Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [85]
“Hi, Mrs. Carson, Mr. Carson. Good to see you again.” The Carsons smiled insincerely at me. I returned their smile with equal affection.
“What are you eating? Are those oysters? I don’t eat shellfish,” Mémé boomed. “Disgusting, slimy, riddled with bacteria. I have irritable bowel syndrome as it is.”
“Grace, honey, I’m sorry if we’re horning in,” Dad murmured, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Your mother went a little berserk when she heard you weren’t coming. Don’t you look pretty! So where is he? As long as we’re here.”
Andrew caught my eye. He knew me pretty well, after all. He tilted his head to one side and smiled curiously.
“He’s… uh… he’s in the bathroom,” I said.
Margaret closed her eyes.
“Right. Um, not feeling that well, actually. I’d better go check on him. Tell him you’re here.”
My face burned as I walked (and walked, and walked, God, it seemed to be taking forever) through the restaurant. In the foyer, Cambry gestured down the hall toward the rest-rooms. Sure enough, there was Julian, lurking just inside the men’s room, peering out through the cracked door. “What should we do?” he whispered. “I told Cambry what was going on. He can help us.”
“I just told them Wyatt’s not feeling well. And you’re playing the part of Wyatt.” I glanced back toward the dining room. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph on rye bread, here comes my dad! Get in a stall. Hurry up!”
The door closed, and I heard the sound of a stall door slamming as Dad lumbered down the hall. “Honey? How’s he doing?”
“Oh, well, not so good, Dad. Um, he must’ve eaten something that didn’t agree with him.”
“Poor guy. Helluva way to meet your sweetheart’s family.” Dad leaned amiably against the wall. “Want me to check on him?”
“No! No, no.” I pushed the men’s room door open a crack. “Hon? You doing okay?”
“Uhhnnhuh,” Julian said weakly.
“I’m here if you need me,” I said, letting the door close again. “Dad, I really wish you guys hadn’t come. This is—” a ridiculous farce “—our special night.”
He had the decency to look ashamed. “Well, your mother…you know how she is. She felt the whole family should be there to show the Carsons… well, that you’re okay with everything.”
“Right. And I am,” I said, cursing myself. I should’ve just gone to the stupid dinner, said that Wyatt had plans or emergency surgery or something. Instead, here I was, lying to my father. My dear old dad who loved me and played Civil War with me and paid for my new windows.
“Dad?” I said hesitantly. “About Wyatt…”
Dad patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Pudding. It’s embarrassing, sure, but no one will hold a little diarrhea against him.”
“Well, the thing is, Dad—”
“We’re just glad you’re seeing someone, honey. I don’t mind admitting that I was worried about you. Breaking up with Andrew, well, that was one thing. Everyone’s heart gets broken once or twice. And I knew it wasn’t your idea, honey.”
My mouth dropped open. “You did?” I’d taken such pains to tell everyone that it was mutual, that we just weren’t sure we were right for each other…
“Sure, Pudding. You loved him, clear as day. Letting your sister date him…” Dad sighed. “Well, at least you found someone else. The whole way here, Natalie was chattering on and on about how wonderful your young man was. I think she still feels pretty guilty.”
Well. There went my feeble desire to confess. A man came down the hall and paused, looking at us.
“My daughter’s boyfriend is sick,” Dad explained. “The runs.” I closed my eyes.
“Oh,” the man said. “Um… thanks. I guess I can wait.” He turned and headed back to the dining room.
Dad pushed the door open a little. “Wyatt, son? This is Grace’s dad, Jim Emerson.”
“Hello, sir,” Julian mumbled in a lower than normal voice.
“Anything I can get for you?”
“No, thanks.” Julian threw in a groan for authenticity.