By the time we stand hand in hand in front of my parents’ house, my anxiety is bubbling, instead of overflowing like usual. All thanks to Jackson. He squeezes my hand, thumb sweetly rubbing over my knuckles as I push through the front door.
The smell of lasagna and garlic bread filters through the house. My favorite. I lead Jackson through the house, finally coming to a stop in the kitchen. My dad stands at the oven, hand slowly stirring something on the stovetop. His grin is wide and familiar when he catches sight of me. My father is the most unassuming man ever, sweet and kind, and he was the one who kissed my bruises as a child. But he’s also wildly busy, time with him is rare, leaving me in the usually incapable hands of my mother now as an adult.
“Hey, kiddo. We made your favorite.”
I let go of Jackson’s hand to walk over and give Dad a squeeze. “Thanks, Dad. Where’s Mom?”
Dad’s nose wrinkles in irritation. “Work call. High-profile client got arrested. For the third time.”
“Will she be missing dinner?”
“No!” Mother shouts from the other room. I assume it’s part of the phone call until she peeks her head around the corner. “I’m not missing dinner.”
Damn. Dad narrows his eyes disapprovingly at me as if reading my thoughts. I shrug helplessly before returning to Jackson. We both take seats at the island, watching my father flit around the kitchen. Dad places a plate of fresh bruschetta on the table, gesturing towards it in a clear invitation for us to eat.
“Thanks, sir.”
Dad waves off the formal title. “Call me Billy.”
Jackson’s grin is blinding. “Will do.”
I grab a plate and fix Jackson a few bites of bruschetta, earning me a tender squeeze to my thigh under the cover of the island.
Dad takes the piping lasagna out of the oven, then comes to stand at the island with a glass of white wine in his hand. “So, Jackson, what do you do for a living?”
“I mess around with stocks,” Jackson explains carefully.
Dad raises one eyebrow. “You’re profitable?”
Jackson’s lips quirk up in one corner. “Very. I live a very comfortable life.”
Dad makes a sound of disbelief but still smiles at Jackson. “Good for you. Planning for retirement?”
“At the rate I’m going, I’ll be retired at forty.”
I have no idea what that means, but my father finds it absolutely marvelous. He leans forward on his elbows, eyes glistening with curiosity.
“Explain your methods to me.”
And then they talk about things that go right over my head for a full fifteen minutes. By the time my mother rounds the corner, I’m oddly thankful for her appearance. Dad straightens at the sight of her.
“Dinner’s ready,” Dad informs her.
Mom rubs at her temples but sends him a thankful smile. I stand from the chair, pressing a quick kiss to Jackson’s cheek when my parents are turned away, and help Dad plate the food. We all circle around the kitchen table to eat. My parents both have glasses of wine, but Jackson refused when offered, and it somehow made me love him even more.
“How was your camping trip?” Mom asks as she sips at her wine, ignoring her lasagna.
“It was good,” I reply around a mouthful of pasta.
“We went to the Atlantic Pines State Park.”
“Oh I haven’t been there in years,” Dad says aloud, tone wondrous. “Did you camp on the beach?”
Jackson grins widely. “Yes, for two nights. I had a fully stocked RV too, which we hid out in during one stray seaside shower.”
“Sounds lovely. Olivia, we should do that one day.”
Mom hums in thought, eyes firmly on me. “Have you had any more seizures since the last one?”
