Ruthless In A Suit(67)

“Come in!” Mrs. Brown says. The house is warm and stuffed with tchotchkes that would have my mother breaking out in hives. Mrs. Brown touches my back as she guides me from the foyer, overflowing with rain boots and umbrellas and, God, even a beach ball.

“Thank you for having us, Mr. and Mrs. Brown,” I say. I present her with the bottle of Veuve Cliquot I brought as a gift, thinking there’d probably be mimosas.

“What in the world? Champagne?” Mrs. Brown says. “I wouldn’t even know how to open this. And it’s Martha and Joe, sweetie.”

I give Emily a quick look. Who doesn’t know how to open champagne? You just unscrew the cork. Whatever, Martha and Joe, I can get used to that.

Emily’s siblings are in the living room, and they both rise when we walk in. I’m introduced to sister Sabrina and big brother Dax, who eyes me with the sort of suspicion I can respect from a girl’s big brother. Extra points for not hugging me. Dax shakes my hand and Sabrina gives me a little wave.

Martha sets the bottle of champagne on a side table and invites everyone in to the dining room table. A feast is set out with stacks of waffles, a plate of eggs and another of bacon.

“Martha, this looks amazing,” I say, choosing a seat. Emily sits next to me. I can tell she’s still a little nervous. A pleasant smile has been plastered on her face since we walked to the front door. I reach for her hand and give it a squeeze.

“Aw, so sweet,” Sabrina says. I move my hand away from Emily’s—I hadn’t intended for anyone to see what was meant as a private moment. “Don’t stop on my account,” Sabrina says, not missing a thing. “You should see my parents slobber all over each other. It’s disgusting but also sort of sweet.”

I realize the entire family is looking at Emily and me—do they expect me to touch her again? What do they want from me? Whatever it is, at this point I prefer to keep my hands to myself if it’s going to cause this much commotion.

“So, Mr. Brown—”

“Joe,” he says, sitting down. Martha has set a pot of coffee on the table and…a can of whipped cream? Everyone is seated, parents at the heads of the table and Sabrina and Dax across from Emily and me.

“Sorry, Joe—”

“Jackson?” Martha says, interrupting. “Before we get started would you like to say grace?”

I am momentarily stunned. Grace? Like, the prayer? My family attended church on the major holidays—Christmas and Easter—but that was strictly for appearances. During services, my mind always wandered to my homework or a project I was working on. I absorbed nothing because I knew it meant nothing. I’ve never said a prayer in my life, out loud or to myself.

“Mom,” Emily says. “He’s the guest.”

“That’s exactly why he should do it,” Martha says. “Please, Jackson. We’d be honored.”

Jesus, I’m not the pope here to bless their food.

“No, truly,” I say, going for modesty. “I’ll just end up mangling it. This is your home. You or Joe should say grace. I insist.”

There’s a beat of silence that tells me maybe that was the wrong thing to say. I could have made up some words, blessing the food and thanking God for this day. But I don’t think perfect strangers should assume I’m religious. It’s like they’ve put my faith—or lack thereof—to the test, and I failed. Little do they know that being tested and being set up are two things I really fucking hate.

Joe says the blessing and soon we’re passing the dishes of food around the table. I hope the awkwardness has passed and I can get back on my game. I’m so good with adults—I was around them more as a kid than people my own age—and to not do well today would be failure on so many levels.

“Martha, this all looks so amazing,” I say, doling out scrambled eggs onto my plate.

“Dad made it,” Dax informs me. “We don’t go along with the patriarchal ways around here. There’s no women’s work.”

“Jesus, Dax,” Emily says.

“Emily, watch your mouth,” her mother says. Sabrina stifles a laugh. Grown adults being reprimanded at the dinner table. Okay. This is different.

I stare across at this guy, only a couple of years younger than me. “I didn’t mean that at all. Whoever set this all up, it looks amazing. I’m thankful you all invited me.”

“Jackson, tell us about your work,” Martha says in a clear effort to smooth things over. “Emily hasn’t told us much about you but she did mention that you met through the Children’s Education Fund.”