Page 24 of Untruly With You

Well, at least it’s better than thinking about the rest of the mess in my life.

I glance around the room, taking it in. Thankfully, we didn’t get assigned to my childhood bedroom, which has apparently become a place for random storage boxes and Christmas decorations. In here, it looks like the rest of the Davis house, with a western-print rug and cowboy-centric art along the walls. It doesn’t carry the same pressured feeling my old room would. I read the spines on the bookcase in the corner and pick out the first familiar title,Peter Pan, sinking into the leather reading chair.

Just like I when I was young, I get so wrapped up in the story I lose track of time until Laine is standing directly in front of me, hands on her hips.

As usual, she dressed unapologetically in her own unique style. This time, she’s in a mid-calf dress with thin straps atthe top. It hugs the curves of her chest and torso before fanning out into a full skirt with vibrant splashes of color.

She quirks an eyebrow at me, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Are you planning to read through the whole bookshelf, or are you going to join me for dinner?”

I close the book with a soft thud and meet her gaze, feeling the corners of my mouth twitching involuntarily. “Maybe not thewholebookshelf.”

Laine holds a hand out to me, pulling me to stand, but keeps her fingers intertwined with mine even after I’m up. “Honeymoon phase, remember?” she says, combing through her bangs one last time with her free hand. “How do I look?”

“I’m worried Wells is going to try to steal yet another girlfriend from me.”

I lead Laine down the stairs and to the dining room. Three of my family members are already at the reclaimed wood table. Mom. Frankie. Wells. Laine tightens her grip on my hand, trying to dissolve my tension before it even has a chance to bubble up.

“Wells, right?” Laine asks, her voice even more bubbly than usual. She reaches her free hand out to Wells, who takes it and shakes it once. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“Ditto,” Wells says, an edge of harsh sarcasm in his voice. He doesn’t look at me.

My younger brother looks more or less like he always has—pale-blue eyes that are as cold as ice and dark, wavy hair. But instead of the cocky grin I grew up seeing from him, Wells now touts a sharp, narrowed stare and a flexed jaw. All signs of his boyishness disappeared over the years we spent apart.

Mom gestures for us to sit, but before I do, I glance at the empty seat at the end of the table opposite her. Just as I’m about to ask where my father is, the front door opens behind us. Heavy, tired steps approach.

In the six years it’s been since I’ve seen him, my father seems to have aged twenty. Sunspots dot along the leathery surface of his skin. Deep wrinkles emphasize the downturn of his mouth, as if pointing his frown out like a blinking neon sign.

After two deep breaths, I hold my hand out. My father takes it hesitantly. Neither of us shakes. Instead, we just look at one another, hands clasped together. His silver-speckled eyebrows furrow low over his watercolor eyes—those eyes that reflect years of disappointment and disapproval.

We exchange quick not-so-pleasantries, and I introduce him to Laine.

“Food’s getting cold,” Mom says, her voice shaky.

After pulling Laine’s chair out for her, I take the last seat left—the one between her and my father, the one directly across from Wells, who still won’t look me in the eye. Laine reaches over to grab my hand, and I wonder if it’s more so to keep up with appearances or to reassure me under my father’s glare.

“How was your appointment, sweetie?” Mom asks my father from across the table, a halfhearted smile tipping her mouth.

He shoots her a look I’ve received countless times, Wells even more, butMom? He usually looks at her like she’s holding up the sun in the sky just for him. Now, there’s a warning in his eyes. His voice is even colder than his expression as he gives his monosyllabic answer. “Fine.”

Laine squeezes my hand tighter.

Mom clears her throat and smiles at Laine. Despite her grin, I can see the hurt dampening the edges of it. “I can’t let this moment go by without saying how grateful I am that you’re both here,” she says to Laine and me. “For years I’ve been dreaming of having all of my kids together and…” Mom pauses to sniffle. I can practically see Duke sitting in Laine’s chair. “I’m so happy to have Sutton back. And Laine, we feel lucky to have you in our home.”

Laine smiles up at me, leaning over to rest her head against my shoulder. “I think I’m the lucky one,” she says with all the magnetism in the world. “Thank you for having me.”

Mom encourages everyone to dig in, and Laine takes a bit of everything. Mom and Frankie fill her in on all the dishes. Laine’s eyes widen when she hears “elk steak” and “wild huckleberry glazed trout.” Mom and Frankie are clearly going all-out to make a good impression on Laine, and it’s working.

“Laine, Sutton told me you're a writer,” Mom says, taking it upon herself to slide a huge portion of fish on Laine’s plate.

“Freelance journalist—at least for now,” Laine says. “I’m not sure if it’ll be the right fit, but it’ll be good to try. I’m not like Sutton, who has always known exactly what he wants.” She pokes me in the ribs playfully. “And he’s about to get it, too!”

Everyone’s eyes slide to me, and Laine’s smile slowly fades when she sees their varied expressions.

“You got the job?” Frankie asks, bridled excitement in her voice. “You’re going to be an editor?”

“Assistant editor,” I say. “At Imagineer Books.”

Dad mutters under his breath. I only catch a single, insincere word:perfect. His eyes stay trained on his plate, but I can see his brow furrow and the grip on his fork tighten.

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