Page 88 of Play Along With Me
Audrey nods. "Exactly. She sees the shadows of decisions people might later wish they'd made differently. It gives her a kind of impossible responsibility—knowing what might cause regret but not being able to control whether people listen to her warnings."
"Fascinating premise," my father says, genuinely impressed. "It's about choice, then? The paths we take and don't take?"
"And how we live with those choices afterward," Audrey adds. "We all carry the weight of our decisions, but her gift—or curse—is seeing that weight before it's actually accumulated."
"Have you always been interested in the concept of regret?" my mother asks, showing uncharacteristic insight.
Audrey considers this. "I think so. It's such a universal human experience, isn't it? Those moments where life branches in different directions, and we can never know what would have happened if we'd chosen differently."
"But we can know what happens when we make the right choice," my mother says meaningfully, glancing between Audrey and me with all the subtlety of a neon sign.
To diffuse the moment, I offer Audrey a bite of my veal. "Try this. It's amazing."
She looks surprised but opens her mouth as I guide the fork to her lips, an action that feels startlingly romantic despite its simplicity. Her eyes hold mine as she tastes the food, a small "mmm" of appreciation escaping her.
"That is good," she agrees, her voice slightly lower than before.
Something shifts in the atmosphere between us—a charged awareness that has nothing to do with maintaining appearances for my parents. Without thinking, I reach up to brush a strand of hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. Audrey's breath catches slightly, her eyes widening.
For a moment, we're alone in the crowded restaurant, everything else fading to background noise.
My father clears his throat, breaking the spell. "The food here is excellent," he comments, a touch too loudly. "Patricia, you always find the best restaurants."
My mother, for once, seems at a loss for words, watching Audrey and me with a mixture of satisfaction and surprise.
As dinner progresses, I find myself unable to maintain normal physical distance from Audrey. My hand rests on hers on the table. Our knees touch under the tablecloth. When she shivers slightly as the air conditioning kicks on, I automatically drape my jacket over her shoulders, adjusting it with what I hope passes for casual attention but feels anything but.
By dessert—tiramisu for Audrey, cannoli for the rest of us—the tension has built to the point where even my usually oblivious mother seems to sense something has changed.
"Robert," she says suddenly, checking her watch with exaggerated concern, "didn't you want to make that call to Thomas before it got too late? About the woodworking thing?"
My father looks momentarily confused, then catches on with impressive speed. "Right, yes. The... woodworking call. To Thomas. Who goes to bed early."
"We should probably head back to the hotel," my mother continues. "Our flight is early-ish tomorrow, and we still need to pack."
I stare at my parents in disbelief. Are they actually creating an excuse to leave us alone? The same parents who've spent the entire weekend trying to maximize every minute with us?
"But you haven't finished your cannoli," I point out.
"I'm actually quite full," my mother says, patting her stomach unconvincingly. "Too much pasta. Delicious, but filling."
"We can get the check," I offer, still suspicious of this sudden departure.
"Already taken care of," my father says, producing a receipt from his pocket. "I slipped the waiter my card earlier."
Audrey looks as bewildered as I feel. "You're sure you need to leave? We could have coffee or another round of drinks..."
"Oh no, dear, we're absolutely exhausted," my mother insists, already gathering her purse and the photo album. "Butyou two should stay! Enjoy the music, have another dessert. Young people should have time to themselves."
The transparency is both embarrassing and strangely touching. They genuinely believe Audrey and I are a couple, and more than that, they approve so enthusiastically they're willing to cut short their own time with us to give us private time together.
"Well, if you're sure..." I say, still half-expecting them to change their minds.
"Completely sure," my mother nods emphatically. "But Audrey, dear, I do want to say goodbye properly before we leave town. Our flight's at 11 tomorrow—perhaps we could meet for a quick coffee in the morning? Around 8:30? There's a lovely café near our hotel."
"I'd like that," Audrey says, and she sounds sincere. "Text me the address?"
My mother beams, then pulls Audrey into a crushing hug. "It's been so wonderful getting to know you. You're exactly what Jake needs—someone who makes him laugh, who challenges him. I haven't seen him this happy in years."
