Mr. Wrong Number(75)

Just like that, my throat was frozen and I couldn’t swallow. “Not now, Jill.”

“No, we’d like to hear all about this girl, sweetheart.” My mom was beaming at me when she said, “Your grandfather called her delightful.”

“I’m not doing this.”

My dad said, “You can’t indulge your mother this one time?”

“Damn it.”

My mom whispered, “Language, Colin.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m not seeing her anymore, so it doesn’t matter.”

Jillian mouthed, I’m sorry, and I just shrugged. My father, however, took the opportunity to make me feel like shit.

“What happened with this girl? Your grandmother thought it might be serious.”

I looked down at the linen tablecloth. “Turns out it wasn’t.”

“Who ended it?”

“Dad, I don’t think that’s any of our business.” Jillian spoke up but he ran right over her.

“Why not? We’re family.” He turned his full attention on me and said, “Tell us why you broke up.”

I needed another drink, because I could tell my father was in the mood to press it. I thought about coming up with something good, some mature, boring reason, but then I thought, Screw it. It was family, so why not be brutally honest?

“Well, we were doing the whole friends-with-benefits thing and it was really great. She’s smart and funny and a real fireball in the sack, so everything was clicking, y’know?”

“Knock it off, Colin,” my father warned, looking at the table next to ours to see if Edward Russell was eavesdropping on our table’s conversation.

“No, you said we’re family and you’re right; we are. You’re the ones I should be talking to about this.” I cleared my throat and lowered my voice. “Okay, so, we were banging it out all the time and having a great—”

“Stop it.” My dad leaned over the table and pointed at me. “Stop it right now, or this dinner is over.”

“Oh, no. Not dinner.” I grinned at Jillian, but she looked uncomfortable. “Actually, as long as we get to have those appetizers, cocktails, and karaoke, I don’t care if we ever get dinner.”

Jill couldn’t help herself. She muttered, “Still not an Applebee’s, Col.”

“Why are you doing this?” My father looked mad, but he also looked confused. “I don’t understand why you’d accept the invitation if you didn’t want to be here.”

“I was fine until you wouldn’t let the Olivia thing go.”

“Honey, are you okay?” My mom looked genuinely worried, and something about her gentle tone made me feel like a child, which I hated. “I’m so sorry things didn’t—”

“I’m fine.”

My dad said, “You don’t seem fine.”

I turned my head toward him and just wanted to lose my shit. Like flipping tables, hellbeast-roaring, tearing-things-up kinds of stuff. Because I didn’t want to talk about Olivia at all, but especially not with them. “Well, I am.”

“Get up.” My dad stood up, looked down at me, and said, “Let’s go outside.”

Now, my dad was an arrogant, pompous asshole, but he was never violent. He loved me and had always been a good father in his judgmental way. So I didn’t even know what to say as he stared me down.

“Sit down, dear,” my mom said, but my father was firm.

“Come on, Col. I’ll meet you outside.”

We all watched in disbelief as my father exited the dining room.

“Um.” Jillian leaned her elbows on the table. “Is Dad going to kick your ass?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, no.” My mother’s cheeks were red, and she looked at the other tables to make sure none of her Women’s League friends had noticed my family’s dustup. “He must want to talk to you in private.”

I looked at Jillian. “What do I do?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Go, darling.” My mother was speaking in a clipped, harsh whisper. “Go speak to him before we make a scene.”

I rolled my eyes and stood. “God forbid.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.” Jillian lifted her fists. “I’ll be your second.”

“Oh, for the love of Pete,” my mother muttered.

“I think I’ve got this, but thanks.”

I exited the dining room and went out the club’s main entrance, clueless as to what was happening. I still had a buzz, so the entire situation was kind of amusing, but bubbling underneath it all was that part of me that wanted to destroy everyone who dared to mention Olivia’s name.

“Over here.” My dad was leaning against his Mercedes, looking down at his phone as if he were just chilling in the parking lot.

“What’s the deal here, Dad?” Just like that, I was done playing games. I needed to get out of there and go home, to the apartment that’d become a cold, sterile reminder of Olivia, before I lost it. “Let’s not go crazy and throw hands in the parking lot of the fucking club; I’ll just leave now.”

He put his phone in his pocket and scowled at me. “I want to talk without your mother stepping in to baby you.”