Page 88 of Lovesick
“I have my ways.”
24
DINNER AND A SHOW
CREW
Idon’t know how I’m supposed to get through another dinner with Merit and her father after I’ve not only broken into this man’s house without him knowing but have also been inside his daughter on two separate occasions.
It’s been a week since we cleared things up. Life has been surprisingly perfect. Like, to the point where something bad eventually has to happen.
In between classes, I get to share lunch with Merit (out of public sight, of course). It’s not ideal, but it’s better than never getting to see her at all. We’re together so often that I’ve memorized her lunch order. She always gets the same thing—a bran muffin and a blueberry and banana smoothie with a drizzle of honey on top from this café near the science building. We talk about dance and hockey and whatever else is on our minds, and I get to ogle her for as long as I want.
I fall for her more and more every time we’re together—which I didn’t think was remotely possibly seeing as I’m already head over heels for her.
Now I stand on the street where everything changed that fateful evening—where I pledged my allegiance to her for theforeseeable future, where I held her in my arms after believing that I’d never get to again, and where I vowed to crack open that hard shell of hers like a walnut.
Thick-bellied clouds pass over the crepuscular sky, the last of the saffron light slicing through the blockage to illuminate the all-too-familiar doorway. Anticipation hangs heavy like a guillotine over my head, and I’ve been donning a permanent smile ever since I turned into the neighborhood. I know I have to play it cool, but I’m so excited to see her.
When the door opens, Coach Lawson is the one to greet me, and I’m just waiting for him to bring down the hammer and strangle me on sight, but he doesn’t. In fact, he looks…happy…to see me. Maybe he took the news better than I thought?
He ushers me into the dining room where Merit is sitting across from my unofficial seat, dressed in a pink blouse and a brown, pleated skirt.
It feels like someone has shoved my heart into a party popper and pulled the damn string. Now there’s confetti in my lungs and it hurts to breathe.
I take my seat, the smell of pan-fried chicken wafting beneath my nose and making my stomach grumble. Mrs. Lawson is one of the best cooks in Maple Grove. She’s made enough Chicken Alfredo for an entire hockey team, paired with a massive bowl of salad and a side of buttered bread rolls.
“Crew, it’s nice to see you again,” Mrs. Lawson says, her rouged lips pulling into a sweet, Southern smile.
Nice to see me again? Me, the man who’s pursued your daughter despite not having your blessing. Yeah, something isn’t right here.
My throat is as dry as a riverbed in June. “Thank you for having me. This looks incredible, Mrs. Lawson.”
Was Merit too scared to tell her parents the truth? She promised she would. Maybe this is all a misunderstanding. I toldher how much it meant to me that we stopped with the lies and the sneaking around. Surely she’s just trying to figure out what to say, right?
I’m honestly impressed I made it a full minute without looking at Merit, but when I do, she reciprocates my gaze guiltily. It’s a dead giveaway that she definitelyhasn’tdisclosed our relationship.
“Oh, fiddlesticks,” Mrs. Lawson exclaims, standing up from her chair. “I forgot the cranberries for the salad. James, can you be a dear and help me in the kitchen please?”
Wordlessly, Coach follows Merit’s mother into the adjoining room, leaving me and Merit alone to clear the air.
“You didn’t tell them?” The words abrade my throat, and heartache lingers inside the crumbling colosseum of my chest.
Merit takes a fortifying breath, trying to exorcise the fear that’s been following her for weeks on end. A faceless predator tracking down its hobbled prey, waiting for it to collapse from exhaustion.
“I couldn’t find the right time.”
“Now is the right time! Now?—”
Before I can finish my sentence, her parents come strolling back in with a ceramic dish of cranberries, and Mrs. Lawson garnishes the salad after they both take their respective seats.
I start to hoover up my food so that I don’t have to address the disappointment tangling in my belly. Something different is in the air tonight, and whatever it is sizzles like a sky does right before a storm. An omen.
“Honey, how’s the campaign going?” Mr. Lawson asks his daughter, stuffing a helping of noodles into his cheek and chewing.
Merit has barely touched her pasta. “It’s great. With the hockey team as the stars of the show, we decided that auctioning off the players for dates would be the main event. Everyone’s been on top of their game. Advertisements arecoming along nicely, and we even got some local businesses to donate their products for a giveaway.”
I choke, and not that I’m keeping track or anything, but this is the second time I’ve nearly asphyxiated during a family dinner.
