Mom said, accepting a plate from Connor.
Dad carved into his prime rib. “This is restaurant quality, son. Where’d you learn to cook like this?”
“My mother. She was a chef.”
“Was?” Mom asked.
“She passed away three years ago.”
Mom had the grace to look at her hands. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you.” Connor took a bite of his duchess potatoes, effectively ending the conversation.
For a few minutes, we ate in relative peace. The food was incredible—probably the best meal I’d had in years.
And somehow, they were going to ruin it.
“So,” Mom began, swirling her wine. “We haven’t heard much from either of you lately.”
“Been busy at work,” Teresa said. Eddie reached over and took her hand.
“Still at the spa washing people’s faces?”
“I’m an aesthetician, Mom. I give facials, that’s more than just…”
But she didn’t finish, knowing Mom wasn’t listening.
