I heard Tiffany before I saw her. “I’m here, I’m here,” she said. “Sorry I’m late.”
My heart fell, my smile melting. Tiffany came around the corner in her short dress and a black cardigan. She’d ripped a synthetic daisy off an old hat and stuck it in her hair. She went directly to Manning. In her platforms, she had a few inches on me and came up to his shoulder. Mom wore heels. I was the only one without shoes on.
Tiffany leaned toward him, offering her cheek, but he kissed her forehead. “They kept me entertained.”
She smiled. “You met my mom?”
“Yep. Just getting her some wine.”
Tiffany moved aside so he could pull a third glass from the cupboard, but he only poured two drinks. He handed one to my Mom and kept the other for himself.
Tiffany put a hand on her hip. “What about me?”
“You’re not twenty-one. Other one’s for your dad.”
“It’s fine if she has one,” Mom said. “We aren’t stupid; we know Tiffany drinks. At least here, we can monitor it.”
Manning had the bottle in his hand, looking unsure of what to do. He set it down, so Tiffany poured her own glass.
“So, Manning.” Mom took a sip. “How long have you and Tiffany been dating?”
“We’re friends,” he said.
I looked at the ground to hide my grin.
Unlike me, neither Mom nor Tiffany liked that answer. “I’m sorry,” Mom said. “I got the impression—”
“I told you he’s a gentleman,” Tiffany snapped, looking away. “He doesn’t discuss stuff like that.”
The timer beeped. “Well, we’ll leave it at that then,” Mom said. She slid the steaks from the oven and set them on the counter. “Lake, go get your father.”
Like most other nights, I went and knocked on my dad’s study, waiting until he said, “Yes?”
“Dinner’s ready,” I said.
“I’ll be out soon,” he said without looking up from his computer. “Start without me.”
If it were up to him, he’d eat in here. One wall was a library of business and law books. His desk was topped with USC paraphernalia. Against another wall stood his regal glass case of guns. “We can’t. He’s here.”
He glanced up wearing his default expression, heavy-browed annoyance. “Who?”
“Manning. Tiffany’s friend.”
“Christ. Come get me when dinner’s on the table. I’m not interested in entertaining her flings.”
I didn’t want Dad at the table at all. At best, he wouldn’t be nice to Manning. At worst, he’d try to cut him down in front of us. Manning didn’t deserve to be embarrassed. I’d have been happy to let Dad stay in here with his toys, even though it’d surely kill Tiffany a little bit that she wouldn’t get to rub Manning in his face. But I knew Mom would never let Dad skip dinner. As it was, they’d fought about it already. Mom thought Tiffany was better off with a boyfriend. Dad didn’t want to deal with it. “It’s on the table already,” I said. “He’s been here a while.”
Dad stuck his elbows on the desk and massaged his temples. “I work all damn day. I should be able to enjoy a nice, quiet meal in my own goddamn home.” He looked up at me as if he’d forgotten I was there. “Go on. I’ll be right there.”
He made it seem as if he was doing us some kind of favor, but his response sounded more like a threat than a concession.
9
Lake
Mom, Tiffany, Manning and I were all seated in the dining room by the time Dad came out of his study. “Why are we eating in here instead of the kitchen?” he asked before he’d even pulled out his chair.
“Because we have company,” Mom said.
Manning looked surprisingly relaxed in his chair, his plate served, food untouched like all of ours. He watched my Dad.
“Daddy, this is Manning,” Tiffany said.
They locked eyes finally, holding each other’s gazes, a silent conversation passing between them.
“Thank you for having me,” Manning said.
“I’m not having you,” Dad replied, scooting his chair into the table. “My wife is. Thank her.”
“He already did,” Mom said softly but firmly. “You’re being rude, Charles.”
He glanced at her and then Tiffany before picking up a serving bowl of broccoli. “Did you cook tonight, Lake?”
Even though everyone had started eating, my fingers were laced tightly in my lap. I was the tensest of everyone, and this didn’t even involve me. I wanted it to go well for Manning. I didn’t need to give him a reason to stop coming around. I wasn’t sure what was developing between us, but if we couldn’t find out until I turned eighteen, then he needed to stay in my life two more years. “I helped with the steak and dessert,” I said.
“Good,” Dad said. “I like when you cook.”
“I was just asking Manning about home,” Mom said. “He’s from Los Angeles.”
“Pasadena, specifically,” Manning said.