Page 85 of Elusion

Callie’s eyes widen in shock, and I choke back a laugh. “Greta, this is my girlfriend, Callie. Why my mother would tell you her name was Jess, I have no idea.”

Greta forces a smile. Exactly what they pay her to do in awkward situations. “I’m sure I misheard her. Two glasses of wine?”

I nod, and she scurries down the hall. Callie crosses her arms and stares me down until I explain how I’ve been using Jess to torture my mother.

“No wonder they don’t like you,” she says.

I smile. She smiles. I feel better.

With that out of the way, we trek through the foyer, down the entrance hallway, hang a right at the kitchen to another hallway, take a water break, veer left at my father’s den, and finally arrive at the formal sitting room. No two people need so much square footage, but no one told my parents.

In a final attempt to make her feel as off-balance as I do, I pinch Callie’s ass on our way in. She never even flinches. The bulging eyes of everyone as we enter the room, however, help me relax. Shock and awe. I’m in my element.

“Guess who I brought to dinner,” I announce.

I’m daring my mother to call her Jess, but Carol rises from the sitting couch and glides over. She kisses my cheek. “Jordan, honey, please introduce us to your … friend.”

“Mom, Dad, Dustin, this is my girlfriend, Callie.”

Carol’s face pinches momentarily. “How lovely.” She returns to her seat, flushed when my father struts over.

“Callie, please, join us for a drink.” He guides her with a hand on her back to the seat next to Dustin, whose eyes I will gouge out if he doesn’t keep them where they belong—i.e., not on my girl.

Callie thanks my father and turns on her charm. Within a minute of us sitting, my mother excuses herself from the room. I doubt we’ll see her again until supper. She has the look on her face she usually does when she needs to “lie down.”

Ray and Callie cover the basics before Dustin fills us in on his latest goings-on at school. He reminds me how much I missed out on by bailing on spring break. With our present company, he sticks to code words such astouristsandscotchrather than hookers and blow.

Just as Greta informs us dinner’s ready, my mother conveniently resurfaces. We make it most of the way through the main course before she pats her napkin over her mouth and clears her throat. I brace for whatever she’s preparing to say.

“Callie, is it?”

My fists clench under the table, but Callie smiles. “Mmhmm.”

“We should have your parents over for dinner sometime next week.”

“Thank you,” she says. “But my parents are divorced and best kept several miles apart.”

Ray and Dustin chuckle, and I relax. She knows how to hold her own.

“Separately then,” Carol says, her tone shorter than before.

“That won’t be necessary. But you and I should get lunch the next time you visit Jordan.”

Point to Henders.

Carol laughs condescendingly. “Well, we aren’t planning on visiting for a while, so we’ll see where you two are by then.”

Picking up on the thinly veiled insult about us not lasting, Callie fires back without missing a beat. “Of course. We’ll be sure to let you know when we plan our trip before school starts in the fall. I’d hate for us to miss you.”

Damn does Carol’s face pinch at the sound of a trip invented on the spot.

Callie winks at me, sipping her wine, and that’s it. Blow the horns, cue the chorus, and whatever the hell else is supposed to happen at this moment because I fall in love. Well, I finish falling in love. The whole process started months earlier with me in a towel and a thong.

Ray picks up the conversation, educating Callie on sailing. It leaves Carol quiet and provides me ample time to reel over how much I love the girl in a red coat. Needless to say, it also means I overthink the entire situation and talk myself out of telling her until I better gauge the potential reaction. One thing unchanged throughout our relationship is Callie’s tendency to respond in the exact opposite way to how I expect.

My distraction proves a massive hindrance when, during dessert, the conversation somehow shifts over to me attending law school.

“Dad, let’s go smoke a cigar,” I say in a vain attempt to stop a boulder already gaining speed down a fucking mountain.

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