A Father's Name(54)

“Oh, yeah? Does the idea of the Matthews thinking of you as a son freak you out?”

He stood back up and didn’t answer.

“Ha. I knew I was right. And they’ve probably asked you to call them something less formal than Mr. and Mrs. Matthews. At the very least, by their first names, but I bet even if you’ve tried it, you’ve always reverted to Mr. and Mrs. Matthews. It’s a way of maintaining distance. Emotional distance,” she added, in case he didn’t get her drift.

“Okay, Freud. Thanks for the analytical help, but maybe we could put away your couch this evening and simply enjoy ourselves?”

He started to walk away, and because talking to him hadn’t made her feel less dark and dangerous—if anything it had only made her mood worse— Tucker called out, “Before I put away my therapist’s couch, maybe you should ask yourself why, when you’ve done your best to maintain some distance with the Matthews all these years, you can’t seem to manage it with me. I mean, you’ve talked about keeping things casual between us, but still insist on calling me Angelina, or Angel, rather than Tucker. That doesn’t seem like maintaining distance at all—no matter what you say.”

His spine was stiff, but he didn’t turn around. He kept on walking out the door, which he slammed shut.

Good. She hoped she upset him.

She’d been in a mood since the Matthews came to town and he hadn’t needed her for Jace.

No, if she were honest, she’d been in a mood since their last fight when she pushed and prodded him, hoping to prove to him he wasn’t his father.

He didn’t believe her.

She sat in her office, staring at the sketch book. Rather than thinking about her job, she started thinking about dinner. A picnic, that was casual. As for the Matthews—she didn’t have a clue what to wear that was dressy enough, without being too dressy. She knew this particular T-shirt wasn’t it.

She picked up her cell phone and texted Eli. SOS. Need help picking out outfit for a picnic @ Tyler’s aft wrk. Meeting the parents.

Half an hour later, probably during a break between classes, Eli texted back. Don’t sweat. Will be there soon.



Feeling better, Tucker bent down to her sketch book and got to work.

Her mood was brighter. After all, she didn’t have to cook tonight, she’d be seeing Jace, who she’d missed desperately, and Tyler was having her meet his surrogate parents.

All things considered, that wasn’t too bad.



TUCKER TUGGED THE HEM of her sundress and glared at her sandals.

Asking Eli for help had been a mistake. Eli asking Laura for help helping Tucker only compounded the mistake. Laura had swung by the Millcreek Mall before heading out to Whedon with a new outfit for Tucker.

Then the two of them had done vile things. Torturous things. Things that they insisted had to be done in order to wear sandals.

Tucker had seen the nail-polish and files, and had thought they’d planned on simply painting her nails. It wasn’t her favorite thing in the world, but she’d done it before.

But no. They’d done a pedicure. They’d clipped, filed and buffed, then painted her toenails.

She wiggled her toes as she got out of the car and cursed herself for asking for help.

She should have simply come in her T-shirt, jeans and workboots. She had the perfect T-shirt even. Lace is fine, but black T-shirts help hide the grease stains.



Yeah, she should have worn that one. But once she’d made the call and her friends had gone to all that trouble, she had no choice but wear the stupid dress.

No, not dress. Eli assured her that a dress would have been too fancy. A sundress was a step up from jeans and was very appropriate for a picnic.

What the hell had she been thinking asking her friends for help? Not that she needed to ask. She knew. She’d been thinking she wanted the Matthews to like her, and she’d worried that they wouldn’t be comfortable with their grandson spending so much time with a work-boot wearing, glorified mechanic with a paintbrush.

Lou spotted her first and was wise enough not to say anything. He simply smiled in such a way that she knew he’d noticed she’d spruced up. He nudged Joe, who also smiled. Being married had given Joe an inner-censor on what to say and more specifically, when to say nothing at all.

Then North turned around.

North did not not have an inner censor. And he was far enough away that Lou and Joe couldn’t serve as an outer censor for him as he whistled, long and low. “Wow, Boss, you clean up good. Why if I didn’t work for you, I’d date you.”