Page 61 of The Relationship Clause

“Once. When I was young.”

“Oh?”

“When I was like four or five, my parents took me to the mountains in North Carolina. We went sledding.” Her eyes stare at something far away, and I move in closer to her side. She’s speaking so softly, I don’t want to miss anything. “I remember being so excited about the snow. How it sparkled, how it crunched under my feet. My dad threw a snowball at my mom and pretended it was me. I laughed so hard, I fell over.”

“That sounds like a great memory.”

A shadow passes over her face. “Yeah. It was. Little did I know, my mom planned that trip as a last hurrah before she left me and my dad.”

Her words are like a brick slamming into my stomach at top speed. I don’t know what to say. She’s revealed this deep wound to me, and I’m not prepared. I thought I had family trauma? This is on another level.

“Junie, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“It’s okay.” She pulls away from me, forcing a smile that I’m positive is one hundred percent fake. She hits the elevator button a little too hard. “It was a long time ago, and I’m fine now.”

She wraps her arms around herself, shutting me out. But should I let her? It’s clear she doesn’t want to talk about this, but maybe if she—

“Owen! Junie!” calls a familiar voice. Of all the inconvenient, annoying…

I turn around to find my dad in all his awfully timed glory walking toward us with a beautiful woman on his arm. Of course. Of course he has a woman with him. He wouldn’t come here without some arm candy who’s closer to my age than his. That would be silly.

While I’m over here glowering at the intrusion, though, Junie seems delighted. “Mr. Ferguson, good to see you. Thanks again for inviting me.”

“Hey,” he says, pointing a finger at her. “What did I say about calling me that? Please, call me Fred.” He claps a hand on my shoulder, and I wish I could slap it off. “I thought you’d get here earlier, Son. The day’s half over. You’ve missed out on some good times on the slopes.”

“Right, well, that happens sometimes,” I say, offering no apology or explanation. I told my dad well in advance what time I planned on arriving. I don’t know why he’s acting like it’s a big deal.

There’s an awkward pause, but Junie jumps in to fill the silence. “Um, Fred, who’s your friend here?”

“Ah, how rude of me. Owen, Junie, I’d like to introduce you to the lovely Carlotta. Carlotta, this is my son, Owen, and his girlfriend, Junie.”

“Pleased to meet you,” the woman says in an accent I’m unable to place. I can’t help noticing the way Dad introduced her. “The lovely Carlotta.” No mention of whether she’s a girlfriend or not. I bet Carlotta noticed it too, because there’s a vague impression of a scowl on her otherwise smooth skin. Or maybe that’s how she always looks. She extends a delicate hand, which Junie takes.

“Well, Junie, what do you think?” Dad asks, gesturing around us.

“Oh, um, it’s beautiful.”

Dad snorts. “It ought to be for what I paid for us to stay here.” There it is. Count on Dad to bring up the cost. “Speaking of which, I’ve got reservations for us tomorrow night at Le Sommet at seven. You’re both invited, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

“We’ll be there.” I don’t say it because I want to go, more to shut him up. “If you’ll excuse us though, we’re tired of traveling, and we’d like to find our room.”

“Of course, of course, but what room did you get?” I show him our number, and his brow furrows. “Hold on, this isn’t right. This is a regular suite.”

“Dad, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I specifically requested a king suite for you. Hold on. Carlotta, baby, I’ll be right back.” He takes my card, and I sigh but don’t stop him. Sometimes it’s easier this way.

Now we’re alone with Carlotta who’s currently inspecting her nails. An uncomfortable three seconds of silence passes.

“So, um, Carlotta,” Junie says. “That’s a pretty name. Where are you from?”

“Milan,” she says without looking up. She moves on from inspecting her cuticles to swiping through something on her phone.

Junie is persistent though, and I have to admire her for trying. “How did you and Fred meet?”

Her eyes flick over Junie in a way I don’t like, as if determining whether or not she’s worthy enough to hear the answer. She sighs, turning her attention back to her screen, and tension knots in my shoulders. “We met at a show.” She points to her eyes. “You should not smile so much. You get wrinkles faster.”

Great.

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