“Relax,” I murmur to Vanessa as we approach them. “All of them can smell fear like a shark with blood in the water.”
Her fingers squeeze my elbow, and I can tell she wants to run, but she squares her shoulders, lifting her chin in a defiant way and fuck if it doesn’t make me want to push her against a wall and kiss her until she can’t remember her own fucking name.
“Teddy.” My mom smiles when she spots us, encouraging us forward. “And Vanessa. So lovely to see you.” She kisses each of my cheeks and does the same with Van.
I don’t say anything, because if I did it’d be about how I was forced here by my sperm donor at her side.
“It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. McCallister.”
“I told you, call me Lenora, dear.” Turning to the woman at her side, she says, “Marcia, meet Vanessa. This is Teddy’s lovely girlfriend.”
“Oh, a girlfriend.” Marcia smiles, taking Vanessa’s hand. Giving a fake hyena-like cackle, she turns that smile to me and places a hand on my arm. I instantly stiffen. “There was a time when I thought you might settle down with my Olive.”
“Olive?” Vanessa repeats, eyes skating between the woman and me. “Is that like your dog?”
I snort, quickly covering it with a cough, but not before I can avoid my father’s death glare. I know not for one second does Vanessa believe she’s talking about a dog, but if it isn’t the sassiest comeback I’ve ever heard.
If Marcia’s face wasn’t permanently frozen from plastic surgery, I’m positive her glare would be of seismic proportions.
“Olive, is my daughter, dear. She grew up with Teddy.”
“You named your child Olive?” Vanessa cackles. “I feel sorry for her.”
Marcia turns red, and before something can happen that neither of us wants to be a part of or witness, I tug Vanessa toward the drink table.
“That was incredible,” I say low enough for only her to hear, purposely brushing my lips over her cheek as I do.
She frowns. “I hope I didn’t cause you too much trouble with what I said.”
“If it does, it was worth it, I promise you that.” I place an order for our drinks, and grin at her. “You know what’s even funnier?” She arches a brow in wait. “She has a dog named Ashley.”
Vanessa throws her head back and laughs. “Wow.”
“I know.” I tip my head in thanks when the bartender passes me our drinks. “Have you ever had a mimosa before?” She shakes her head. “It’s champagne and orange juice. It won’t get you drunk, but it’ll help ease the nightmare of this.”
She looks around the large, mostly white room. There’s an entire wall of windows overlooking the golf course and lake in the distance. Even I have to admit this place is nice, but I’d still prefer hanging out in Harvey’s to this.
With our drinks in hand, we return to my parents’ table where they’re now seated, Marcia nowhere in sight.
My father narrows his eyes on Vanessa, lips thinned, but he holds back on whatever cutting remarks are currently rattling in his brain. That’s one saving grace of being in public. He has to put on a show.
“What occasion are we celebrating?” I ask, pulling out a chair for Vanessa.
His lips twitch but he doesn’t reply. It’s my mom who says, “Ralph Woolford—I think you know him—has decided to run for governor. This is in his honor to show our support and raise funds.”
“Ah.” I jerk my head in a nod. “How much did it cost a head to get into this brunch?”
“That’s not important,” my father bites out, hand clasped around a glass of what I’d guess is bourbon.
I exchange a look with Vanessa. I’m already plotting our escape.
“How’s school?” My mom asks, directing the question to each of us.
“Dandy,” I respond, smiling when I see the vein in my dad’s forehead pulse. God, I fucking love messing with him in public and forcing him to keep wearing his mask.
“Good. Excited to graduate.”
“I’m sure, I’m sure,” she chants, picking up her glass of champagne. “What are your plans after graduating?”
Before Vanessa has a chance to answer my father cuts in with, “Don’t pretend to care what she has planned. She won’t be a part of our lives long enough for it to matter.”
Beneath the table my hands fist, nails digging into my palms. Almost immediately Vanessa’s hand is overtop my right one, providing a much-needed sense of calm.
He goes to take a drink as Vanessa replies with, “I don’t know about that. I mean, Teddy and I were planning for a wedding by the end of the summer, and I do so hope to be pregnant by this time next year. We want to be young parents.”
Bourbon sprays across the table, hitting me and the man to my left.
“Pregnant?”
“Not yet, of course,” Vanessa sips daintily at her mimosa. “But soon enough. Do you want to be called grandpa?”
My mom dabs at my father’s white shirt with a napkin and he shoves her off, storming for the restrooms if I had to hazard a guess.
“Well,” she sighs, setting the soiled napkin on the table. “Personally, I do think I’d prefer something a little more creative than grandma.”
After brunch, I sneak the two of us out a backdoor and show Vanessa around the grounds. The sun glints off her dark hair, showing strands of red and blonde sprinkled throughout the brunette.
She’s looking at the garden like she’s never seen anything so beautiful, but I have, and it’s her.
Spinning back to me, her cheeks glow with happiness. “This is amazing. It’s like something out of a fantasy novel.”
Wisteria hangs above her, framing her in its purple halo. I shove my hands in my pockets, watching her as she spins around, her dress lifting around her ankles. The smile on her face brings one to my own.
I sense a presence behind me and look over my shoulder. My spine stiffens, and I stand taller at the sight of my father.
Vanessa has her back to me, sniffing a flower. “Van,” I call softly. She turns, her cheeks glowing with happiness. That happiness dims when she notices the man behind me. “I need to speak with my dad. I’ll be right back.”
“Are you sure?”
I feel a traitorous tug in my chest, knowing this girl would play buffer between my father and me if I asked.
“Positive.”
Hesitation contorts her features, but she nods, turning back to the flowers.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I brace myself for the inevitable altercation.
My father turns, a silent command to follow. We step into a shadowy alcove off of the garden.
“What the fuck kind of game are you playing, son?” His eyes are glowing with barely leashed anger, nostrils flaring.
“First off, I’m not playing a game.” I step back, not because I’m afraid, but because I don’t have to take him glowering right in my face. “Secondly, you lost the privilege of calling me son the first time you ever laid a hand on me.”
His face turns a mottled red. “Watch your mouth.”
I bite my tongue, reminding myself I have to make it to graduation. I can’t afford to lose my shit prematurely. He smirks when I don’t have a comeback for him.