A quick read of his expression tells me he's in a most receptive mood tonight, and the twitch of his lips suggest he's fighting a pleased smile.
"There's this guy at Bible study," I say, twirling my hair around my finger like a teenager in love, but on a twenty-two year old scale. I can't overdo this or he'll know. I release my hair and lean forward. "His name is Cortland. I've noticed him over the last few months, but I've always kept to myself, you know, because you always said it wasn't appropriate for a lady to approach a man."
He brings his hand up to his jaw, leaning back and nodding as he clings onto my words like I'm telling some gripping story.
"Anyway, he came up to me tonight as we were leaving, and asked if it would be okay if he could court me." I lift my eyebrows and force a smile so big it hurts inside and out. "He's nice, Dad. And his family is like ours."
"What does he do for a living?" My father asks, though he knows damn well. I'm sure he grilled Cortland over lunch, and I'm sure he's asked around about his family.
"His father owns a medical equipment company, and he's a traveling salesman for them. He does travel a lot, but he's hoping to be promoted someday so he can be more of a family man."
Dad's mouth curls, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. "I'd appreciate a phone call next time you're going to be late, but I'll make an exception tonight."
Hard to call when I'm not allowed to have a cell phone …
His words are stern, but he's practically beaming from every pore. He's thrilled about Cortland, which is exactly what I predicted.
My father is thrilled about the potential of Cortland and me.
My stomach sinks, and my artificial expression threatens to fade. I can't let it. All the strength I have goes into putting on a happy face. "Do you want to meet him? I can bring him over sometime."
The thought of Cortland sitting at our family table, making small talk with my mothers and blowing bullshit fakery up my father's ass heats my thoughts, and the thought of him ruffling my little brother's hair with the same hands he uses to touch me makes me want to vomit.
"I'd love to meet him." My father stands, glancing at the clock. Night has fallen upon the house, and we're all required to be in bed before ten. "Why don't you invite him for dinner tomorrow night?"
Shit. This is moving faster than I expected. We're full steam ahead.
"Sure. Yeah. I can do that." I pick at my nails, a nervous habit I'd picked up long ago. "Are you sure you're ready for me to start courting?"
I know the answer, but I have to hear it straight from him. Confirmation that I'm right about the trajectory of impending events is what I seek.
"Bellamy." He places his large hand over mine. They're soft and clean, the hands of an educated man who spends long hours running his pharmacy in order to provide for the abnormally large family he was prodded by God to create. "You're a woman. You're twenty-two. As much as it pains me to see my firstborn fly the nest, it's time. And I know in my heart, I've raised you to make the right choices. I trust your judgment with this man."
"But what if I don't like him? What if we court for a while, and I change my mind?" I bite the inside of my lip. "Or what if he's not who he says he is?"
His hand slides off mine before he rises from the table. "Those aren't things you need to worry about. Heavenly Father put him in your life for a reason. Trust and don't question."
I'm still as a statue as I wait for my father's silhouette to disappear up the stairs, the creak of the steps filing our silent home. Sleep won't be in the cards for me tonight. The still, quiet hours of the night will be better spent plotting and planning.
***
My hands tremble as I set the extra place setting. Dad requested that Cortland take the seat next to him, and that I sit next to Cortland tonight. I glance at the grandfather clock in the hall. Cortland will be here any minute.
My mothers are flitting about in the kitchen, and Summer turns on the hand mixer, whipping up a huge batch of mashed potatoes. The grinding, metallic sound is a nice distraction right now, but it won't prolong the inevitable.
Waverly skips down the stairs, looking freshly washed up for dinner. She hops up to the table and rests against the back of a chair. "Need help with anything?"
"Nope," I sigh, my eyes trailing the length of the table that's already set. "I took care of it all while you were upstairs."
Her nose wrinkles. I'm tense, and I shouldn't take it out on her, but I can't help myself. Right now, I'd almost give anything to go back to those carefree high school days, when my only concern was studying for tests and fighting off advances from the boys I wasn't allowed to date.
The Fahnlander boy down the street was the only boyfriend I ever knew, and I made damn sure that whole thing was kept hidden from my family. And by boyfriend, I mean we sat together at lunch and passed notes in the hall.
Despite not having a true boyfriend experience growing up, I don't feel as though I missed out on much. I found ways to get around my father's stringent rules most of the time. All I crave, all I've ever missed out on, is pure autonomy and genuine independence.
Waverly studies me and pulls her chair out carefully. "Are you nervous about this or something?"
I shoot daggers her way and silently scold myself. My face softens, if only for her sake. "Yes. I'm nervous."
"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. Our family is so nice. And everyone's so excited to have company tonight. This, like, never happens." Waverly smiles like she hasn't a care in the world.
I want that.
The mixer in the kitchen goes silent, but our mothers are still flitting around like they're prepping a meal for the President of the United States. When I lean in, I whisper, "What if I don't like him? And what if Dad likes him?"
"Dad would never make you marry someone you didn't like."
My head cocks hard to the right, as if to say, "Really?!"
She doesn't get it. She doesn't understand how our father operates. She hasn't seen what I've seen or heard what I've heard. He's not who he says he is. I just hope she never learns that the hard way.
"Waverly, Bellamy," our mother calls. She skips off to the kitchen and I death march.
Outside a car door clicks, sending my heart sinking down to my feet. He's here.
Summer hands a bowl of tossed salad to my sister and my mom fishes in a drawer for a set of tongs, which she promptly shoves in my hand and nods toward the table.
The doorbell chimes a soft and cozy song, but it may as well be a battle cry.
This is war.
This is where I fight for my freedom.
"Cortland's here," Waverly announces.
Thank you, Captain Obvious.
My mother wipes her hands on her apron. "What are you waiting for? Go get the door."
By the time I reach the front door, I can hardly breathe. I've never had a panic attack before, but I think this might be what it feels like. The walls close, my head pounds, and my vision blurs. Sucking in deep breaths, I lurch for the handle and open the door.
He's gorgeous.
And evil.
With a hand in the pocket of his khakis and the other hand holding a bouquet of spring lilies, his lips curl into the widest grin I've ever seen. He looks so deceptively benign. Like some deliciously handsome man who stepped right off the pages of a J. Crew catalog. The way he stares at me, like I'm the only girl in the world, used to send butterflies soaring in my center.
Now it makes me sick.
He leans in, owning the courage of a man unafraid to steal a kiss at the most inappropriate of times.
"No," I whisper. "We're courting now, remember? You can't kiss me. You can't touch me. We don't know each other like that."
"Is this the man of the hour?" My father's voice bellows from behind me, sending a quick shock to my heart. I can only hope he didn't see Cortland try to kiss me. When I step out of the way, my father brushes by and extends his hand to meet that of my suitor.
"Nice to meet you, Dr. Miller." Cortland flashes a megawatt grin which makes him look too boy-next-door and not nearly enough psychopath-who-should-not-be-marrying-your-daughter. "Thank you so much for having me over tonight."
"Welcome, welcome." My mother comes in from around the corner, her lips slicked in red and her apron long gone. She cleans up quick, and she cleans up well. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a low bun, and she's suddenly wearing a modest pair of cubic zirconia studs. "Come on in. Supper's on the table. Bellamy can show you to your seat."
"These are for the women of the house," Cortland hands her the bouquet, and watches as she brings them to her nose and inhales.
"Thank you so much. You're so sweet. I'm going to stick these in water real quick." She disappears, and the three of us amble into the dining room.
We take our spots, Cortland sitting on my father's left. The little kids are at the furthest end of the table with Kath, my father's third wife.
"Cortland, would you mind saying grace tonight?" My father wastes no time putting him on the spot, though I think it's a test of sorts.