“Everyone, this is Ophelia,” he said, his voice carrying that easy confidence he always had on the field. “Ophelia, this is my family.”
He nodded toward each of them in turn. “You’ve already met Lizzie…human glitter bomb and professional scene stealer.”
Lizzie grinned, unbothered.
Matty smirked, then motioned to the two boys still half hiding behind their menus. “That’s Barrett, and the one pretending not to make faces at you is Keller.”
Both boys muttered awkward hellos, their cheeks pink.
Finally, his gaze lifted to the couple across the booth. “And these are my parents—my mom, Alice, and my dad, Ronnie.”
His mom gave me a kind smile, her eyes soft and assessing all at once. “I’m so glad you’re here, sweetheart,” she said, her voice gentle, almost apologetic under the din of the dining room. “We’re so thrilled to meet you.”
Warmth flooded my chest so fast it almost hurt. I’d braced for politeness, or distance, or the kind of thin smile that meantyou’re not what I pictured for my son.
But this—this felt like real kindness.
I managed a small, careful smile. “Thank you for having me,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t shake.
His dad didn’t stand. He just leaned back, arms crossed, offering a nod that felt more like an evaluation than a greeting. “So, you’re the reason my son’s been so distracted lately,” he said, his voice smooth but edged.
My throat went dry. “I—Um.”
“Dad,” Matty muttered, his voice low with warning.
“What? At least she’s pretty enough for a star like you.”
His mom literally shrank in her seat, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Matty’s hand tightened at my waist, signaling a silentignore him. “Let’s sit down,” he said, guiding me into the booth beside him.
Lizzie squeezed in next to me, still beaming. “I like you already,” she whispered loudly enough for half the restaurant to hear.
I smiled, trying to breathe again. “Thanks, Lizzie. I like you, too.”
The waitress appeared, a young woman in a crisp black vest with a notepad tucked against her hip. Her smile was bright, polished, almost eager.
“Good evening. Can I start you with something to drink?”
Before anyone else spoke, Matty’s dad leaned forward like a general giving orders. “Bring us a bottle of Château Margaux. The 2009. Don’t skimp.”
The woman’s smile widened. “Excellent choice, sir. A lovely vintage.” She scribbled quickly.
His mom’s pale blue eyes widened as she stared at her menu. “That’s nine hundred dollars a bottle, Ronnie,” she murmured under her breath, barely loud enough for me to hear. Then, more hopefully, “Maybe just a Diet Coke, dear?”
Her husband waved her off with a booming laugh. “Nonsense! The Tigers won. And that means we drink like champions.”
The waitress nodded briskly. “I’ll bring the wine right out, sir.”
As she walked away, Matty’s hand clenched around mine under the table, his thumb pressing hard into my palm. His jaw was stone, his aqua eyes locked on the tablecloth like he could burn a hole through it.
I wanted to lean into him, whisper something that would help…but I couldn’t think of anything that would be enough.
I knew firsthand that when you had a difficult parent, sometimes words wereneverenough.
Which reminded me…I’d missed a call from my mother this morning. I needed to call her back. I frowned at the thought.
“So,” Alice said, tipping her head toward me with a gentle smile. “Tell us about yourself. What are you majoring in at school?”
