Page 13 of Extra Grumpy
“And Rock. It’s nice to see you.” She holds out a hand and he shakes it.
I’m shocked at how warm and welcoming she’s being. It has to be an act, right? It feels like Rock and I are about to walk into a lion’s den.
“Thanks for having me,” Rock says, his voice even and guarded.
“It’s our pleasure. Please come in. Make yourselves comfortable.” My mom opens the door wider and steps aside for us. “Dinner is almost ready. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go check on the oven.”
My mom walks off, and Rock and I exchange looks.
“What was that?” Rock whispers to me.
“I have no idea,” I whisper back.
Rock hesitates, then asks, his voice still low, “Uh…should I be holding your hand or something?”
It’s such an innocently cute suggestion that I have to press my lips together to keep from giggling.
Rock’s own mouth forms a flat line. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“Sorry,” I say, grinning at him. “It’s a sweet suggestion. But I don’t think we need to do that.”
Rock nods, clears his throat, then takes a moment to look around at his surroundings. “Did your parents do some renovations? It seems different in here.”
“My mom’s always redecorating,” I say, a little embarrassed to admit it. It feels so excessive, her repainting and swapping out furniture just because she feels like it. It’s been years since Rock has been to my parents’ house—since the night of our senior prom, actually—and I don’t even want to think about how many redecorations my mom has been through.
The sound of the back door opening and closing is followed by my dad coming through the house. He smiles when he sees us.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says, giving me a kiss on the cheek before giving Rock a friendly but evaluative look. “So you two are an item now, huh?”
“Yep,” I say, a little lump forming in my throat from the lie.
“You can tell me the truth,” my dad says, lowering his voice. “This has been going on for a while, hasn’t it?”
I stare at my dad. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. What would ever make him think there was something going on between Rock and me?
“No, sir,” says Rock, speaking for both of us. “It’s a brand new thing.”
“Ah. Well.” My dad smiles and claps a hand on Rock’s shoulder. “Come on, son. What can I get you to drink?”
While my dad takes Rock into his study to show off his whiskey collection, I go into the kitchen to see if my mom needs help with anything. My mom mentions a bottle of wine in the fridge and I get it out to pour myself a glass and add more to hers.
“So things are going well, Emily?” she asks.
I can’t tell if she means things with Rock or life in general. Both feel like minefields right now. I haven’t told my parents about the burst pipe in my apartment. I just know my mom would freak out and try to get involved. I’d rather wait and mention it after it’s fixed. And I don’t want to have to explain that I’m staying with Rock.
“Yep,” I say. “Things are good. Although we just found out there’s a new bar opening across the street from us.”
“I see.”
It’s disappointing that she still has zero interest in the business I co-own. Given how clear they’ve made their feelings about it all, I know I shouldn’t be surprised. Still, it hurts that they’ve never come and seen the bar in person. I know it’s not their vibe, but it would mean a lot to me if they at least came and saw what Rock and I have built.
“What’s for dinner?” I ask my mom, going up to the stove and peering into one of the pots.
“Your favorite,” my mom says, smiling at me.
I breathe in the delicious smells that waft up into my nose. “Yum. I’ve been craving bolognese.”
I start setting the table, and when Rock and my dad come into the dining room, I give Rock a questioning look. He gives me a subtle shrug in return. The way my parents are acting should be a good thing, but it’s freaking me out.
