Sweet Surrendering (7 page)

My phone rang and it was my Dad, so I took it into the kitchen. Sloane didn’t mind when I talked during the movie, but I had no idea how long this call was going to last.

“Hey, Dad.” I was going to see him tomorrow for dinner, so it was a bit unusual that he was calling me and my mind went immediately to a dark place.

“Hey, Rory girl. I was just calling to make sure you were on for dinner tomorrow.” We had dinner on Sunday nights at my parents’ house every week, barring some catastrophe, and have done so since I could remember.

Something was up and I didn’t think I was going to like it.

“Is tomorrow Sunday?” I said, trying to keep my voice light.

“Is that a trick question?” Sometimes Dad had a hard time with my sarcasm. It was actually kind of fun messing with him.

“Of course I’m coming over. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh, no reason. Your mother just wanted to make sure.” Sloane was giving me a questioning look, but I waved her off. She paused the movie so she could eavesdrop.

“I’ll be there.”

“Fantastic. Well, see you tomorrow.” He hung up before I could say good-bye.

I stared at my phone for a second.

“What’s up?”

“That was my dad. He’s being really weird and shifty about dinner tomorrow, and I think I know what that means,” I said.

“Fin’s in town,” Sloane said, stating the obvious.

“Must be.”

Time for a little backstory. Fintan “Fin” Herald and I had known each other since we were in diapers and went to the same school until sophomore year when he transferred. Fin’s dad and my dad played golf, our mothers went shopping and we grew up not that far from one another. So, of course, we were destined to fall madly in love and get married and make adorable babies per both our sets of parents’ wishes.

Only problem in that charming little picture was that Fin and I . . . just . . . weren’t. I mean, I was only sixteen when Mom had forced us to try to date, but I was smart enough to know that we would never work.

“Yup, Fin must be back in town. I smell a setup.” I’d been there, done that, saw the movie, read the book, saw the crappy sequel. Besides, I hadn’t seen the guy in years. We’d somehow missed each other on breaks and during the summer, and I’d been able to weasel my way out of every other setup my mother had planned since high school. We weren’t even friends on Facebook.

“You could tell them you’re seeing someone,” Sloane suggested.

“But then they’re going to want details, and I can’t give them. You know my parents. They have been trained in interrogation techniques. I swear, those people could get anything out of anyone.”

I sighed and turned my phone off and sat back down with Sloane. I didn’t have to think about how my parents were going to pitch Fin to me as a prospective mate right now. I’d deal with it tomorrow.

“So, Fin’s back from France for a few weeks to see his parents,” Mom said just as we were starting our salads. Wow, we didn’t even get to the main course before she ambushed me. I thought I was at least going to make it that far before having to defend myself. They’d brought out the big guns and now I had to dive into a foxhole and take cover and try to think of a new strategy before the artillery shells started falling.

I got nothing.

“That’s great. I bet they’re really happy to see him.” Fin worked for his father’s PR firm and traveled all around the world to work specifically with foreign companies to help them make it in the US markets. I only knew that because Mom liked to keep me apprised of his doings.

“Maybe the two of you could catch up. I’m sure he’d love to see you,” Mom said, as subtle as an air raid.

She shared most of my looks, but I had my father’s eyes at least. Eva Clarke was one of those women who made any outfit shine. Seriously, we could put on the same thing and she would look like she was ready to stroll the runway or be in a magazine and I would look like a homeless person.

Tonight she was casual in a burgundy skirt and crisp white shirt. How that woman could eat an entire three-course dinner and not get anything on her shirt was beyond me, but I could count the times my mother had ever spilled anything on a white shirt on one hand.

Why didn’t inherit this gift?,
I asked myself as I dropped a cucumber slice down the front of my (not white) shirt and into my lap.

“Sure, maybe we will.” I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Mom hated it when I did that.

“Well, I took the liberty of giving him your new cell phone number, so expect a call from him anytime,” she said, spearing the last leaf of lettuce on her plate and popping it in her mouth.

“Mom!” I ended up dropping my fork and having to fish for it under the table. Yes, my parents had money, but they were not multiple fork people, only had a person come in once a week to clean, and there was no personal chef in sight. My parents took turns cooking, and it was actually really funny to watch when they tried to cook together.

They always ended up in a fight about tarragon vs. saffron and I was stuck in the middle and would have to decide if I’m Team Tarragon or Team Saffron. It could be exhausting.

“I haven’t seen the guy since high school. I don’t even know what he looks like.” The last time I’d seen him, he was as tall and thin as a beanpole and had braces. Not bad-looking; there was definitely potential, but he just wasn’t my type. I liked them more . . . redheaded . . .

“I thought you were friends on Facebook,” Dad finally chimed in. He always let Mom go first and then came in after with the cavalry. Time for evasive maneuvers.

“No, we aren’t. Listen, I’m kind of seeing someone.” They both stared at me, and I willed myself to pull this off. I didn’t have a backup plan. This was my one shot.

I gave myself a brief Braveheart-esque pep talk and then plunged ahead.

“Yeah, I went to the bar the other night with the girls and I met this guy there. His name is Blaine and we’ve been on a few dates. Everything is so new and that’s why I didn’t tell you.” I stopped firing and waited for the response. Mom and Dad shared one of those parent looks that you can never quite figure out and Mom dabbed her mouth with her napkin.

“I don’t see why Blaine would have any problem with you having lunch with an old friend. He’s not one of those possessive boys is he? Because I don’t want you dating someone like that.” Dad nodded his agreement.

I had to go easy, or else they’d smell my fear.

“He’s not possessive. I just . . . I don’t want to make it seem like I’m going out with a bunch of guys. Plus, have you asked if Fin is seeing anyone?” Ha! Bet they didn’t think about that.

My brief moment of victory was stomped on when Mom got up to go get the rest of the dishes for the main course of her fabulous pork chops, mashed potatoes and garlic green beans.

“For your information, Fin is not seeing anyone and I don’t think it would do any harm to have coffee with him. Just coffee, Rory.” Coffee. I was NOT “having coffee” with Fin the way I’d “had coffee” with Lucas.

“What’s so funny?” Dad got up to help her with the dishes and I started clearing the salad plates.

“Nothing.”

They both stared at me, and my defenses started crumbling. I was no match for them.

“Okay, okay. Coffee.” I waved my pitiful white flag and started treating the wounded. There were many causalities.

But then Mom was beaming and Dad was jolly and the rest of the dinner they were all glowy and happy and I’d get over it. This was what happened when you were an only child. Your parents teamed up against you.

Hopefully it would be just actual coffee with Fin and it would be boring and we would both agree never to do it again and then that would be it for at least five years.

This was the plan.

Of course, the plan only worked in my head because as soon as I walked in the door from my parents’ house, my phone rang with an unknown number. I went to my bedroom, passing a curious Sloane before I shut the door and put the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” I didn’t usually answer unknown numbers, but I figured this was probably Fin, and I was right.

“Hello, this is Fin Herald.” I almost dropped the phone. The Fin Herald I remembered did not sound like that. This guy had a deep voice. Puberty had been good to him.

“Hi, Fin, this is Rory. Wow, you didn’t waste any time.” Stupid words. Why must you come out of my mouth at the wrong time? Just because I think you, doesn’t mean I need to say you out loud.

He laughed.

“Yeah, my mother wasn’t going to let a day go by. Look, I’m really sorry about this. Not that I haven’t wondered what you’ve been up to, but I don’t want you to feel awkward about this.”

I sat down on my bed and slipped my shoes off. “So your parents ambushed you, too?”

“Something like that. They did all but strap me down in the chair and hold a gun to my head to call you and ask you to coffee. You seriously don’t have to say yes.” Huh. The guy I remembered was not this confident. Or funny.

“No, it’s fine. If we don’t do this, they’ll never get it out of their systems,” I said.

“Good point. So, um, what have you been up to since high school?”

Thus began the catch up. He loved his job and he got to travel a lot and I told him about mine and how much crap I got for having a vagina and being in the tech field and we laughed and it was like we’d been close for years. We never got along this well in high school.

“Well, it sounds like this coffee thing is going to be no problem. I think we’ve got this,” he said twenty minutes later. Sloane was probably dying on the other side of the door.

“Thank God. I was hoping I wasn’t going to have to fake a broken ankle, or park my car in a no parking zone so it gets towed on purpose.”

He paused for a minute.

“You know, that’s actually not a bad idea. Thanks for that.”

“Anytime.” We finalized the details of our coffee date for the following Wednesday. I just had one meeting in the afternoon and then I could leave early and meet him.

I hung up and set my phone down. “Well, what do you do know about that?” I said and shook my head. There was a frantic knocking at my bedroom door.

“Well?” Sloane had been camped out on the other side and now was bursting for details. Because my life was her life.

“We’re going for coffee,” I said, pushing the door open. “That’s it. He actually was kind of funny and it wasn’t too awkward, so it might not totally suck.” Sloane raised and lowered her eyebrows and I pushed past her.

“Don’t get any ideas, Miss Sloane.” Too late.

“Rory’s got her very own love triangle. God, I’m jealous.” I got a coffee cup from the cupboard, filled it with water and put it in the microwave to make some Kava tea. I needed a little something to help me sleep.

“Oh come on! Let me live vicariously,” she whined. “All I have is work and nothing else to occupy my mind. Take one for the team.”

Take what? What team was she talking about?

“Have you been sniffing too much fabric glue again?” This one time in college she’d had a project due and not enough time to sew it and had to glue a lot of the seams together and she’d gotten totally looped out on glue. I wished I had a video of it.

“It’s either this, or suffer through marathons of reality television, and not the kind you like.” Ugh, spare me.

The microwave dinged and I took my tea to my room without another word.