“Mom’s made beef and bacon meatloaf, garlic knots, and roasted vegetables.”
“Yum. My stomach just growled. It’s almost like you were speaking with it directly.” He chuckles.
“Dylan, right?” I hear Mom approaching.
“Hello Mrs. Dawson, I’m honored to be invited for dinner.” Mom nears us, and goes in for a cheek kiss. Dylan, being the man he is, obliges. “For you, ma’am.” He hands Mom the flowers.
“They’re beautiful. Thank you, and please call me Paris.”
“Dinner smells amazing.”
“Dylan, right?” Dad asks as he makes his way toward us. He holds his hand out to shake Dylan’s.
“Yes, sir. Thank you for the invitation to your home.” Dylan’s nervous. His voice is shaky, and I can tell he must be edgy because he’s meeting my parents. I grab hold of his hand, and give it a small, reassuring squeeze.
“Drink? Scotch? Beer?” Dad offers.
“No, thank you. I’m not a drinker by nature. Occasionally is fine, but not usually.”
Dad gives him a nod, but he doesn’t say anything. “Molly, can you set the table please?” Mom asks.
“I’ll help,” Dylan offers.
“Thanks.” I smile. Dylan follows me into the kitchen where I get plates, glasses, and cutlery out. He walks over to the table, and begins to set it up. “Thank you,” I say.
“Darling, set up in the…” Mom walks in and sees Dylan setting the table. “This’ll do.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dylan says. I cringe because I know he’d be feeling super awkward at the moment.
“We’ll eat out here, that’s fine.” Mom walks over to Dylan, and gently taps her hand on his.
“Mom, Dad, we’re here,” Tina calls from the front.
My stomach drops, and I feel sick. She hasn’t talked to me in over a week, and I don’t have anything nice to say about Preston. I feel uncomfortable knowing they’re here. But I want Mom and Dad to see him for themselves.
Mom scurries out of the kitchen, and I gaze over to Dylan. I worry my bottom lip between my teeth, troubled by the thought of Preston and my sister together.
“It’ll be okay,” Dylan quietly says. “We should go out too.” He finishes setting the table, and we head out to the foyer.
Tina looks different. She’s lost weight. How’s that possible in only a week? Her eyes look sunken, like she hasn’t been sleeping or eating. She doesn’t even look at me. My heart breaks. “Hi Dylan,” she says.
“Tina, nice to see you again.” Dylan gives her a kiss on the cheek, then holds his hand out for Preston. Preston shakes it. The whole thing is forced on both parts.
“Tina.” I don’t even wait; I go in for a hug. Tina resists then quickly melts in around me. “I miss you,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry,” she replies in a hushed tone. “Let’s not fight again.” I hug her tighter.
“Preston, right?” Dad asks from behind me.
“Pleased to meet you, Thomas,” Preston says.
This grates on my nerves. Preston’s cockiness annoys the hell out of me. Dad’s brows lift, and he doesn’t extend his hand to shake Preston’s. Preston steps forward, and extends his. Dad takes it a few seconds later. “Drink?” Dad offers.
“What are you offering?”
Mom gives me a sideways glance. The hair on my arms stand, just the sound of his voice irritates me.
“Soda, wine, scotch, whiskey?” Dad suggests.
“A whiskey would go down nicely, thank you.”
“One whiskey coming right up. Why don’t you come into the den?”
Preston follows Dad and they both disappear into the other room. Mom heads into the kitchen, and Dylan nods his head. “I’ll go see if your mom needs help.” He’s leaving Tina and me alone for a moment.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, why?”
“Are you eating? You look like you’ve lost weight.”
“Yeah, all the time.” The conversation is strained. It’s nothing like how we usually speak.
“Tina, what’s happening? Talk to me, please,” I beg. “This isn’t like you. You’ve always been full of life, and you look so down.”
“I’m fine. Honestly. I’m just tired. You know?”
“You’ve been coming home late every night. You’re up early and gone before I even get a chance to talk to you.” Her smile is lifeless, her eyes are the same. “Is it Preston? Is something happening with you both?”
“No,” she says, but it’s a rehearsed, strained reply.
“Whatever it is, I’m here for you, Tina. Don’t shut me out, okay? Please,” I beg.
“I promise, if there’s anything to tell, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Girls, can you help?” Mom calls.
Tina and I hold hands while we walk into the kitchen. Dylan’s standing by the oven with oven mitts on. He looks at us, then back to the oven. “Nothing to see here, ladies, nothing to see,” he says.
Tina and I both laugh. “Dylan was telling me how much he likes to cook,” Mom says.
“He does. He’s making pizzas tomorrow night, and I’m officially meeting his dad.”
“Really?” Mom’s voice breaks with a higher pitch. “Meeting your parents?”
“Just my Dad,” Dylan corrects.
“Whose dad?” Dad asks as he and Preston come into the kitchen and make their way over to the table. Preston sits, a glass in hand with some amber liquid in the bottom of it.
“Dylan likes to cook, and he’s making pizzas tomorrow night. Molly’s going to meet Dylan’s father. What’s his name?” Mom asks.
“Mark. He’s looking forward to getting to know Molly, and to my pizzas.”
“You cook?” Preston asks condescendingly.
“Yep, and very well too,” I say before Dylan gets a chance to reply. “He made us a chicken curry last night. So good.” Zhen lifts his head from where he’s sleeping and looks at me. “I said chicken and you decide to look. Thanks, Zhen.” He lowers his head again, not interested.
“Did you go to culinary school?” Dad asks.
“It’s a prestige culinary school called YouTube,” Dylan jokes. Dad cracks a smile.
“Dylan, I think everything’s ready. You can take it out of the oven, and place it on the table,” Mom instructs.
“Yes, chef!” He obediently does what Mom’s asked of him.
Once done, he takes off the oven mitts, and sits beside me. Mom and Dad sit in their regular spot at the heads of the table, and Tina and Preston sit opposite us. “What do your parents do, Dylan?” Dad asks.
“Mom took off when I was young, so I don’t have anything to do with her. And Dad’s retired now, but he used to be an aircraft mechanic.” Dad’s eyes light up. He moves in his seat, positioning himself so he can ask more questions.
“Why’d your mom take off?” Preston asks getting in before Dad.
Dylan shakes his head. “She never said, at least to me, and if she told my father, he kept it to himself. I’m sure she had her reasons. Ones I’m not keen on finding out.”