Page 63 of The Bad Girl List

Everyone laughs. Louise and the aunties follow Dom outside to the porch. Gramps and his gang welcome the ladies with open arms. Another deck of cards is added to the mix as more chairs are dragged around the table.

I round on my mother. “Mom, you have to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Don’t give me that innocent look. You’re not fooling anyone. Are you trying to re-enact a scene from Meet the Parents? I told Dad there isn’t anything serious between me and Dom. We just met.”

“Sure, honey.” She pats me on the cheek. “You keep telling yourself that. You may have just met, but you invited her and her family to Sunday dinner. There’s nothing casual about that. Besides, what’s wrong with Dominique’s family knowing what a catch you are?” With a look of triumph, she marches back into the kitchen to check on Annika and the caterers.

“Dude.” Thomas stands there, spinning my award plaque in his hands. “Dude.” He bursts out laughing.

I snarl and cast a look around, like I’m expecting an attack from another direction.

Nothing happens. Mom doesn’t re-emerge from the kitchen with naked baby pictures, or a picture of the award-winning steer I raised sophomore year for FFA. Thomas saunters off to oversee the dumpling fry. Dad is nowhere to be seen. The rest of my family is grabbing bottles of wine and finding seats around the table.

Some of the tension slides off my shoulders. We just might get through this dinner intact, but I know I can’t let my guard down.

I recall that Dom never got her glass of wine. I look through the selection and pick a bottle of our Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon for her to try.

On the veranda, a game of gin is in full swing. A bottle of Zinfandel is passed around. The chatter is pleasant, but it’s impossible not to miss the competitive surge that ripples through the players. Dom’s family is serious about games, apparently.

I find Dom sitting off to one side, her sketchbook in hand as she faces one of our vineyards. As my father promised, the sunset is spectacular. Colors bloom on the page under her fingers.

“I am so stressed out right now,” she says as I sit down next to her. “Drawing is the only thing keeping me together. I can’t believe I agreed to this.”

“I’m sorry about my family.”

“It’s okay.” She shakes her head. “I understand. They just want you to be happy.”

“I know, but my senior year Speedo picture?”

She laughs. “Better than naked baby pictures.”

“Try this.” I set the glass of Cab down next to her. “This is a great vintage. Swirl it first. The oxygen flow helps release the flavors in a big wine like this one.”

“Thanks.” She takes the glass by the stem and swirls it on the table. The deep ruby liquid coats the inside of the bowl, making it glow in the light of the setting sun. I make small talk about the Cab, trying to put Dom at ease.

A full twenty minutes pass without any more odd behavior from my family. My initial alarm is passing. I relax a little more, watching Dom as she sips at the wine and draws. I like that intense look she gets when she’s focused on her art.

“Dumplings!” Annika appears on the veranda, steam rising from the platter of freshly fried dumplings. In her free hand is a stack of cocktail napkins.

The old-timers fall on the dumplings like vultures, exclaiming over the tasty appetizers. Helen reveals that it’s a secret family recipe handed down for more than five generations.

“Is that true?” I ask Dom.

She nods. “Chinese families have their own dumpling recipes. Their own way of folding the dumplings, too.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“Elle’s family didn’t make dumplings?” Dom pauses, wineglass raised halfway to her lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring her up. I just saw her picture at your house and figured she was Chinese like me.”

“It’s okay to bring her up.” Normally it’s not, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel like a pickaxe to my chest when Dom does it. “Elle was adopted by an Italian family. Her parents couldn’t have children. They adopted her from China and her brother from Guatemala. They grew up making raviolis, not dumplings.”

Dom smiles. It’s the first time I noticed her dimple. How had I missed that?

“That’s awesome. That her parents adopted, I mean.”

“Yeah. They’re great people. Do you speak Chinese?”

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