Page 73 of Shutout
“Mr. Tatum.”
This is a drastically different welcoming compared to Liv’s family. I can’t help but snorting.
But before Dad remarks on the gesture, Lauren glides out of the kitchen in a knit dress that I’m sure is something out of a catalogue. She holds onto Dad’s arm while offering a polite smile. “So happy to see you guys together again.”
“Hi, Lauren,” I say back, amiably enough. “Food smells good. Thank you for having us.”
Liv squeezes my hand. She knows I’m never this flat with anyone, but it’s no wonder family’s the most faded line in my tattoo. My connection to the Tatum’s is just as thin.
“You’re so welcome. Would you like something to drink while we wait for the turkey?”
“Give him the same as Lee,” Dad tells her. “He’s still not an adult yet.”
“Milk it is.” Lauren gives us another perfect housewife smile. “And you, Olivia? Milk too?”
“I’m lactose intolerant,” my best friend responds with the most deadpanned tone of voice that almost makes me laugh. With how many times Liv has been over, Lauren and my dad should remember about her allergies and intolerances very clearly.
Brimming with sarcasm, I add, “Wow, Dad. I’m surprised you remember my age.”
His scowl grows deeper. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” To my step-mother, I mumble, “Aside from water, do you have anything Liv could drink?”
“Well, I didn’t know she was coming so…” Lauren blinks as she thinks. “How about chamomile tea?”
“Perfect, thank you.” Liv’s back to cold blooded politeness.
“You got it.” The older woman turns back into the kitchen, but Dad’s still blocking the hallway.
I motion at his tight stance. “Does that mean we’re not welcome to sit, or…?”
“No, of course. I—” He cuts himself off and waves us into the kitchen.
Liv and I take adjacent barstools and Lauren sets a glass of milk in front of me. If there were any cookies around, it wouldn’t annoy me so much. She busies herself with boiling some water in a kettle while Dad starts or resumes sharpening his carving knife. I don’t know if that’s what he was doing when we arrived, or if this is for show.
What I do know is that my sanity’s best preserved in this house by volunteering as little words as possible. It’s not like I’m a complete stranger, even though they treat me like one. Lauren’s one of those country club women whose worlds have to be perfect, and that’s the entire opposite of what happens when Dad and I talk. So we just don’t talk for her sake. And that’s also probably why Dad forgets to invite me to things.
Then he gets mad when I don’t show up because that’s the real issue. Whatever I do, he’s not going to be happy with it. It’s why growing up, the only one I could be my full goofy ass self with was Liv. Here, I had to act like a cardboard cutout of myself.
Luckily for me, Liv hasn’t let go of my hand for a second.
Unluckily, Lauren notices this as she sets a steaming mug of chamomile tea in front of Liv. “So, you guys finally became an item?”
Dad stops moving to turn his stare on me, disapproval dialing up by the second. “I thought you were focusing on hockey.”
What would he know about what I do with my life?
Instead, I say, “I am.”
“Congratulations, you guys,” Lauren chimes, her back turned to us as she stirs something in a pot on the stove.
“Uh.”
Liv and I turn to each other. Her expression’s asking me if we should tell them we’re not really a couple. Mine’s telling her that they don’t actually care, and the less we engage the faster we can beat it out of here and head back to campus. Liv shrugs, and we remain silent.
“How’s hockey?” Dad asks offhand, grunting as the knife catches on the sharpener.
“Hockey’s great.”
