Page 34 of The One I Want
“What? Come on, you had to think it too.”
“I would never,” she huffs, digging back into the three bite-sized portions of food she allowed for herself today.
“So Betsy,” Dad says. “How is your new town? Things still going well with Whitley?”
I reach for my glass of water, needing to take a few drinks to figure out exactly how I’m going to answer this.
Because I haven’t told my parents that I’m now working for Wes.
In my defense, the only time I’ve talked to either of them in the past week was when Mom texted me that she was hoping I could make it for Thanksgiving. I know my mom well enough to know that was more than a request.
I want to tell them. I know I need to. But all I can hear right now is my mom’s sigh of disappointment and my dad going into simultaneous lectures about how I can’t keep a job and also how this job is going to be another dead end.
So I do the only thing that I think will benefit all parties at the moment—I lie.
“It’s going great,” I say. “She’s keeping me plenty busy.”
Dad smiles. “That’s good. Any events coming up in Birmingham we can attend?”
“Nope,” I say, hopefully not too quickly. “Plus, I’m more behind the scenes. Making sure the machine stays running.”
“I get it,” Dad says with a nod. “Those behind-the-scene workers are the backbone of a good company.”
Yup. I made the right decision.
Luckily, the conversation drifts off to where my mom and dad are doing a lot of talking and I just have to sit here and listen. Good. I’m one more round of mashed potatoes and a piece of pie away from getting out of here.
Just when I hear my dad say something about a nice young man he works with that he’d like to introduce me to, I hear my cell phone buzz next to me on the table. I turn it over to see a FaceTime request from Wes.
“I have to take this,” I say, grabbing my phone and standing up.
“It is very rude to leave during dinner,” Mom says tartly.
“I’ll just be a few minutes.”
I quickly walk out of the dining room and across the hall to my dad’s study.
“Hello?”
“Betsy!”
I laugh as all three kids are yelling my name and frantically waving to me through the screen.
“Hey, you guys,” I say, the smile on my face the first genuine one I’ve had today. “How is your day so far?”
“Great!” Hank says. “We watched Dad and Uncle Oliver and Uncle Shane run a turkey trot.”
“Wow,” I say, not realizing that Wes was a runner. “Did they win?”
“No,” Emerson says with a snort. “They’re old.”
“Hey now!” Wes says. “I think I did pretty good. I beat Uncle Ollie.”
Hank turns and gives his dad the most serious look his eight-year-old self can give. “Dad. You’re a professional athlete. Uncle Ollie is a teacher. Of course you’re going to beat him.”
I laugh, loving the banter between the four of them. That is one of the things that I’ve noticed the most this past week, how much of a special, and unique, bond he has with each of the kids.
Hank might be a cool kid who loves his Potter, but he’s also a football junkie. I think the two of them talked football for an hour last night while we finished up dinner. With Emerson, he knows she’s a little more reserved, so he lets her bring the conversation to him. And more times than not she does. It’s like she knows he’s there when she’s ready.
