Just a Number(61)
I set the knife down again and raise my eyes to find Stephen looking at me; I can feel that he knows something. I don’t want to lie to him, but I also don’t want to admit to something he may or may not have figured out. So, taking a steady breath, I begin to say, “Stephen—”
He doesn’t give me the opportunity to say…well, whatever it is I was going to say before he speaks up. “You don’t have to say anything, Amy.” He keeps his voice low and serious. “You seem happy, and you don’t have to explain your relationship to me—or to anyone, for that matter. You feel what you feel, and outside opinions shouldn’t factor into that.” There’s another dramatic pause, and I can tell he’s not quite done. “But you should consider talking to your dad about it. It’s obvious this bothers him, but I think it bothers him because you’ve kept it hidden. I know it doesn’t make much sense, but by keeping this from him, I think you’ve validated his feelings of unease.”
I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until my lungs begin to burn.
“I plan to tell him,” I manage to squeak out. “In the New Year. We’re going to sit down and talk to him.”
Stephen laughs lightly, pushing his curly blond hair back. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Amy. But I could sense the tension before everything came to a head last night. You and your dad have always been close, and I don’t want to see you jeopardize that.”
Seeming content with how the conversation has gone, Stephen stands up and starts back toward the living room. I’m left there, playing his conversation over and over in my head for a minute and totally understanding what he meant about my secrecy validating my dad’s concerns. I’m glad that the holidays are almost over, and then Owen and I can sit down with my dad and tell him everything. Sure, there’s going to be backlash, but we’ll be ready to handle everything rationally by then, I think,
I pick up the knife and am just about to begin slicing the carrots again when something from our conversation registers for the first time: While he’d brought up our relationship, Stephen never mentioned Owen by name once. Does this mean he still has no idea? The looks he was giving the two of us earlier, as well as last night, would indicate he knows, but why wouldn’t he say anything? Maybe he only suspects, and by not gaining confirmation, it makes everything easier to deny should he be questioned.
Yeah, let’s go with that. Totally plausible.
My brain starts to hurt, and I pick up my wine, downing it in hopes it’ll help. After pouring myself another glass, I finally buckle down and finish the vegetable prep so they’ll be done on time.
Once dinner is ready, I put the call out for help with carving the turkey while I finish getting the table set and dishing up the side dishes. Dad volunteers Owen, which I find hilarious again.
I mean, really. If only he knew…
Owen and I work side-by-side in the kitchen, doing what probably looks like a well-choreographed dance as we move around each other to get dinner on the table. True, we’ve been stuck in the kitchen together many times over the weeks, but it never occurred to me just how in-tune we’ve always been with one another until now.
Dinner is amazing—and that’s not me being biased about my own cooking. It’s not just the food, but the company that makes it wonderful. All through dinner, I glance over at Stephen to see if I can pick up on whether or not he knows as much as I suspect he does. I want to ask him, but at the same time, I don’t want to out our relationship if he has no idea.
I hate that I can’t focus on anything else, and if I keep staring, people are going to probably start thinking I have a crush on him.
As if my current situation isn’t complicated enough.
After dinner, Dad and Carla offer to clean up, and Carla enlists Ethan and Hayley to help. Naturally, they grumble and complain, but they’re soon reminded how much Owen and I did to prepare the meal today.
Game. Set. Match. Parents: one. Whiney teenagers: zero.
Julia and Stephen tell us all that they have to head back to the city since they have plans with Stephen’s family early tomorrow morning, so after saying goodbye and seeing them to the door, Owen and I head to the living room and sit a safe distance from each other on the couch. The only sounds filling the room are the crackle of the fire and the soft notes of Christmas carols from the stereo, and I sigh peacefully as I let the warmth of the fire and wine envelop me. I can hear the constant clatter of dishes and laughter from the kitchen, so knowing we’re safe for now, I reach across the couch and lace my fingers through Owen’s.