Page 99 of The Thought of You

“I’m going to eat—I’m starving,” I say over my shoulder.

chapter

thirty-one

ADDIE

I have a million things waiting for me at home to tend to, especially since Rain practically turned my house upside down. She and her friends finally left last night, and the house is currently in shambles.

With her departure, a singed bra hung over the fireplace, several new candles lined my counter, and one of them tore down my clothesline on the back deck. Her marvelously classy friends even scared off Judd, who attempted to come by for my dryer for the hundredth time—I’ve lost count. According to Judd, a tall man in nothing but cargo shorts told him they were in the middle of an orgy.

Had I been there, I would’ve erupted like the air from a whale’s blowhole, so it was probably best that I was at the dance studio.

I turn to leave—more like, flee—when a round of laughter drifting from inside gives me pause. It lures me in like a whimsical promise of a worldwide eutopia. I could use some blissful whimsy, especially after the week I’ve had.

With a huff, I shove my hands into the pockets of my peacoat and storm inside, following the muffled voices into the dining room like it’s the freaking yellow brick road.

The heels of my boots thudding across the wooden floors slows as I reach my destination.

The pearl color of the walls gives the illusion of a larger room than what it is, especially with the sparse décor. There are only a few pictures of Owen’s family on one side, a window framed with pale green curtains, and a leafy plant in the corner. The arched entrance from the kitchen is high, and it makes me feel small.

As do all the eyes staring back at me.

Everyone’s here—his parents, three sisters, his baby nephew, and Owen. I didn’t want to believe they were actually all here, but they are. My perfect vision doesn’t lie.

This is a mistake!

“Hi there.” Owen’s mom is the first to smile, and it’s a warm, comforting one that immediately puts me at ease. It’s one I’ve never seen my own mother wear.

“Hi,” I practically squeak.

I’ve stood in front of classroom after classroom of teenagers for years. I’ve given countless speeches and introductions at dance recitals and pep rallies, and I’ve even completed a few presentations for the school board too.

I never shy away from the pressure of an audience, but nothing compares to this moment.

A pool of sweat doubles in size at my lower back, and my stomach tightens.

Owen’s mom scoots her chair back and waves me over. “Come on in, and take a seat, darlin’.”

I find Owen stuffing a forkful of lasagna into his gargantuan mouth as he stares back at me. I’ve never seen anyone look so smug while eating, but he accomplishes it far too easily.

“This is Addie.” He points his fork in my direction, then waves it over the rest of the table. “That’s our father, Bill, and our mother, Dorothy. These are my sisters, Whitney, Lottie, and Laurel, and the stud on the end is Huck.”

“It’s nice to meet you all. I’m so sorry to intrude,” I say, managing to find my voice through the panic seizing my chest. “You’ve already started eating, and I’m being rude. I didn’t even bring a covered dish or a bottle of wine—I don’t know if any of you like wine or drink alcohol at all,” I ramble. “I don’t have a gift, either.”

“We don’t need any gifts. We’re just happy for you to join us.” Mrs. Conrad throws her arm over my shoulders and leads me to the empty seat between her and Owen.

“Is it not someone’s birthday? Or another special occasion, perhaps?” I glance around the room. There are no decorations, cake, or any other indication of a party, but why else would the whole family gather around this enormous oak dining table on a weeknight?

“No,” Whitney says, but the simple syllable ends on a high note like it’s a question. She shakes her head slowly, as if she’s unsure of a special occasion.

“We get together once a week or so for a family dinner.” The one across from me, Laurel, shrugs, like this is normal.

They all rearrange their schedules and get together that often… just because? I thought this sort of thing only happened with fake families on TV.

“But I can’t make it next week,” Laurel says to the rest of the group. “I have to get more serious about studying for Step 1 this spring.”

“You’re studying for something that’s not until spring?” Whitney gapes. “I didn’t even start studying for midterms last week until the night before!”

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