Page 20 of Something that Could Last

He waves over our waiter. “More Moscato for the ladies.”

“Certainly, sir. Another for you?”

“No, thank you.”

“I'll have another,” Luke requests.

“Right away, sir.” The waiter returns shortly with another round of drinks and to take our order. I'm still unsure about what I want, so I ask to go last. When it's my turn, I glance over at Jacob and he gives me an encouraging smile.

“I'll have the sea scallops with grilled asparagus and roasted red potatoes.” I close my menu and pass it to the waiter. He assures us of ourexcellent choicesbefore walking away.

“Scallops sound good. I should have ordered some with my dinner,” Jacob adds.

“I may be so inclined to part with a few of mine in exchange for a sample of your filet,” I offer, doing my best to sound classy.

“Deal,” he agrees before popping a slice of buttered bread into his mouth.

“So, Abby, what's your story?” Luke surprises us all with his inquiry. He glances at Jacob, gauging his reaction before continuing. Jacob observes him skeptically, unsure where his line of questioning is going. “There’s got to be more to you than just waitressing and working at a zip line outfitter. Do you go to college?”

A scowl mars Jacob’s flawless features. It seems as though Luke is encroaching on his territory.Men. I mentally roll my eyes at their ridiculous behavior, yet I’m intrigued by his reaction.

“Yes, I go to college. Biology major. I’ll graduate next summer.” I hesitate, not knowing how to proceed. There isn't much more to tell, at least not that I'm willing to divulge just yet. “I have a younger brother, Ethan. He's in a band and is an amazing singer,” I add with exuberance, my voice etched with pride. Ethan and I have always been close. Sometimes we were all each other had.

“What about your parents?” Luke probes. Before I can answer, a loud thump sounds from under the table and Luke winces in pain. I turn to see Tiff staring daggers at him for asking such a direct and unknowingly insensitive question.

“Um,” I begin uncomfortably, fidgeting in my chair. “My father died when I was ten. Coal mining accident,” I add. “And my mom...uh...I haven't seen her in a few years.”

“Oh,” Luke exhales, glancing from me to Tiff, curiosity alight in his eyes. She shakes her head subtly, warning him to drop the subject.

I continue, trying to mask the sudden feeling of melancholy filling my chest. “I live with my grandmother now. She has some health problems, so I try to take care of her. She won't hardly let me, though. She's very stubborn,” I add with a smile. The circumstances that lead to me living with her are some of my most painful memories, but I’m thankful for the bond we share because of them. “I don't know if that's a Cherokee trait or if it's just her personality, but I've never met anyone more tenacious.”

“Your grandmother is Cherokee?” Jacob asks. He leans back in his seat and studies me over his glass.

“Full blooded,” I confirm with pride.

“Sothat’swhat you are!” Luke exclaims, slapping the table in realization. “I’ve been trying to figure it out.” His remark earns him another kick under the table. This time he grunts and leans down, no doubt rubbing the spot where Tiff has nailed him again with her pointy shoes.

“Luke,” Jacob warns, his voice deep and stern.

I place my hand over my mouth to suppress a giggle. They must be worried about him offending me. I'm not offended, though. I'm proud of my heritage. I don't need to hide who I am.

“Yes, my mother is half Cherokee,” I confirm. “And half Italian,” I add.

“Damn, I bet she's hot,” Luke exclaims. This time, Tiff just drops her head to the table with a loud thud. She must really be embarrassed now.

“Yes, she is quite beautiful.” At least she was the last time I saw her. I don't want to think about what the drugs have done to my once ravishing mother.

“What about your father?”

“Irish, mostly.”

“Is that where you get your green eyes?” Luke inquires. The muscles in Jacob's jaw tense and he shifts his gaze to Luke, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. He tries to hide his jealousy, but it’s there, simmering just beneath the surface.

I shrug. “Must be.” Our waiter comes out with our meal before we have a chance to further our discussion, and I'm relieved. I was worried someone would ask more questions about my mom, questions I'm not prepared to answer.

“Bon appetit,” our waiter announces once our plates are settled in front of us. The aroma wafting from each dish is mouthwatering. We all thank him before he leaves.

I dig into my scallops first and savor their taste. They've been cooked in butter and garlic, two of my favorite ingredients. An involuntary moan escapes my lips. “This tastes so good,” I proclaim.

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