Page 14 of Just Forever

She lets out an amused sigh. “Aren’t athletes supposed to be rigorous about their diet?”

“It’s the birthday exception.”

“Is that what the kids call a hangover nowadays?” she counters.

I snort out a laugh, which is a mistake because it draws her attention to me. Genevive sends me a friendly smile, and I can feel all my defenses jumping up.

Parents are tricky entities for me. My own leave a lot to be desired. The man I thought was my father did everything he could not to acknowledge my existence. My mother moved to the other side of the world with her on-again-off-again boyfriend and only sporadically contacts me, usually when she needs something from me. As for my biological father, I have no idea whether he even knows I exist. He might, he might not. I haven’t been interested in establishing any kind of relationship with him.

“How have you been, Lake?” Genevive asks.

I really wish I was better at this. I wish small talk would come naturally, so I could just get over myself and relax and enjoy the evening, but there’s a lot of water under this bridge, and I always end up feeling like it’s rapidly rising higher all around me while my feet are cemented to the ground.

“Good,” I say. “I’m good.”

“How’s New York treating you so far?” she continues. “First year of medical school is starting soon, right?”

This is the part where normal people launch into funny stories about life or make witty observations about the city, or at the very least, they’ll have something mundane to say about settling into a new kind of routine now that summer’s over.

“Good,” I say. “It’s been good.”

I’m a real-life conversational wizard. The worst part is that I know that the worse I fail with this, the worse Ryker will feel. He wants me to love his family so much, and I’m trying. Kind of. I’m doing almost my best. My point is, nobody can enjoy this dinner if one of the participants is so clearly uncomfortable the whole time. Not to mention it’s all without a valid reason. So, I have to either get better at relaxing around Genevive or at the very least get better at pretending to relax around Genevive.

I clear my throat.

Do better.

“I’m excited about school. I’m sure it’s going to be challenging as hell, but I’m crossing my fingers I won’t do something too stupid on my first day.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great. You always were a smart boy.” She smiles. “Even John?—”

She abruptly stops speaking. That was a bit of a faux pas on her part. It’s probably not the best form to bring up the dead, estranged sort-of-father in conversation.

I try to think of something to say, but my mind is completely blank.

Luckily, that’s when the waiter comes back to tell us about the menu. It involves a lot of vaguely French-sounding words I still don’t understand, even after a year of Genevive bringing me and Ryker to these fancy restaurants. Once the waiter finishes, I kind of expect Genevive to focus back on Ryker, but she seems dead set on drawing me into the conversation.

“Ryker said you took some classes during the summer?” She takes a sip of wine.

I’m back to my tried and trusted one-word replies.

“Yes.”

Ryker to the rescue.

“He’s annoyingly smart, so he’s already making an impression,” he says before he grins at me and throws his arm casually over the back of my chair. I’m not sure he even realizes what he’s doing, or if anybody would interpret this as anything other than an innocent gesture, but to me right now he might as well just straddle me and start dry-humping me, what with me being on edge already about this evening.

Once again, my cheeks heat, and the temperature in the room seems to rise rapidly. My throat is dry, and I don’t know where to look or what to do with my hands.

I used to be so good at being indifferent and detached. Back when I only had to worry about myself. Just me and my own feelings and moods.

“I’m glad you two are still so close after all these years,” Genevive says.

“Speaking of close.” Ryker pushes his chair closer to me decisively. I freeze.

Fucking hell, I’m being impossibly ridiculous, but I can’t seem to help it.

“I have something I want to tell you,” Ryker says.

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