Page 37 of The Holiday Fakers
“Can we help?” I ask Erica as she brings a booster seat to the table for Martha.
She waves me away as I begin to get up. “Absolutely not, young man. You sit. We’ve got this.”
The table is set with a garland of evergreens running down the center, with sprigs of pine and cedar nestled around the bases of the candles. Flatware sparkles in the light, and the linennapkins are neatly pressed. Nothing about this looks like the low-key dinner for four we were expecting.
“Mom …” Piper says. “I thought it was just supposed to be you and Dad this evening.”
Erica ignores her, directing Hudson to the kitchen as Ethan lowers Martha onto her seat and pushes it toward the table.
“Gee, thanks,” Harper says. “Love you too.”
“You know I don’t mean it like that,” Piper replies, trying to keep her voice down as Martha leans closer to listen. “It’s just … a lot.”
“And so is this,” Ethan says, gesturing toward me and Piper as he takes his seat.
Piper stiffens beside me.
“That’s my fault,” I say. I have no idea how it’s my fault, considering this relationship was only invented a couple of days ago, so I leave it at that.
“How?” he asks, his tone deceptively calm.
I rub my free hand over my jaw, trying to buy time. “Because …”
Because I ghosted your entire family after my mom died, and needed to get away to prove I wasn’t like her or my dad? And now I’m back and fake-dating your sister just so I can land a job?
Erica bustles back into the room, leading John and Hudson, who are carrying mini lobster rolls, wine, and a cut-glass crystal jug of iced water.
“You leave him be,” she says to Ethan. “There’s plenty of time for explanations. I’ve got my whole family with me, and that’s all that matters.”
“You want some wine, son?” John asks me.
My hand covers the top of the glass a little too quickly and I feel people’s eyes on me. “Just water, thank you.”
He moves on without acknowledging my choice, and I’m glad. I have no idea how much they’ve followed my life since I left Hideaway, or what they know. Our first meal together is not the time to spill the dirt, especially not with Martha here.
My mouth waters as the lobster rolls are passed around. I’ve eaten some of the best food in the world at the most exclusive and expensive restaurants, but nothing compares to the food at the Locke house. Yeah, I know it’s a cliché, but food made with love just can’t be beat.
“You okay with this, Brody?” Erica asks. “You’re not on a special diet?”
Piper stops moving beside me, and I glance around the table, noting who else reacts. Harper and Hudson’s expressions haven’t changed, and Ethan’s is inscrutable.
This is the part of fame I hate most. Waiting for someone to bring up your public fuck-ups like it’s the only thing you want to talk about.
“No,” I reply. “I eat everything.”
I try and force my heart to calm but it’s not listening. I need to man the fuck up. Say the words that are filling my chest.
“I want to apologize … for running away … and?—”
Erica leans across Piper and touches my arm. “You don’t need to do that, honey.”
My jaw is clenched so hard I can hardly get the words out. “I do.” My voice is gruff, with the kind of emotion actors wish they could access on demand.
“Son—”
That nearly breaks me. John Locke was the father I always wanted, not the deadbeat dad I got.
“I do,” I repeat, a little forcefully. “There are a thousand reasons why I left Hideaway and didn’t return, but it was the biggest mistake of my life. I can’t take it back. I can’t change—” Martha’s enormous blue eyes are wide, taking in every word. “Even though I would do anything?—”
