Page 8 of The Love Playbook

CHARLOTTE

I’ve entered the Twilight Zone. That’s the only explanation for why I’m sitting at my father’s dining room table with Chris Collins and his mother?my father’s girlfriend.

I take a bite of my turkey, chewing while I eye the pair across from me. We started having a full turkey dinner for my birthday when I was eleven and complained that the only time of year we ate the large stuffed bird was on Thanksgiving.

My father beams as he compliments Barbie’s cooking, and even I have to admit this is the most fucking delicious turkey I’ve ever had. It’s herby, tender, and full of flavor. It’s nothing like the dry meat my mother used to prepare when they were still married, and even better than my father’s overpriced meals he catered out. There are no dry birds at this table, only moist bir?er, you get the picture.

Beside me, Chris nudges me in the ribs, breaking me from my trance.

When I turn to him, he nods at his plate. “It’s good, right? Mom’s always been one hell of a cook.”

“It’s amazing,” I begrudgingly admit.

“I told Barb we could order a meal for today to give her a break from cooking, but she insisted on preparing everything herself.”

I grunt out an intelligible response before I remember I’m supposed to be proving Chris wrong, and I smile. “Thanks, Barb. It’s amazing. Speaking of family, how many kids do you have again?”

“Six, but only five are at home now that Chris is away at school.”

“Six?” I choke on a bite of stuffing, coughing it up before I take a sip of water while Dad nods, eyes bright.

“They have a big family.”

“Holidays with us are an adventure,” Barb chimes in, casting my father with what I can only describe as a look of infatuation. “We’re really looking forward to the holidays this year. If you can make it, we’d love to have you.”

“She makes five different kinds of pies,” Dad chimes in, eyes bright.

I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with the unspoken comparison between Barb and my mother. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, even though I have no intention of doing so.

My father’s face falls as he nods, pushing around the food on his plate.

Noticing, Barb smiles. “Monday is my little Tucker’s birthday. We’re celebrating on Sunday with my extended family. There will be lasagna and cake for him, if you’d like to come.”

I muster up a smile, already tired of pretending, and feeling that a family I never wanted is being forced upon me. I can already envision my father singing to her son without a secondthought about me. “I’m sorry, but Mom wanted to spend the weekend with me, so . . .”

She always wants my best while giving me little in return, but I’m cautiously optimistic the tides are turning. After all, Mom’s made a lot of progress since I went away to school. The combination of the right therapist and meds has her functioning like an actual human.

“Oh, of course.” Barb flaps a hand at me, telling me not to worry.

“So, Garry tells me you’re an early education major?” Barb asks, clearly trying to change the subject away from my mother and to safer waters.

“It’s secondary education now, actually,” I say, which Dad probably doesn’t know because I never bothered to tell him.

“Oh?” Dad lifts his head, surprise coloring his voice as he asks, “What prompted that change?”

I shrug. “I realized I don’t like children.” Then, pointing between them, I ask, “How long have you two been dating again?”

Barb glances at my father, her gaze soft. “A little over two months now, right?”

Dad reaches out and clasps her free hand in his, his smile warm as he says, “Best nine weeks of my life.”

I scoff, and their attention returns to me.

Oops. Did I do that out loud?

Chris clears his throat beside me. “Well, I for one, think it’s great. I haven’t seen Mom this happy in a long time.”

“Kiss ass,” I whisper behind my hand.

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