Page 12 of Boyfriend
“Who are you?” this creature demands.
I glance at Abbi, and for the first time today, her expression shutters. Interesting.
“My name is Weston Griggs,” I say, pushing back my chair and standing again so that I can shake his hand.
He scowls, then leans over the table to shake my hand limply.
“And you are?” I ask, trying to keep my tone polite. At least one of us should be.
“This is Price, my son,” Lila says quickly. “And I see you’ve met Abbi’s young man. Price, would you fetch me a glass of ice water and whatever you want to drink?”
He doesn’t acknowledge the request. He just narrows his eyes toward our side of the table. “Abbi doesn’t have a boyfriend. She never brings anyone home.”
Abbi glances down at her plate.
“Price, sweetie, the drinks?” his mother says in a melodic voice. I wonder if she’s just saving face, or if she really can’t hear how obnoxious he is.
Whatever. I settle back in my chair. That’s the glory of visiting with strangers on Thanksgiving. None of the family drama is your family drama.
A few minutes later we’re all seated, and Dr. Ritter clears his throat. “Weston, do you mind if we join hands for a quick prayer before we dig in?”
“Not at all,” I say, offering my hand to his wife on my right. I slip my left hand into Abbi’s, and her smooth palm lands easily against mine. I give her hand a quick squeeze. It feels surprisingly natural in mine.
“Heavenly Father, we thank you for this bounty…” He launches into his prayer at a brisk pace, like a man who wants to do the right thing, but also wants to eat his turkey while it’s still hot.
I lower my eyes respectfully. But a moment later I feel Abbi stiffen beside me. And then—if I’m not mistaken—there’s a bit of violence under the table. As if a feral cat has wandered into the plush family dining room to bite Abbi’s ankles.
But I’m pretty sure there’s no cat. And when I shift my eyes to the side, Abbi’s face has reddened in anger. And she’s biting her lip so hard it might bleed.
“Amen,” says Dalton.
Not a second goes by before Abbi yanks her hand free of Price’s. She sits back in her chair, spine straight, chin held high.
But she is pissed. I barely know her and I can tell.
Our hands are still joined, so I give hers one more squeeze before letting go.
“Weston, why don’t you start the platter of turkey around?” Lila says cheerily.
“Of course.” I pick up the serving fork and turn to Abbi. “Can I serve you some?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She still looks angry. So I choose a juicy-looking slice of turkey and deliver it to her plate before serving myself. Then I pass it across to her step-stepbrother, who’s grinning evilly.
“So where did you two meet?” Dalton asks, passing a plate of dumplings in my direction.
“At work,” Abbi says smoothly. “Weston’s team comes into the Biscuit several times a week.”
“We love the Biscuit. I’m half chicken wing at this point, as Abbi knows. She keeps me from starving.”
“That’s a nice story,” Lila says sweetly.
“Abbi works so hard,” Dalton says. “I’m glad that job brought her something good. She works so many hours just to afford that cramped little apartment.”
“I like my place,” Abbi says quickly. “So convenient for school. Besides, I have to put up with that job for a little longer. In a few months I’ll pass the one-year mark. Everyone who makes it a year gets a fat bonus.”
“Nice,” Lila says. “I guess I’d stick with it, too.”
“I will,” Abbi agrees. “But you know what’s crazy? The weekend bouncers get a bonus at the three-month mark.” She rolls her eyes. “There’s a lot of turnover in that job. But it doesn’t seem fair.”
