Page 12 of Just Forever

“Husband,” he says, and I blush even more furiously. For fuck’s sake! He knows exactly what he’s doing. He once told me making me blush makes him feel special. Something about me only being soft with him, or some crap like that.

“We should get going,” he says after a little while. “Mom said she made reservations for six o’clock.”

I bite back a sigh. It’s nothing personal. I actually like Ryker’s mom just fine. More than most people, at least, which might not sound like that much of an endorsement, seeing that I don’t like most people at all, but that’s the best I can do.

Genevive James is the kind of person who possesses a level of competence and proficiency that is frankly intimidating. She’s the CFO of a large shipping company and splits hertime between a few different cities, which means it’s also been relatively easy to avoid her. To an extent.

We’ve had dinner here and there over the course of this past year. It’s mostly been awkward. We have uncomfortable history between us, what with her having married my estranged father. Or, not really my father, seeing how it turned out I wasn’t really John’s biological kid.

Add to that my mother’s misguided attempts to make John somehow accept me as his son and failing at it spectacularly because, surprise, surprise, you can’t cheat on somebody and then make them accept the fruits of the affair with open arms.

Genevive sort of stumbled into the middle of this mess with Ryker in tow, and I can’t really blame her for not knowing how to behave or what to do with me when my mother dropped me off on Genevive and John’s doorstep every other weekend. Uninvited, I might add.

In short, being around each other is filled with uneasy silences and awkward moments.

Even so, every few months, Genevive sweeps into town, determined to spend some quality time with her son. And me. I think I might’ve managed to get myself off the hook if Ryker hadn’t broken his femur. I could’ve had one dinner with her and smoothed the relationship from painfully awkward to regular awkward and called it good. Of course, then I was taking care of Ryker and his broken bone, and she kept stopping by, and I was always there, and it all just somehow got out of hand, and I unwittingly ended up a regular participant in their dinners.

There’s also the part where Ryker wants me to attend those dinners. It’s a fine balancing act. On the one hand, I feel supremely uncomfortable hanging out with Ryker’s mother, but on the other hand, I’m in love with Genevive’s son, so I know I have to make compromises. And Genevive has been nothing but nice to me, so it’s not like I even have a legitimate reason to avoidher, other than being an unsocial asshole who just needs to get over himself and suck it up.

“This is an ominous silence,” Ryker says. He sounds careful, like he’s deliberately picking each word. It doesn’t make me feel so great about myself.

“It’s going to be great,” I say with some grade A faux cheer. “I don’t know about you, but I’m… excited. And stuff.”

“Mmm. It’s a new restaurant. They’re doing a chef’s tasting menu.”

“I… have no idea what that means.”

“You get to taste everything. It’s nine courses.”

I gape at him. “Wow.” That did not sound supportive or boyfriendy. I throw on another layer of faux cheer. “I guess we’ll be really full, then. Awesome.”

“It’s tiny portions,” Ryker says.

“Great!” I’m starting to run out of my cheer reserves, but damn it all to hell, I’m going to be a good husband for once in my life.

When he told me we were in a relationship, I freaked out.

When he broke his femur and needed some calm, loving support, I yelled at him.

I resisted the marriage when he first came up with the idea. I acted like I could barely tolerate him pretty much throughout our teenage years. I don’t think I’ve ever thanked him for all the things he’s done for me or shown any appreciation for the fact that he’s always,alwaysbeen there for me. On my side. In my corner. Always.

I’ve fought him tooth and nail every step of this relationship.

Yeah. I’m a fucking catch.

My point is, this time, I’m going to behave like a supportive husband and partner no matter what.

“And it’s experimental food,” Ryker continues. “Tuna eyeballs. Oyster mousse. Lamb fries. Stuff like that.”

Those are what people consider food? Because I recognized very few words on that list as something edible.

“I like fries,” I say with a heavy helping of carefulness. “And lamb. Didn’t know you could turn sheep into fries—kind of figured that treatment was exclusively for potatoes—but if they’ve managed, I’m all for it. I’ve always considered sheep the assholes of the animal kingdom, so as far as I’m concerned, they had it coming.”

There’s a glint of evil in the lazy look he sends me. “Lamb fries are testicles,” he says, patting me on the knee and pushing himself up into a sitting position. “Bon appétit.”

I force myself to grin at him. “I can’t wait.”

There’s a hint of abject horror, but all in all, I think I pulled it off quite nicely.

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