Rowan looks like she would rather be anywhere but here – and I don’t blame her for that. I feel the same way. Emmett almost looks angry, which is an expression I haven’t seen him wear in a very long time.
He scrubs his hand over his mouth before jerking his thumb in my direction, asking, “My dadis the guy?”
“The guy?” I probe.
“Oh yeah,” he says, “the guy she’s been telling me about. I gave her advice about you and everything, because you were being a dick.”
Chewing on the inside of her lip, Rowan says, “I’m sorry, Emmett. I didn’t mean for it to go like this.”
“How did you mean it, then?” He practically spits the words at her. “Do you want money? Bouncing between the two of us—”
“Emmett,” I warn. “Be civil. It wasn’t just her. I pursued her.”
This would be a lot easier if he were a child. Telling him things he didn’t want to hear when he was six could easily be remedied with a heaping bowl of ice cream and an extra hour of cartoons before bed. He’d forget about whatever it was by morning.
This is so much more difficult, and it makes me wonder if I shouldn’t have put more effort into really dating while he was growing up. If that wouldn’t take the edge off of whatever he’s feeling right now. I can’t help but feel likemaybe I failed him and gave him the unrealistic expectation that I would never venture out to find someone once he was all grown up.
“No,” Rowan answers him. “I don’t want his money. Or assets. Or whatever else people in his position have to worry about people taking from them. I really am sorry. Neither of us wanted—”
“My father can speak for himself, thank you,” he tells her, whirling on me. “She’s half your age, Dad. She’s younger than me! You’re herboss.”
“All of that is true,” I admit.
“So what, is this like some mid-life crisis?”
“This is a relationship,” I correct him, resting my hand on Rowan’s. “It wasn’t expected, but I love her, Emmett. And I need you to understand that.”
“Pfft. Love,” he echoes with a scoff.
“I love him, too,” Rowan says. “You know that. I really do love him.”
He throws the rest of his wine down his throat and lifts the bottle to refill it. He takes a few long sips, emptying half of the glass before setting it back down on the table, then picks up his butter knife and jabs the blade of it into the table cloth, giving it a harsh twist.
Several moments of uncomfortable silence pass before he drops the knife and rests his elbows on the table in front of him, interlocking his fingers.
“Does Uncle Davis know?”
“Yes,” I nod.
“And he’s fine with it?”
I nod again. “He is.”
“Well, right now, I’m not.” He sighs and picks up his wine glass again, draining the contents. “I know it’s not really my business, but it’s weird, and it’s really fucking gross.”
“Emmett—” Rowan tries to speak, but he lifts a hand to silence her. She drops her head and pulls her hands into her lap to fidget with them.
Part of me worries that letting her come was a mistake. Maybe I should have accepted her being angry and forcing her to stay home, but at the time, she had made a solid argument for coming out tonight that I couldn’t ignore.
Now, though, I’m afraid she’s being sent back into that mental prison her father locked her into. She doesn’t fare well when men raise our voices – angry or otherwise – and Emmett isn’t making any effort to hide his anger – or his disgust. I slide my hand over the small of her back, slowly rubbing circles against her skin with my palm.
“You don’t have to like it,” I tell him. “But I do hope that you’ll listen when I tell you that I’m happy. And I hope you’ll try to accept that at some point.”
“I’m not a complete asshole. I want you to be happy, Dad,” he replies. “But this? I need time to wrap my head around this. It’s twisted.”
Rowan tries to straighten in her seat. She sets her gaze on him and says, “I know you’re just looking out for him. So, if you want to say anything or ask anything—”
“Within reason,” I interject.
