Page 26 of Boyfriend
It’s objectively a nice party. And I thaw a little when my sister flounces over with a happy smile and offers her hand to Abbi. “So you’re Weston’s date for Christmas! I’ve been dying to meet the woman who would voluntarily put up with him over the holidays.”
“I’m getting that a lot,” Abbi says cheerfully. “Congratulations on your engagement.”
“Thank you!” My sister’s eyes dance. “Let’s get you both a drink. There’s, um, a special one named after me. But we also have beer, wine, and soda. And lots of food.”
“Don’t worry about us,” I tell my sister, folding her into a hug. “Just enjoy your party while it’s going smoothly.”
“Don’t jinx me.” She sneaks a nervous look toward my father, who has planted himself at the precise opposite end of the room as his brother. Dad is standing there, hands jammed in his pockets, looking vexed. “I was kind of hoping he’d sit this out if it made him so uncomfortable.”
“He’s stubborn,” I whisper.
“I noticed.”
“Don’t worry about him,” I say, squeezing my sister’s arm. “Abbi and I will corner him and tell him bad jokes until he gets bored enough to leave.”
“I knew I could count on you.” Lauren sneaks another look toward Dad. “I just wish I didn’t have to.”
* * *
Abbi and I get some food, and I bring a plate to Dad. I also bring him a beer.
Then I forget about him for a few minutes and introduce Abbi to my extended family. First there’s my mom. “Weston! Hello, lovely boy! And you brought a date to meet your family! This is like a Christmas miracle.”
Abbi gives me a helpless look before she’s swept up into a hug by my mother.
Yikes. I’m going to owe Abbi after this, no matter who wins our bet. My fake girlfriend is gracious about all this weird attention, though. She chats politely with my mom and takes it all in stride.
Then I introduce her to Aunt Mercedes and a bunch of my cousins. They’re all like Switzerland, somehow staying neutral in World War Griggs.
The last person I introduce Abbi to is Uncle Jerry. He’s set up his mixology table at one end of the room, with a signboard propped onto the table announcing the night’s special cocktail: The Lauren.
“What’s in The Lauren?” Abbi asks gamely.
“I’m so glad you asked,” Jerry says, dropping ice into his pretentious crystal shaker with the titanium lid. “Kentucky bourbon, fresh Meyer lemon juice, simple syrup, and a float of red wine.”
“Isn’t all bourbon from Kentucky?” Abbi asks. And I have to hold back my snicker.
“Smart girl,” Jerry says with a cheesy smile. “Not everybody knows that. This is a special bourbon, too—Knob Creek Reserve. Very round-flavored, with notes of plum and caramel.”
Abbi indulges him, watching as he squeezes the lemons and shakes up the juice with syrup and bourbon.
Meanwhile, my dad glowers at us from across the room. He can’t stand it that I’m standing this close to my stepfuncle.
Jerry pours the mixture over ice. “And now for the grand finale,” he says, lifting a bottle of wine with a flourish. “Watch this.” He holds a spoon inverted over Abbi’s glass and pours an ounce or two of the red liquid into the golden cocktail. “The wine is suspended there, like a cloud,” he says.
“Cool,” Abbi says convincingly. “So I shouldn’t stir it?”
“No! It’s meant to look just like this—with the red floating on top. It’s my signature technique.”
“Ah, it’s beautiful!” Abbi says while I try not to roll my eyes. She takes a careful sip and pronounces it delicious.
I can almost hear my father grinding his teeth from twenty feet away. And when I next glance at him, he’s pouring himself a glass of bourbon straight from a bottle. Neat. And not a small amount.
I’ve got a bad feeling about where this night is headed. And it’s only eight o’clock.
* * *
For the next hour I try to humor my dad. I really try. And so do my aunt, my sister, and Abbi, who’s a champ.
