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When the doorbell rang at three, I jumped to my feet and went to answer it. My heart did a little flip when I opened it and saw Brett’s smirking face, and I nearly melted when his eyes fell to my feet and slowly traveled upward.
The way he looked at me, I couldn’t remember Zak ever looking at me. It was like I was exactly what he was craving at any given moment, and he wore the desire right there on his face.
Had he always looked at me like that, or had things changed?
Brett said, “Hello, Charlie. Gonna invite me in?” He still wore that smile, but unlike when I’d first met him, it didn’t bother me. When he smiled at me, it felt more genuine. Maybe that was stupid.
It took me a second to remember his fake name. “Ian. Come in, come in.” It hadn’t started raining yet, but it would—which would mean I’d have to fake driving him home, something I was fine with.
My parents poked their heads out of the kitchen as he came inside the house. “Ian,” my mom beamed, giving him a warm smile. She came over and hugged him. “So good to see you again. I’m so glad you could make it.” Her blond hair was pulled back in a clip, a few stray wisps framing her face. She wore a sun dress even though it wasn’t a particularly sunny day.
“How could I miss it, when Charlie said it was all for me?” Brett spoke with a smile, shooting me a look as my mom ended the hug.
“Oh, well, I wouldn’t say today is all about you, but—”
My dad came over. “We just want to get to know you better, son. I’m sure you can understand that.” He’d never called Zak son, so I wasn’t sure if he was trying to insult Brett or what. He did lean toward the window to glance outside. “You walked again? Even with rain on the way?”
“Exercise” was Brett’s response to that, which made my dad harrumph and my mom giggle.
“What would you like to drink, Ian?” My mom listed off a few different kinds of pops, along with beer and bottled water while my dad went back to meal prep. He opted for a water, and after my mom fetched him a bottle, she shooed us into the living room, telling us, “Have a seat. Turn on the TV. Claire and Tyler should be here soon.” When she smiled, I could tell it was strained.
I took Brett’s free hand and led him into the living room, and we sat on the couch together. I flipped the TV on, mostly for background noise—and because I wanted to see if Brett sensed anything wrong.
Thankfully, he spoke first, “Is it just me, or—”
I shook my head. “No, it’s not just you. Something’s been off all weekend, and I don’t know why.” My eyes fell to the water bottle he held on top of his knee. “I overheard them talking about something Friday night, but I couldn’t tell what it was about. I tried asking, but she pretended everything’s fine.”
And then it hit me, and my stare widened as I stared into Brett’s deep blue eyes. It didn’t dawn on Brett, because his brow furrowed and he asked, “What? What is it? Is there something on my face?” He set the water on the side table and went to rub his jaw, which held some light stubble, for once—he couldn’t come to the house and shave before this.
My voice came out low, so low even I had trouble hearing myself, “What if they know?”
“Know what?”
I shushed him, threw a glance over my shoulder at the archway that led to the hall. It’s where my parents would be if they were coming in. There was no way to make sure they weren’t standing in the hall, just around the corner, eavesdropping like I’d done Friday night.
Leaning closer to Brett, I whispered, “What if they know who you are?”
Brett smiled and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, hugging me closer to him. “They already know I’m your boyfriend, Charlie. Calm down.” His hand rubbed my arm as he repeated, “Calm down. Everything’s fine.”
I itched. I wanted to sink back in this couch and disappear. What if this was some kind of intervention? But, no, that wouldn’t make sense. My parents wouldn’t cook for an intervention, and I doubted they’d invite Brett here just so they could interrogate him and try to break us up because they didn’t approve.
I just didn’t get it.
My mom joined us after a while, a glass of ice tea in her hand. She sat on one of the kitchen chairs she’d brought in earlier, near us. Brett lifted his arm and stopped hugging me to him, but not before she saw.
“So, Ian,” she started, pausing to take a long sip from her glass. “We didn’t really get to hear much last time.” Which was a lie, and we all knew it, because as soon as he showed his face, everyone forgot about my sister’s new engagement and took turns jumping down Brett’s throat. “What exactly do you do?”
Brett glanced at me, and then at my mom. “I’m a contractor. I do a lot of work, but my main job is concrete pours.”
“Oh, wow. That must be a rough job.” She feigned interest. It didn’t take a psychic to know she wasn’t interested at all in what Brett did—or anything about him, for that matter. He was too old for me, and therefore she’d written him off instantly.
And he wasn’t Zak. No one would ever live up to Zak.
I listened, joining in when necessary. My mom’s focus was on Brett, so it was easy to sit there and wonder what all of this was about. Did she know who he was? I doubted she’d be sitting there, having this conversation if she knew the things he’d done.
So then what did she and Dad talk about?
My dad joined us after a while, and he took up his normal rocker and leaned forward, an intense look on his face as he stared at us from across the room. Mom and Brett were in the middle of discussing his formal education—which, hint, wasn’t anything, but the original lie was that we’d met on campus—when he asked, “Do you normally go for girls young enough to be your daughter, Ian?”
