Once we’re alone, I stand to face my father, my heart pounding.
“Tristan,” he demands, quietly. “Who is Sam?”
“He owns theSleep with Meapp we talked about a while ago,” I say, keeping a neutral expression. “I’ve been helping him with his business.”
“Oh yes, I remember.” He nods. “You’re now dating this man?”
It occurs to me his wording is open to interpretation. I could claim Sam and I aren’t dating, based on the fact we haven’t gone on any official dates. In fact, the only times we’ve left his house together have been for irregular trips to the cafe where we met. But if I do say no, I’ll be denying the place Sam has in my life and that doesn’t sit right. Sam is too important. He deserves better.
“Yes.” Dread clutches at my chest as I force the word out.
“In that case, you’ll have to bring him to your birthday dinner next month.”
I don’t want to bring Sam to dinner. I don’t want my parents to meet him. “I don’t see the point.”
He frowns. “Of introducing your boyfriend to your parents?”
“In having the dinner,” I bite out. “It’s a day, like any other day.”
His chin lifts and his eyes narrow. “It’s your birthday.”
“So what?” I snap. “What is the point of forcing a celebration no one wants to have—least of all me? Acting like we’re a normal family when we’re not. Don’t you get sick of pretending?”
“We are not pretending to be a family,” he growls, coming forwards to stop in front of me. “Normal or not, family is what we are. You don’t get a choice about that.” He glances around at the empty room, the open door. “This dinner is important to your mother,” he adds in a rough murmur. “You’ll show up, whether you want to or not.”
The idea makes my gut churn in distaste. My continued existence is no cause for celebration. It came at too high a price.
“Fine. I’ll be there.”
“With Sam,” he insists. “So your mother and I can meet him.”
“So you can evaluate him, you mean?”
Deep lines crease my father’s brow before he concedes the point with a curt nod. “It’s important you don’t go mixing yourself up with the wrong person again. You know that.”
Sam is not wrong for me. I don’t want to give him up yet. I’m not ready.
But I know my father. He’ll feel the tremble in Sam’s hand when they meet. He’ll hear the one- or two-word responses Sam reverts to in the presence of strangers. He’ll see another Walter standing at my side. That’sallhe’ll see, and he’ll never approve.
What the hell do I do then?
SEVENTEEN
______
SAM
My stomach flutters with anticipation—or apprehension, depending on how I label it—as I sit in my car waiting for the clock to tick over to 6:50pm. Tristan is expecting me to arrive at seven o’clock, so that will give me time to walk the half a block to his building and find my way up to his apartment.
This dinner invitation has been a long time coming and I was delighted when he asked me. It makes this thing between us feel real, like more than a fling he’s indulging in while we work out each other’s issues. Even so, the getting here part has been less fun.
Tristan lives in a busy area with limited parking and lots of traffic. Driving itself doesn’t make me nervous but driving to new places does. What if I get lost? Or take a wrong turn and end up back on the freeway heading in the wrong direction? I’d like to say it hasn’t happened before, but anxiety shuts my brain down in ways the outdated GPS in my car can’t hope to navigate.
Today’s work-around involved leaving home way earlier than necessary, so I could get lost or spend ages looking for an available parking space, and still be on time. Neither of those things happened, which means I ended up arriving half an hour early, but I don’t mind. Sitting in my parked car for twenty minutes is vastly preferable to stressing myself out trying to get here at the last minute.
These are the little things I do to cope. I study the route. Plan parking alternatives. Arrive stupidly early, then pretend I arrived right on time. No one has to know I do these things. I’m not hurting anyone, unless you count taking up valuable parking space as a transgression. I choose not to.
It’s 6:50pm.
