Hanging On (Jessica Brodie Diaries #2)(22)

Denise pounced. “Constricting?”

Damn it! I should have stopped at the food!

Everyone was staring at me. “A bit, yes. I am from a pretty liberal culture. It’s not so much that anything goes, but I think the heavily populated parts of California tend to make more allowances for individuals. It’s more of a melting pot. Racial and sexual orientation don’t seem to be as persecuted there as it is here. I miss the sassy g*y boys.”

I could have kicked myself. It was supposed to be a joke—which a constricting culture wouldn’t find as funny. I was steering a sinking ship.

“I can see that,” Dennis said after a second.

I let a sigh slip before I could help myself.

Now everyone was staring at him. He shrugged. “I really enjoy my time in California. She’s—Jessica—is right; there is a lot more tolerance. If that was all you knew, then I would say ‘constricting’ was an excellent choice of word. Although, they starve themselves too much.”

I couldn’t stop the bark of laughter. “True. I’m not the poster child for that mentality, but they are sure skinny in L.A.. On average.”

“Too skinny! I always feel fat.” Trudy laughed. “But the sushi—yes, you have a point there!”

I went back to the wine list. “Are we looking for red or white?”

Unanimous: red.

I was let off the hook for a while. Denise, eyes never far from my face, or jewelry, or dress, or posture, or hair, couldn’t find any way to drag me back into the conversation. Until the wine came.

“Ma’am, would you like to taste?” The waiter was bent toward me.

“Oh, no, someone else can taste? If they want?” I motioned for Tom or Trudy, avoiding Denise.

“No, no,” Trudy said, giving a landing strip with her hands so the waiter knew to head my way. “She probably knows how it’s supposed to taste.”

Yeah, that was true. Do or die time. William squeezed my leg in support.

I gave the customary swirl to aerate it, threw a sniff into the glass—it wasn’t corked, I could tell by the smell, but I continued with the taste anyway. Tasted delicious. Better than I remembered.

I nodded to the waiter.

“So, Jessica, how is Gladis fairing? I hear she has set a date for a party,” Tom asked while the wine was being poured.

“She has? News to me. She’s doing well. Nearly right as rain.”

“Gladis Peek?” Dennis asked, looking between Tom and me. The waiter left the table.

“Yes, Jessica here is staying with Gladis. The two of them are thick as thieves!”

“I’d believe it! A vibrant girl such as yourself would be a great match for Gladis,” Trudy commented with a kind smile.

“She’s good to me. We hang out a lot. She hasn’t been over for my cooking nights lately because no one will let her walk that far, yet, but I make a point to visit at least once a day.”

“She lets you cook for her?” Denise said as she raised her glass.

My butt hole puckered in worry, my eyes trying to stop from watching the wine near her judgmental mouth. “Yes. It’s fun. Wine and food and chatting. Sometimes it’s as simple as a cheese plate. Sometimes I go all out and try something new.”

“Are you a good cook?” Trudy asked, sipping her wine.

“I like a woman that knows how to cook,” Dennis grinned.

“Oh shut up!” Trudy slapped him. Then froze. Her eyes dipped to her glass, her smile replaced by a straight mouth.

“This is quite good, Jessica,” Tom said, eyes searching out the bottle.

Denise was looking at the wine list, clearly thinking I spent a fortune.

“It’s a small lot winery in Healdsburg—which is Napa’s cousin,” I explained. “I didn’t think they distributed to Texas. It is actually one of the cheaper wines on the list.” I made sure I didn’t glance at Denise, even though that comment was directed solely at her. “In the winery a bottle will go for about $28 to $30. Fairly standard pricing for the smaller guys.”

Trudy’s eyes scolded Dennis, then Denise. “This is a disaster!”

Denise raised her eyebrows in a silent question and sought the wine bottle’s label.

“It isn’t good, it’s excellent! How have I not tried this before? Jessica, hand me over that wine list! It must be a new selection.”

“You probably chose it but forgot to pay attention to what it tasted like,” Dennis helped.

Trudy waved him off as if the idea was so preposterous it wasn’t worth a response. She looked over the list closely, taping her finger on a few selections and shaking her head.

“It is rather good,” Denise admonished.

William squeezed my leg again. Apparently that small admission from his mother meant I passed the test. I wondered how many tests I would encounter before the night was through. So far I was probably failing more than I was passing.

As I was finishing my delicious plate of top quality and expertly cooked filet mignon, the conversation steered toward dancing.

Thus far, I had been able to side swipe most conversation with a few well-placed comments. I was never the center of attention, I never shared too much, and consequently, I hadn’t gotten the chance to stick my foot in my mouth. Again.

That said, I also, somehow, never lost Denise’s hard stare. It didn’t matter if I wasn't a participant in the discussion, Denise watched for my subtle cues. She was like a poker player, reading my body rather than guessing at my cards. It was one of the most uncomfortable dinners I could ever remember.