“Rebecca,” I growled. “Please release my associate from your grasp.”
Rebecca scowled at me and Flowers had the nerve to laugh.
“Your scowl is clearly genetic,” Flowers told me.
“You don’t say,” my father said, then scowled at Anna comically enough to make her laugh again.
Awesome. My family was being charming.
“We just want to chat with her,” Rebecca said, then checked her Apple watch on her wrist. “Look at that. It’s almost one. Anna’s already booked us a reservation. I’m sure we can add one more. Then we can have lunch together.”
“No!” I barked.
“No,” Anna said at the same time, only in a slightly more reasonable manner. “I’ve still got some work to do. Rebecca, I sent you the directions to the place and the reservation is under the name Allen. Sometimes, people will make a fuss when they know it’s E.G., but that just mostly means an extra appetizer or dessert.”
“I don’t understand, dear. Isn’t Grant your employer?” his mother asked with a soft smile. “Surely, he could give you a break to allow us a chance to get to know his new co-worker. However, he’s mentioned you so much, we feel like wealmostknow you.”
Anna looked at me for an explanation. I held up two fingers. “Twice. I mentioned you twice.”
“There, it’s settled,” his father said, confidently. “Grant, Anna here has already taken care of everything for us. Young lady, you get your coat. You’re coming with us.”
Flower’s attempt at telepathy was genuine. Looking to me, to get a sense of my mood. I could hear her litany of silent questions.
Try harder to bail? Give in? Fake a dental emergency?
But I could see no escape for us, so I shrugged to communicate that we were simply resigned to our fate.
It felt like a bad cliché in some made for television holiday movie.
Guess who is coming to lunch?
TWENTY-ONE
ANNA
For the first time she found herself embarrassed by her past.
Vic & Anthony’s Steakhouse
Lunch was insane.It was nothing short of an interrogation of me.
And, I suppose some observations of my own.
His family was nothing like him. But so much like him too.
Genetically, his father was a dead ringer for E.G., although his burnished red hair was peppered with a lot of gray. They had the same build, and, as his father correctly identified, the same scowl. It was like looking at E.G. in the future.
Physically, his mother was petite. She was Florida tan, trim, and wore her very blonde hair in a tight bun. Her personality, however, was mountain sized. It was clear she was the matriarch of the family and all decisions ran through her.
E.G.’s sister, Rebecca, was freaking gorgeous. She also had inherited the red hair that E.G. would insist was brown.Although it was lighter and more obvious than E.G.’s. I knew she lived near her parents in Naples and worked for a non-profit organization dedicated to saving the Gulf Coast. I wasn’t exactly sure what it needed to be saved from, but Rebecca looked like the type of woman who could do anything.
Adding me to the reservation had been easy, as they’d just moved us from a four top to a round, and as the two women began to fire their questions at me, I made the executive decision to order a glass of wine after everyone else at the table had opted for alcohol.
After a few minutes, the waitress brought around our drink order. I pulled the white cloth napkin off the plate and set it in my lap.
I knew what to do with the napkin. There had been classes at the state home that handled all sorts of shit like that. Etiquette at a restaurant, how to change a tire, what to wear for a job interview. Sixty-minute seminars, usually by community volunteers, designed to set us up for life.
I swallowed, suddenly grateful for Mrs. Johnson drilling into our heads how the napkin should be placedgently across the lap. Had I done that gently enough? I stared down like it was an unruly animal that might jump off my lap any second and embarrass me.
