“Well, stop it.”
“Um, no, I will not.”
“Sin, seriously, it’s rude,” I said.
“Do you want to know what I’ve heard or not?”
“No.”
“Really?” she challenged. “They’re talking about you.”
I shook my head, grabbing her arm and tugging her away from the door. “I don’t care. Get away from there.”
“You’re absolutely no fun.”
“So you’ve said many times.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to know?”
“Fine, tell me.”
“No.”
“Oh my god, I’m going to kill you one day.”
“Can’t wait,” she said and we headed to the table just as Dad and Cameron walked out of the den.
Once we were all seated, dinner began relatively uneventfully, with small talk, questions my family had for Cameron, getting to know him. All normal.
Until…
“Oh, by the way, honey, George Korman says hello,” Dad said.
“Did he?” Mom asked. “That’s nice.”
I did a spit take of my lobster bisque into my bowl.
“Tess!” Mom admonished.
“Sorry, a little hot.”
Cameron slid a hand to my thigh and squeezed, a silent urge to say nothing.
“Yeah,” Dad continued, as though nothing hadhappened. “He owed me a round of golf and dinner at the club.”
“Did he?” Mom asked. “Why’s that?”
“I helped him procure a private jet a little while back.”
“For what?” Mom asked.
“Oh, I have no idea. It was for some friends of his.”
“Oh, that was nice of you, dear.”
“It was nice of me.” Dad chuckled. “I just hope everything worked out for hisfriends.”
I glanced at Cameron, then back at my soup as I reached for his hand and squeezed.
