Page 52 of The Relationship Clause

Dad nods and smiles, then goes back to sipping his wine.

“But you don’t like that he travels so much.” I say the words softly, tentatively, not sure how she’ll react.

Junie’s eyes widen, and she tries to force another fake smile. “Oh, no, I love that he gets to travel. It’s good for him. He’s always had a wandering spirit ever since my—I mean, ever since I was little. It’s hard sometimes, but it’s better this way.”

Junie’s words pierce my heart, not because of the words themselves, but because of the way she says them. As if she is trying to convince herself they’re true.

“I’m not good at staying in one spot for long. In all aspects of my life.”

Those were her words to me that night while we demoed her house. Is this part of the reason? I noticed she didn’t mention anything about her mom. Where does she fit in this picture?

Dad, of course, changes the subject completely and starts asking Junie about whether or not she’s ever been to Italy. The conversation flows easily as we get out dessert since Junie seems eager to change the subject anyway, but I can’t join in. I’m chewing on my thoughts the same way I’d chew on a hangnail. Soon, my mind feels a little red and raw.

I wish I could ask Junie more about her dad, more about her conversation with him. I wish I could hold her close and soothe away those tiny, little, anxious lines that have formed beside her eyes.

But I’m her boss. We signed a contract. She’s focusing on her career, and I shouldn’t do anything to mess that up. I don’t even want a relationship.

And yet…

“That was delicious,” Dad says, dropping his spoon into his ramekin and licking his lips. His words are slurred as he pats his pockets looking for something. “I’m glad we were able to do this tonight, but I must be going. Junie, you’re a lovely woman.”

“You’re not planning on driving tonight, are you, Dad?” I ask, standing and preparing for a fight. I’ll wrestle his keys away from him if I have to. It’s definitely happened before.

“No, no. I’m looking for my phone so I can call a ride. Have you seen my—Ah, thank you, Junie.” He taps on his phone for a minute, then holds it out proudly. “See? I’m not driving drunk.”

“Yes, Dad. Good for you.” Clearly, the alcohol has made him a docile drunk tonight instead of his usual rowdy drunk. I still don’t like it, but it’s a welcome change. Junie’s effect as well? Or maybe it’s because he’s drinking only wine and not another type of alcohol. Either way, I’m grateful, happy even, to see him go like this of his own accord.

“I should get going too,” Junie says, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Oh.” Not quite as happy about her leaving.

“Well, go on. Give her a kiss,” Dad says out of nowhere.

“What?” I barely choke out that syllable. He’s drunk. Obviously, this is the wine talking. His eyes are bright, and he’s swaying a bit as he stands. But he looks serious about his words.

“I said, kiss ‘er.” Dad swipes at his mouth noisily. “I’m not blind. You two say yer a couple, but I don’ think you touched each other once since she stepped foot in here. Wasupwidat?”

My pulse is suddenly rushing in my ears. I kind of thought Dad wouldn’t notice something like that, but he clearly did. And now he’s turning into that loud, obnoxious drunk I hate so much. But I guess he was always there, it was just taking him a little longer to come out this time.

“Dad, this isn’t appropriate. I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Excuse me?” Dad’s face reddens like a beet. Crap. Loud, obnoxious drunk is going to turn into angry drunk if we’re not careful. “I’m the parent here, Owen. I think I know when I’ve had too much to drink.”

“Okay, Dad. Fine. Whatever you say.”

Now please go home. Please forget about—

“What’s the big deal? I’m trying to break the ice. You two are so uptight. Loosen up. Just kiss her.”

“Dad, no. I’m not going to—”

“Kiss her!”

“Dad!”

“It’s okay, Owen.” Junie’s voice, small and breathless, barely catches my attention through my anger. She’s somehow crept up to my side, inches away, looking anxiously between Dad and me. “Kiss me,” she says simply.

Those two words dislodge something inside me. As if a giant iceberg was hanging on to the edge of a cliff, but someone took an icepick to it and sent it plunging into the freezing, churning ocean below. It’s like I’ve had the desire to kiss her for a while now, but never gave myself permission to acknowledge it.

---