Page 80 of Calling the Shots

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Gracelyn’s shocked look, brows flying up.

Okay, so maybe I should have mentioned my given name.

But I hate it so damn much. One of the million and one reasons I left Augusta and never looked back.

Escaping my destiny, my mother always says.

More like my fate, if I stayed here.

“Hello, Dad.” I stand and clap my father on the back, noting he’s smaller and more shrunken than last time I saw him. He is getting up in years. I probably should make more of an effort to come home and spend time with my parents.

But it’s so damn painful.

“This is Gracelyn.” I motion at her and she rises, shaking my dad’s outstretched hand. He pumps her hand up and down three times, smiling broadly at her.

“Ah, yes. The girlfriend. We’ve heard a lot about you, young lady.”

Gracelyn’s cheeks tint pink and she smiles shyly at my dad.Maybe the two of them can hit it off.She’ll have an easier time with him than my mother.

“Lovely to meet you, sir.” Gracelyn nods at my father and he motions for her to sit.

“How was the trip, kids? Long?”

Good grief. My parents act like we drove down from Iowa or something.

“Not too bad, Dad. The traffic isn’t ramped up yet. Tomorrow will probably be worse.”

“Exactly why we suggested you come today. We can get in a round of golf tomorrow, then enjoy the turkey and all the fixings on Thanksgiving.”

Oh shit.They want to play golf. Of course they do. I’ll be fine, but Gracelyn has definitely never swung a club before. And now’s sure as hell not the time to start.

“I don’t know about golf, Dad….” I hedge, squeezing Gracelyn’s thigh under the table. Her leg’s trembling—this is going about as badly as I thought it would.

“Nonsense. We have the chef here all day preparing, along with the rest of the staff. Gives us plenty of time to hit the links!” Bypassing the tea service, he heads straight to the bar cart in the corner. He pours himself a healthy shot of bourbon, and I sorely wish I could fix myself a stiff drink as well.

But I’d never do that in front of my mother. At least not until the appropriate hour. My father gets away with it, after forty-five years of marriage. One of the few perks, I guess.

Me, not so much.

Gracelyn sips her tea, staying uncharacteristically silent.

“Ulysses, we heard from Emma Kate that your team’s doing well this year.” My mother locks eyes with me over her teacup, pinky outstretched like the good debutante she always was.

“They’re doing so great!” Gracelyn chimes in, smiling at me, then at my mother. My mom presses her lips together in a thin line, nodding.

“Wonderful.”

Silence as we all sip our tea, a bird chirping in the distance. The ice from my dad’s glass clinks loudly, echoing through the solarium, and I search for safe topics of conversation.

Politics, no.

Work, no.

Anything Thunder Creek, no.

Yeah, I got nothing.

Luckily, my sister bounds into the room, sneaking up behind me and wrapping me in a huge bear hug.

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