Page 90 of Hate Notes

The scent of turkey and something savory drifted toward us, making my stomach growl. Suddenly, I was grateful not to be in our tiny kitchen with an empty seat at the table—my mother’s spot—eating a subpar meal prepared by my father and me.

Dad must’ve felt the same because I could practically see the tension melt from his face as Topher’s mother headed for him with a smile, and he said, “For the hostess.” He handed her the flowers, then added, “Whatever you’re preparing smells amazing.”

“These are beautiful.” Mrs. Elliot smiled down at the flowers, then gestured around her. “Welcome to our home. I’m so glad the three of you could make it.” Her gaze flickered to my sister. “Hi, Sara. It’s good to see you again.”

Shortly after homecoming, I’d taken Sara to one of Topher’s water polo games and instantly regretted it. All she did was talk the entire time about how hot and cool and impressive Topher was in the water, and how lucky I was to score a jock. I, literally, wanted to die of embarrassment.

“You too.” Sara grinned. “I wanted to go to another game, but . . .” She shot me a knowing look, then turned back to Mrs. Elliot and shrugged, and I was instantly thankful she didn’t ask her any probing questions or blurt out anything rude about how huge their house was.

“Well, who knows?” Mrs. Elliot said. “Maybe Penelope will have to bring you to one of his games at Bucknell sometime. We can make it a girls weekend and have dinner afterward, maybe even stay at a hotel for the night.”

Sara’s eyes lit up like the Fourth of July and my heart squeezed. Over these past weeks, Mrs. Elliot and I had become fairly close. As soon as she realized Topher and I were serious about each other, she’d taken me in like she would a daughter, and so, to see her bring Sara into the fold made me feel a whole other level of gratitude I never thought possible.

“Really?” Sara asked, the hope in her voice palpable.

“Well, I don’t see why not. Would you like that?”

“Uh, yeah.” She nodded so hard I thought her head might fall off, and my gaze darted to Topher to gauge his reaction, but he just watched on with a crooked grin. Despite Sara’s tendency to follow him around like a puppy whenever he was near, he adored her.

“Now,” she rubbed her hands together, “everything’s almost ready. Why don’t I finish up while you guys help yourselves to a beverage? There’s a variety of soft drinks and wine, anything you’d like.” She waved them to the wet bar. “And if you need anything else, just tell Toph or P and I’m sure they can get it for you.”

Dad and Sara turned to me with a questioning glance, and I nodded. “Go on. I’ll be there in a minute.” I was dying to talk to Topher. To kiss him and hold his hand and . . .

“Hey, you.” He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist while his breath tickled my ear.

“Today will be great, right?” I asked, inhaling the scent of his skin that was allhim—deodorant and soap and the citrusy scent of his cologne. And before he could answer, he spun me around in his arms.

He placed his fingers under my chin and tipped my gaze up to his. “What are you worried about?”

“It’s not so much that I’m worried.”

He cocked his head. He knew I was lying.

“I just . . .” I bit my lip, thinking about it. “I feel bad your dad’s not going to be here. It’s his home. He’s your father. Shouldn’t he be here regardless of everything that happened?”

Only six weeks had passed since Topher told his mother about his father’s affair. Shortly after homecoming, they separated. His father got an apartment nearby, and though Topher assumed divorce was inevitable, so far, his father had surprised him. He attended weekly counseling sessions with his mother, spent more time away from the office, and had even given Topher his blessing to attend Bucknell and pursue a coaching career with the contingency that he minor in business. That way, if he ever needed a backup plan or had a change of heart, he could take over Elliot Landscaping.

Topher lifted one shoulder. “He’ll be fine. Besides, sacrificing one holiday meal so that we can host you guys isn’t too much to ask, especially so soon after everything that’s happened.”

“Still, it’s his house and—”

He silenced me with a finger over my lips. “Technically, but he also has an apartment, and he’s coming over later for leftovers. He’ll be fine. Mom wanted to have you guys and didn’t want it to be weird with him here. Plus, even though they’re trying, I don’t think she’s ready to forgive him yet. I think she’s trying to show him what he’s missing. She’s still in the “teaching him a lesson” phase of their separation.” He grimaced.

“And you’re okay with it?” I asked, my brow creasing in concern. “With him not being here, I mean.”

“As long as you’re here?” he asked, planting a tiny kiss on the top of my nose. “I’m more than okay.”

I shifted my gaze to Mrs. Elliot. She hummed as she took the turkey out of the oven. She certainly seemed happy. Then I slid my gaze to my father who meandered through the sitting room, staring up at the oil paintings, thinking how weird this must be for him. Then to Sara who was playing with a little wooden carving of the Eiffel tower. It was delicate and detailed, and it looked super expensive. Knowing Topher’s parents, it was probably hand carved and cost a mini-fortune.

My eyes widened and when Topher followed the trajectory of my gaze Sara plunked it back on the bar with a thud. One of the blades fell off, and I winced. On alert, Dad turned and shot her his best death stare.

Topher simply laughed and squeezed me tighter. “It’ll be great,” he said. “Stop worrying.”

With a sigh, I turned back to him as my father headed into the kitchen to help Topher’s mom carve the turkey and Sara took a seat at the table. Our eyes met and we must’ve been thinking the same thing—that we should take advantage of everyone’s distraction—because he dipped his head and pressed his mouth to mine. Parting my lips with his own, he kissed me until I felt the tension release from my spine and I melted into him, savoring the taste of mint on his breath when someone cleared their throat from behind us and I pulled away, feeling the heat of a blush in my cheeks.

“Dinner’s ready if you two love birds wanna take a seat,” Mrs. Elliot said, and across from her, my father rolled his eyes.

Beside me, Topher chuckled, and together, we turned around and headed toward the table that was now covered in dishes and platters heaped with food.

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