Page 81 of Second Chance Vacation

“Wouldn’t know. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I hear she lives in Atlanta—and you live in Atlanta…so I assumed one of you may have spoken to her.”

Hannah’s gaze shoots to me, pinning me with a stare. Do they know something? If they do, they aren’t showing it. Mom just stares at Hannah and me, awaiting a response. I’m sure we are acting weird.

“Uh—I saw her recently, actually.” I sigh, raking my fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck. I couldn’t tell you the last time my parents brought Gen up, so the timing seems…weird.

“Oh? How was that?”

“She’s good friends with Wes’s fiancee. So, I saw her on our trip.”

“Fiancee?!” My mom’s voice pitches an octave, an elated grin spread across her lips. “When did that happen?!”

“While we were in Saint-Tropez.”

“How lovely,” Mom says with a grin. Surprisingly, this causes her to drop the Gen topic. I’m relieved. Hannah seems to be, too, as I see her shoulders drop through the corner of my eye.

Our server approaches with our meals, placing them in front of each of us. Hannah, much like our mother, ordered a salad while the rest of us received a full breakfast spread. I am handed two plates, one with bacon, eggs, extra crispy hash browns, and toast. The other plate has a stack of three pancakes with a giant glob of butter on top. It looks like a dream.

Hannah begins pouring her vinaigrette onto her greens before she is pinned with a glare from Mom, a scolding expression holding Hannah in place.

“Hannah Elizabeth—”

As if instinctively, Hannah stops pouring the ramekin over her salad and sets it to the side. Despite the look of distress on her face, she doesn’t bite back. I bite into a piece of bacon, my eyes rolling back at the flavor. They burned the pork to a crisp, exactly how I liked it.

“So—Jackson. Now that you’re back in Georgia, when are you coming home to visit? This is nice and all, but Atlanta isn’t home.”

Truly, I should have seen this coming. She didn’t let down her pursuits to get me to come home the entire time I was at Duke, so it really isn’t a surprise that she’d continue the mentality.

“Soon.”

“Leave the boy alone, Linda,” Dad says, breaking his silence.

“I just miss my boy being around. It’s a mother’s curse.”

She shoots me a sad exaggerated expression in an attempt to guilt me. It’s not that I have no interest in visiting Live Oak, but my life isn’t there anymore. I pull my napkin to my lips, wiping away the fat from the bacon.

“George!” Liam’s voice carries through the restaurant as my dad jumps to his feet, embracing him in his arms with so much enthusiasm you would think he was his own son.

“Liam! I was told you wouldn’t be able to make it.”

“I had a meeting, but it got done early, so I figured I’d stop by.”

He grabs a chair from a neighboring table and slides in next to Hannah. Naturally, she pins him with a glare, but he doesn’t return it, faking civility as he smiles at our parents. He reaches over, grabbing a tomato from her salad and popping it into his mouth. She smacks his hand away to no avail.

“Hannah—” Mom scolds, shooting her a glare, which causes Hannah to put her hands in her lap without a second thought.

“What are we talking about?” Liam asks, either not noticing or not caring about the tension in the air. The loud music in the restaurant, mixed with the clanging of cutlery and plates, causes us to have to yell across the table.

“Jackson was just telling us about when he plans on coming home for a visit.” Mom perks up as she looks to me. I am neither surprised nor bothered by her insistence. Whether it happens is up in the air, but if it makes her happy, I am fine with entertaining her.

“Of course, Mom. I’ll be down soon, I promise.”

Despite this, I make no attempt to pin down a date. Liam chuckles under his breath before sliding another cherry tomato off of Hannah’s plate. He drops it back down as it clinks to the porcelain before it can make it to his mouth. His pained expression is short-lived but met with a grin from Hannah. She lifts her fork back above the table before pulling a bunch of arugula to her mouth, the smile not leaving her lips.

* * *

“On three—lift,” Wes instructs as he grips the edge of the four-poster bed frame.

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