I act like everything’s cool and help my mom bring out the dishes to the table. The four of us sit down and start making polite small talk as we fill up our plates.
“Emily said there’s a new bar opening across the street from you, Rock?” my mom asks.
Rock nods. “Sounds like it’ll be open in a few months.”
“And do you have a plan to keep it from affecting your business?”
My stomach clenches.I knew it. Here come the questions.
Rock passes me the bread. I can see how firmly he’s gripping the bowl as he hands it over. “Emily and I are figuring that out.”
My mom studies Rock, and I brace myself for whatever more interrogative question she’s going to ask next. I can easily picture the path it will lead to—questions that will make it clear they think Rock isn’t worth their little girl’s time and attention.
But to my shock, my mom’s mouth turns up into a gentle smile. She glances at my dad, then back at Rock. “Well, I’ll be honest, Rock. When Graham and I learned that you and Emily were seeing each other, we had our concerns. Not just concerns, but doubts. But the more we discussed it, the more we came to see that we owe you a fair chance.”
I freeze. I can’t believe the words I’m hearing. This is all I’ve ever wanted, for my parents to let go of the judgments they have of Rock.
“After all,” my mom goes on, “if you and Emily decided to start dating after so many years of friendship, it must be a very serious thing.”
My mom smiles. So does my dad. I glance at Rock, suddenly feeling a little panicky at whether he’s prepared for a complete one-eighty from my mom like this. But Rock just smiles one of his stoic smiles and nods.
“Exactly,” he says. “I wouldn’t enter into something like this lightly.”
Then, after an awkward beat, Rock reaches over and squeezes my thigh beneath the table.
The sensation of his hand squeezing my leg sends strange little shivers up my thigh. It’s so unexpected that I almost gasp but catch myself in time and smile reassuringly at my parents.
“Me either,” I practically squeak out.
My dad smiles. “That’s wonderful to hear.”
Rock moves his hand off my thigh and I swallow, still feeling disoriented. I feel like bursting out in disbelieving laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation we’ve gotten ourselves into. How do my parents not see right through our lies? How is Rock so fine with going along with this nonsense?
I glance over at him and watch him butter a piece of bread, my eyes lingering unnecessarily on his forearms. Why do his arms look so good? Is it the shirt? A weird magical shirt?
Maybe this wine I’m drinking is stronger than I thought.
“Well, not to get ahead of ourselves,” my mom says, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin, “but funnily enough, SandyLee and I—oh, that’s a dear friend of mine from the club, Rock—well, the two of us were touring the new events venue on the grounds the other day, andmy goodnesswould it make a lovely setting for a wedding. Emily, I’ll have to show you. It has the most breathtaking view.”
I almost choke on my water. No. My mother cannot have said what she just said.
“Mom,” I say, mortified.
“I know, I know,” she says. “It’s early days. But sometimes things move faster than you expect.”
“Three months from meeting to marriage,” my dad says to Rock, gesturing between himself and my mom.
“Oh?” Rock says. He coughs a little. “Wow.”
“I’ve also heardverywonderful things about Pelican Lodge,” my mom goes on. “Muriel’s daughter was married there. You remember her, don’t you, Emily?”
“Sort of.” I frantically search my mind for a way to steer this conversation in another direction. “The bolognese is delicious, Mom. Did you do something different? The spices seem a little different than I remember.”
“It’s the fresh basil,” my mom says. Then, with a smile, she adds, “I guess it’s about time I teach you how to cook it, sweetheart. A well-fed husband is a happy one.”
8
ROCK
