Page 89 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
“Chloe.” Epic took the visit like a punch to the gut. “I wish I’d known you planned on coming down.”
“This is long overdue.”
The driver’s side door opened, and a man I assumed was Epic’s father got out. He wore designer jeans and a billowy sort of shirt with a sweater vest. Though he had a full head of hair, the ponytail he wore made him appear as if he were balding. He wore sunglasses. His smile was bland and magnanimous.Good cop, bad cop.Christ, Epic’s parents were only a few years older than me.
They took their time retrieving three massive suitcases from the trunk of their car. Each of them rolled one up to the porch and his dad went back for the third.
“Where are your manners, Robert?” demanded Chloe. “Introduce us to your friend.”
Epic cleared his throat. “Ryan Winslow, may I present my mother and father, Chloe and Steven Alsop-Gray.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” I shook Steven’s hand. When it came time to exchange a handshake with Chloe, she placed her hand behind her back. Oh, we were off to a solid start.
“So, you’re Robert’s…?” Steven seemed to run out of steam.
Chloe was much more direct. “How do you know our son?”
Biblically.“He recently helped me out of a jam.”
“Is that so?” Chloe asked. “What kind of a jam would you need a twenty-three-year-old waiter to help you out of, I wonder?”
“I went as the plus-one to his ex’s wedding,” Epic answered truthfully. “His original date cancelled at the last minute.”
“Ah. The wedding must be the source of all the pictures from Santa Barbara.”
“Exactly.” Epic locked the door to his place behind him. “As you know, my apartment is very small, and I have a roommate. Where will you be staying?”
“We’re not staying.”
Epic looked pointedly at the suitcases. “You’re a little overpacked for a day trip.”
Chloe narrowed her eyes. “They’re empty, dear. We brought them so you could pack your things.”
“Me? What…?” He blanched.
“I’ll help, of course.”
“No way, Chloe.” Epic’s weary voice indicated long-term frustration. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I can see you’re headed out right now,” said Steven. “We’ll leave the suitcases and meet back here when you have time. Are you working tonight?”
“At five.” Epic looked at a spot in the distance, not at the man and woman who’d raised him.
“So we’ll have time to talk if we come at three?” Steven pressed.
“I guess.”
Family dynamics box you in young and keep you trapped for a lifetime if you let them. Just like that, the decisive, confident Epic I knew became petulant Master Robert before my eyes. Could Epic break out of the role they’d assigned him? It shouldn't have mattered to me, but it did.
“Where are you headed?” asked Chloe.
Epic glanced at the things he carried—blanket, umbrella, kites—and said, “The British Museum.”
His mother gave a long-suffering sigh as we passed them on our way to the sidewalk. For my part, I vacillated between whether to say something more or leave things at that. I could think of nothing besides apologizing for my presence in Epic’s life, defending myself, or promising to go away and never come back, so I stayed silent.
We got a little way down the street before we heard the Lexus’s doors open and close. The engine started. The car slid slowly past us with his parents staring straight ahead inside it.
“Awkward doesn’t begin to cover that,” Epic said. “I’m so sorry.”
