Page 24 of Check You Out

I drank that a little too fast. I guess my sips were actually gulps. I’ve been trying to distract myself by reading, however I’ve reread the last sentence at least five times.

I’m not a big drinker. While I’ve inherited a high tolerance to alcohol, I usually only have one or two drinks, rarely more than that.

But I’ve got a pretty good reason to drink right now.

I’ve got dinner with my parents.

Fuck, I’m having dinner with my parents.

The only good thing about tonight is that I’m not paying for my dinner or the espresso martinis. My mother came up with this whole dinner charade when my parents were getting divorced when I was thirteen. She wanted to keep up the idea that we were still a family, even if it looked different. It helped when I was a teenager.

Now, I dread them.

“Yeah sure, might as well have another,” I say to the bartender.

He makes me another, and I bring my lips to the rim of the glass. Before I can suck down any of the delightful coffee and alcohol concoction, a soft hand rests on my shoulder. I flinch slightly but somehow manage to not spill any of my drink.

“Aidan, honey! You’re here early. Is your father here yet?”

I swivel on the bar stool to find a short, plump woman with graying dark hair and a broad smile. Magdalene Talbot. My mother. “Hey Mags. It’s just me so far.” She insists that everyone, including me, her only child, call her Mags.

She slides onto the nearest bar stool. “Well good.” She orders a pinot grigio and then turns to me. “Now I get to catch up with my honeybee. How are you?”

I nod. “Fine. I joined a—”

“What are you guys doing here?” A smooth voice croons at my shoulder, interrupting me before I could tell Mags about my foray into local politics.

She and I swivel on our chairs to face my father. Dan Talbot. My stomach drops.

He raises his hands. “Don’t we have a table?”

“Hi Dan, we just got here early and ran into each other,” Mags says, bringing her hand back to my shoulder. Her gaze flits from my dad to me. “You know, every time I see you two, I’m struck by the fact that you look more like brothers than father and son.” The bartender slides over her glass of wine and she takes it in with her free hand.

She’s right. With the exception of his wrinkles, gray streaked hair, and lack of glasses, I look a lot like my dad. We have the same facial structure, lean build, and brown eyes. He even grew a mustache after he saw mine a few months ago. At least we differ in our clothing preferences. He leans toward tailored suits and spotless polo shirts, while I wear soft knit sweaters and wrinkled linen shirts.

Unaware of my unease, Dan gestures toward the host stand. “Shall we?” He calls over his shoulder to the bartender, “We’ll carry the drinks over to the table.” He walks off, leaving mom and I clutching our drinks.

Mags’s thumb brushes along my shoulder. “It’s just one dinner. You will live. This is good for us.”

“Is it? I’m an adult and I don’t need my parents to put on a united front,” I mutter.

Mags takes a sip of her wine. “It’s tradition.” She hands me her wine glass and hops off the bar stool. I carry her drink and mine to the corner table that Dan reserved for us.

“So, Aidan,” he begins. “How is work going?”

I can hear the criticisms that will follow. How is babysitting a bunch of teenagers? Do you regret not following in my footsteps?

I take in a breath and reply, “Fine, fine. Busy. We’re getting ready for finals in a few weeks. I’m looking forward to summer.”

He opens his mouth, and I physically cringe, steeling for the cycle to unfold itself.

“That’s nice. Any fun plans this summer?” he asks.

Wait, what did he just say?

That was a normal person’s response. This isn’t right. He’s probably going to yell at me later. This is a trick. Or a test.

I lift one shoulder, trying to hide my shock and look as nonchalant as I can. “I’m not sure yet. A lot of relaxing. I might get a summer job.”