I shifted in my seat, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear while my brain scrambled for the right answer. “I’m majoring in psychology,” I said finally, forcing a light laugh. “So…there’s a lot of reading. Even more papers.”
Ronnie smirked. “Psychology. Why would you major in that?”
I hesitated, the real answer clawing up my throat.Because after being locked away and labeled with half the DSM, I wanted to understand what was wrong with me. I wanted to fix it.
Instead, I smiled, picking at the edge of my napkin. “I’ve just always been curious about people, I guess. Why they do what they do.”
“Sounds dangerous,” he said dryly, leaning back.
Matty’s hand brushed against mine under the table soothingly.
“Don’t worry,” I said softly, keeping my tone light, even though a trickle of sweat was falling down my back from how nervous I was. “I only psychoanalyze on Thursdays.”
Alice chuckled, but Ronnie just grunted and took a bite of bread.
The waitress returned, balancing the dark green bottle in her hand like treasure. She presented the label with a flourish. “Château Margaux, 2009.”
Matty’s dad beamed like a king. “Perfect. Pour it.”
She filled his glass first, then Alice’s, but Matty waved her off when she reached for his.
“Just a Coke for me,” he said.
“Same,” I quickly added.
“Pour her some wine,” Matty said, before turning to me. “If I’m paying nine hundred dollars for that bottle, my girlfriend’s enjoying it.”
The waitress blinked, then smiled wider. “Of course. And I’ll bring your Coke right out.”
After Matty had gotten his drink, Ronnie lifted his glass high, the ruby liquid catching the chandelier’s light. “To Matthew,” he announced grandly, “who’s never forgotten his family!”
Everyone laughed like it was a joke, but Matty didn’t move. His shoulders went rigid, his hand tightening around his glass. A grimace flickered across his face before he smoothed it over with a practiced smile.
We all clinked glasses. I pretended to sip my wine, but my eyes kept straying to Matty. He didn’t drink. Just stared at the glass in his hand, his fingers flexing like he wanted to crush it.
By the time the waitress came back, her smile was brighter than ever. “Are we ready to order some appetizers?”
“Damn right we are,” Ronnie said before anyone else could talk, slapping the menu shut. “We’ll start with calamari. Spinachartichoke dip. Crab cakes. The ahi tuna. And the Wagyu meatballs—get two orders of those.”
Matty’s jaw tightened as his dad rattled off the list, each order louder and more self-satisfied than the last. The muscle in Matty’s cheek ticked. He didn’t say anything, though, just stared down at the table, fingers drumming once against the condensation on his glass before going still.
“Certainly, sir,” the waitress said smoothly, practically glowing with delight at the growing price of the bill.
His mom ducked her head, her fingers knotting in her napkin. “That’s too much food,” she whispered.
“There’s nothing wrong with trying what they have to offer,” Ronnie said, unconcerned.
The waitress smiled at him like she agreed, then glanced around the table. “Will that be all, or should I pace them out?”
“Bring it all at once. And then we’ll order our entrées.”
The waitress nodded, jotting it down, but his dad wasn’t finished. He leaned back in his chair, satisfied. “After all, my superstar football-playing son’s footing the bill. Might as well enjoy ourselves, right?”
Matty’s jaw flexed. He didn’t look up. Just reached for his Coke and took his first long, slow sip like it was the only thing keeping him from saying what he really wanted to.
The waitress scribbled the last note, tucking the pad against her chest. “Wonderful. I’ll get these started.” She gave Matty a smile like he should be proud. Then she hurried off, practically glowing.
Matty didn’t smile back. His shoulders had gone rigid, eyes fixed on the table like he could burn a hole through the linen. His hand that wasn’t clenching his glass was still clamped around mine, fingers digging in just enough to sting.
