As if I’ve set the sexual standard. I gape and pinch his thigh. He cups my hand, intertwining my fingers in his, and even if I should pull away, I don’t want to.
Rose cuts in, “Don’t big brother her when you can’t even remember her birthday, Loren.”
Lo’s jaw locks, his cheekbones sharpening. He reaches for his mimosa and then grabs my purse, searching the handbag for his thin flask.
My mind goes suddenly blank as the staff starts shuffling inside. I tap Lo on the arm, and he follows my gaze, stiffening to stone.
Our parents have arrived.
*
For the past twenty minutes, Lo and I have avoided our parents’ focused attention. My mother fixates on Poppy’s toddler who busted her front tooth last Wednesday on the sidewalk. If I have to hear the words plastic surgeon one more time, I may need four mimosas and an attractive male server.
Jonathan Hale and my father whisper at the head of the table, enjoying their own private conversation. If their isolation bothers my mother, she doesn’t let on. She fingers a string of pearls on her bony collar and listens intently to Poppy.
“How is Penn?”
I jolt at the question, immediately reanimating from my stupor. Since Rose attends Princeton, it’s safe to say my father is speaking to Lo and me.
“Hard, lots of studying,” Lo says briefly. His arm curls around my waist. I’m too nervous to be lusting after him.
“Same,” I murmur. In my family, I’m “the quiet one” so it’s easy to get away with monosyllabic answers.
My mother perks at the start of a new conversation. “Lily, my little pansy, how have you been?”
I grimace, glad she didn’t actually name me Pansy. I can’t believe that was even an option. “Fine.”
“Are you two taking any classes together this semester?” She fingers her champagne glass, red lipstick staining the rim.
“Just one. Managerial Economics and Game Theory.” As Business Majors, Lo and I are bound to share some classes, but we try to sparse those as much as possible. There is such a thing as too much Loren Hale.
Jonathan sets down his glass of whiskey. The irony is not lost upon me. “How are you doing in it?” he cuts to the point, eyes right on his son. Both Jonathan and my father look dapper in Armani suits, their hair not yet grayed and their strong jaws cleanly shaven. The difference lies in their features. Jonathan stares like he could rip out your heart. My father looks open enough to run in for a hug.
“I have an A,” Lo says. My brows shoot up in surprise. An A? I’m barely passing, but Lo’s naturally smart, almost never needing to study.
Jonathan glances at me, and I immediately start sinking in my chair—as though his pupils are too powerful to make contact with. “You look shocked. Is he lying?”
“What? No, I-I,” I sputter. “We don’t talk about grades…”
“You don’t believe me, Dad?” He touches his chest. “I’m wounded.”
Jonathan settles back in his chair. “Hmm.” Hmm? What does that even mean?!
My father tries to lighten the suffocating atmosphere. “I’m sure Lily is keeping you focused on the important things.”
Lo grins. “Oh, she definitely is.”
“Gross,” Rose deadpans. If only she knew he was talking about booze and not sex. My mother gives a circle of disapproving looks, full of the same ice that Rose inherited.
“Any graduation plans yet?” my father asks.
I think about Lo’s future again, wearing a tight suit, working for his father, his lips pulled into a perpetual frown.
“We still have a year to decide,” Lo answers.
“You both need to start formulating a plan,” my father says, sounding critical.
A plan. I’ve been so focused on Lo that I haven’t even begun to imagine my life past college. Where will I be? What will I be? White empty space fills the void, unsure of what picture to paint.
“We just want to give school our full attention. Grades are really important to us.” Yeah right.
My father folds his napkin on the table, about to switch topics. “Jonathan and I were discussing the upcoming Christmas Charity Gala sponsored by Fizzle and Hale Co. The press has been buzzing about the event for weeks, and it’s important that everyone is present to show support.”
“We’ll be there,” Lo says, raising his glass.
“Any news on a ring?” Poppy asks with a teasing smile.
“I’m still twenty,” I remind her, shrinking. My mother missed the opportunity to call me Violet.