“Thanks.”
When I open the door, Nijinsky is the first to greet us with loud, high-pitched barks. Her fine fur quivers every time she yelps. Court scratches behind Nijinsky’s ears with a soft smile.
“You’re here!” Mom says, coming out with an apron on. “Oh, honey, congratulations! I’m so happy for you.” She kisses my cheek. “Hello, Court. So good to see you again!”
“Hey, Esther.” He grins.
“Come in, come in. Curie and Joe just got here.”
We go to the living room and say hi. Then I start toward the kitchen to keep the champagne chilled for later. Curie notes the label and lets out a small shriek. “Is that Dom Perignon?”
I flush with pleasure tinged with a teeny bit of embarrassment at the lavish way Court is trying to celebrate with my family. “Yeah.”
“Wow.” Curie turns to Court. “Great choice.”
“Only the best for my girl.” The words slip out easily, and my face heats some more. He winks at me.
“Where’s Dad?” I say. He isn’t always down here when we arrive, but surely he heard us come in. Part of me wonders if he’s planning on staying “busy” and skipping dinner to avoid acknowledging my text.
“In his office,” Mom says, then turns to Court. “We’re having pot roast again. It’s Pascal’s favorite,” she says, her tone slightly apologetic.
“Awesome! I love your pot roast.”
That earns him a motherly smile and twinkle. I go over to Court and hold his hand. “I think Mom loves you,” I whisper into his ear. “She never worried about what my exes thought about a Saturday dinner menu.”
He kisses the back of my hand. “Only an idiot would complain about a great home-cooked meal. And I love her too. I love it that she’s so supportive of you.”
Warmth swells inside me, and I wish we could be alone so I could show him how much that means to me.
Dad finally shows up, clumping down the stairs. His steps seem heavier than usual—or is it just my smug imagination?
His University of Chicago shirt hangs loosely around his lanky shoulders. The sight sends a pang through me. He bought it when I got accepted, saying he wanted to show off how smart his girl was. But that didn’t last long, did it?
I’m not the only one who notices the shirt, judging by the tight pursing of Mom’s mouth or the faint disapproval crossing Curie’s eyes before she looks away. Suddenly I’m pissed off. He doesn’t get to wear that shirt after having sabotaged me for four years.
“Good. Everyone’s here,” Dad says casually, like he doesn’t notice anything’s off. “Pot roast smells incredible, sweetheart.”
“Thanks.” Mom’s smile is a bit forced, tension around her lips.
“Hi, Dad,” Curie and I say in unison.
“Hello, girls.” Dad’s face is impassive, and he isn’t looking at anybody in particular. It’s almost like he’s avoiding making eye contact with anybody. “Welcome, Joe. Court.”
I wait for Dad to say something more. Everyone else apparently does too, because they’re all quiet. But he doesn’t. And that cuts so deeply. It’s like he simply refuses to accept good things happening to me because they aren’t what he wants for me.
“Well, let’s eat,” Dad says, rubbing his hands together. “The food’s ready, right?”
“Yes, and Court brought champagne to toast.” Mom’s voice is even, but that’s not always a good sign. She grows calmer as she gets unhappier or more upset.
She leads us all into the dining room like a queen and her entourage, Joe carrying the pot roast, Curie with a tray of champagne flutes and Mom herself carrying the Dom. Instead of handing the bottle to Dad, she gives it to Court. “You do the honors.”
Dad’s glare hits Mom and Court. No sympathy from me, though. Mom wouldn’t have dissed him if he hadn’t done it to me first.
Court smiles. “Sure.” He dexterously pops the cork. Curie places the flutes in front of him, and he pours for everyone. There’s enough for six with careful portioning. But the petty side me thinks Dad doesn’t deserve a sip of the premium champagne.
Everyone stands around the table. Mom looks at Dad expectantly. “Darling?”
This is his chance to redeem himself. And I so want him to say something nice, so I’m not disappointed any further.