Page 51 of The Relationship Clause

“I don’t think he heard you,” Kiera says, smirking. “His mind is clearly distracted by other things.”

Understatement of my life. I wasn’t simply distracted. I was in full-blown daydream mode. My eyes flick to Junie who’s looking a little flustered herself. Heat explodes up my neck as if she somehow read my previous thoughts.

I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”

But whatever it was, I don’t find out because Junie’s phone rings. “Oh, um, sorry guys. I need to take this.” She gets up and moves to the kitchen.

“Dad,” I hiss as soon as she’s out of earshot. “You mind taking it easy on the wine tonight?”

“Yeah, seriously, Dad. Slow down,” Kiera says.

“Pssh, come on,” Dad says, his words already sounding sluggish as he pours himself another glass. “Your mother isn’t here. I can drink as much as I want, whenever I want.”

I roll my eyes. Great. Now we’re going to have to figure out a way to get Dad to stop drinking before he gets totally sloshed and ruins the night for everyone. I glance at Kiera, ready to convey telepathically what we need to do to keep the worst from happening, but instead of finding my sister ready to conspire, she’s gathering her purse and keys.

“Kiera? What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m so sorry, but I got a text from my roommate.” She waves her phone around as if to prove it. “She’s locked out of the apartment, so I need to run home.”

“What? No, you can’t—”

“Owen, I’m sorry, but my hands are tied.”

“What about dinner? Dessert?” I nod pointedly at dad who’s finishing off the glass he poured just minutes ago.

“Umm…” Kiera looks uneasy then shrugs. “I’m sorry, Owen, but I can’t leave my roommate locked out until who knows when. I have complete faith in your ability to handle dinner on your own. And as for dessert…” She hops into the kitchen and grabs a ramekin of crème brûlée. “I’ll take it to go. Thanks for the food. Tell Junie bye for me. Bye, Dad!” And she’s gone.

Ugh. I’m going to get her back for this one day.

I’m thinking of how I’ll get my revenge when Junie’s one-sided conversation catches my attention.

“I thought you said you’d be coming back to the States after you finished climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. I wanted us to have lunch together, remember?”

I don’t need to see Junie’s face to know how she’s feeling. Disappointment colors her voice.

“Yeah, I know… Right… That does sound like a good opportunity… No, you shouldn’t pass it up. I’ll be fine… Yeah, we’ll get together when you’re done. Give me a call when you’re wrapping up… Uh-huh… Okay… Love you too, Dad… Okay, bye.”

It’s a couple of minutes before she rejoins us at the table, and when she does, she’s got a smile on that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. Was she crying?

“Everything okay?” I ask

“Mm-hmm. Fine. Where’s Kiera?”

“She had to help her roommate with something. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“She said she’s fine,” Dad says, waving. “Couldn’t help overhearing you talking to your father. What does he do for a living?”

Ugh. I want to shove him. Junie is clearly not “fine.” Any guy who’s spent any amount of time with a woman knows when she says she’s “fine,” what she means is that she’s the complete opposite. Dad should know that, considering the fact that Mom used the term on an almost daily basis. I picked up on that at an early age, and I swear, it’s saved me more times than I can count, whether it was with Kiera, in the workplace, or with a woman I was interested in.

Fine almost never means fine.

No wonder my Dad ended up divorced.

“He’s a travel writer,” Junie says, pushing her potatoes around her plate.

“Really?” Dad shoves away from the table, grabbing his glass with one hand and massaging his gut with the other. The absolute picture of disgusting. “That sounds like an exciting job.”

She makes a tiny snorting noise. “Yeah. Exciting.”

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