Chapter Eighteen
Tru stays at my side, helping me prepare everything, tasting things that need tasting, and generally keeping me sane when I want to throw in the towel and give up.
He finally goes home at six-thirty to change into something nice for dinner.
I double check everything in the kitchen and leave Dylan in charge with the promise to yell for me if anything catches fire. Then I run upstairs to put on the black lace dress Mom somehow convinced me to get.
With a V-neck front, delicate cap sleeves, and a full knee-length skirt, it is way more girly than anything I usually wear. When we saw it in the little boutique near the museum Mom is working at, she knew right away it would look good on me.
I took some convincing. But the moment I put it on I knew she was right. I feel like a princess. A slightly edgy princess.
I’m back downstairs before the timer on the stuffing goes off.
When the doorbell rings at seven, Mom asks me to get it because she’s still putting on makeup.
Dad is upstairs on a call and Dylan has disappeared into a video game, a present Mom let him open earlier today.
Mrs. Dorsey is in front, looking adorable in a shiny red silk jacket and slim black pants. She has a poinsettia pinned in her hair and wears matching bright red lipstick.
“Sloane, darling, don’t you look adorable,” she coos when she sees me.
She pulls me into a warm hug.
“Merry Christmas,” I tell her.
She releases me and smiles. “Merry Christmas.”
Mr. Dorsey looks the same as always in a gray business suit with a white dress shirt. The only difference is the red pocket square tucked into his jacket. That would be Mrs. Dorsey’s influence.
He gives me an awkward handshake.
“There is hot cider on the stove,” I tell them, partly because I am proud of the cider—I mixed the spice blend myself—and partly because I want them to move on so I can get a look at Tru.
They take the hint, moving into the house and leaving me alone at the door with my on-again boyfriend.
I rake my gaze over him, devouring him like it hasn’t been less than half an hour since he left.
“You clean up okay,” I tease.
It is more than an understatement. He’s dressed to his J-pop best, with a black blazer, black skinny jeans, and a skinny black tie. But the slim red shirt makes all the difference. It fits his torso perfectly and the fabric has a slight sheen that implies that it would feel silky to the touch.
It makes me want to slip my hands beneath his jacket and wrap myself around him.
His mouth kicks up in that cocky half-grin I love so much.
“You’re beautiful,” he says with so much sincerity it almost makes me cry.
I know I shouldn’t be so affected by compliments about my appearance, but the way Tru says it, I know he isn’t only talking about looks. Everything about him makes me want to melt.
My hands instinctively smooth down over my skirt.
“I only wear dresses on special occasions,” I tell him.
“And this occasion is truly exceptional,” Tru says, bringing his hand around from behind his back. He lifts it high up in the space between us.
A small bundle of leaves with little white berries dangles from a shiny red ribbon.
“Is that mistletoe?” I ask.
He smiles and nods. “Fresh from the convenience store down the street.”
“You know,” I say, stepping close, “you don’t need that to steal a kiss from me.”
He leans down and brushes his lips against mine. “With you, New York,” he teases, “I’ll take every advantage I can get.”
The doorbell rings.
Tru and I exchange a look that says this isn’t over.
When I pull open the door, Finn is standing on my front step.
“Merry Christmas.” He holds out a bouquet of red roses.
“Finn!” I glance over my shoulder, to where Tru is standing in the hall behind me.
In the chaos of everything, I totally forgot about Finn coming. He looks the part of the perfect boyfriend. Hair impeccably groomed, wearing dress shoes and slacks and a tie covered in little green Christmas trees. He even brought flowers.
I couldn’t draw a more parent-pleasing boy if I tried.
Finn frowns at Tru. “I thought you weren’t available.”
Tru steps up to my side. “Turns out I am.”
Finn shrugs, like it’s nothing to him.
For a moment, I consider how this night could go. I could walk into the dining room with Finn at my side, let him play the role of perfect boyfriend for a few hours, and maybe save myself a Bad Influences lecture from Dad.
Tru wouldn’t love it, but he would make himself be okay with it.
But I wouldn’t be okay with it. The only perfect boyfriend for me is Tru Dorsey, and if my dad—or anyone else, for that matter—has a problem with it, then that’s his problem, not mine.
If I’m going to have a perfect Christmas Eve dinner, it will be with Tru at my side.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Finn. “I should have called to say I didn’t need a fake boyfriend anymore.”
He flashes me that Hollywood grin. “It’s no big deal. Here,” he says, handing me the roses. “These are for your mom.”
“You can stay if you want,” I offer.
“Yeah,” Tru says, wrapping an arm over my shoulder. “Stay for dinner. Sloane went above and beyond.”
“Nah. I don’t want to be in the way.” His cheeks flush a little pink in the glow of the front porch light. “Besides, I have somewhere else I could be.”
I read his subtext perfectly. Willa.
“Good luck.”
He smiles. “Thanks. I’m gonna need it.”
Then Finn is walking down the sidewalk toward his motorcycle, and Tru and I are walking back inside, hand-in-hand. I follow the sound of voices toward the kitchen.
Mom and Mrs. Dorsey are leaning against the counter, sipping cups of steaming cider. None of the guys are in sight.
Mom raises her eyebrows at me, throwing a pointed look where my hand meets Tru’s. I shrug and pull him closer to my side.
“Was that Finn at the door?” she asks.
“It was,” I say. “He went home.”
“Here,” Tru says, handing Finn’s roses to my mom, “he left these for you.”
She looks confused, but doesn’t say anything else.
“Those are beautiful,” Mrs. Dorsey says. “Here, let me put them in water.”
While the moms put Finn’s flowers in water, I busy myself with the last-minute touches on dinner. Tru resumes his role as sous-chef.
When the final timer goes off, I pull the sweet potato casserole out of the oven.
“This is it,” I say. I’m a bit overwhelmed with my sense of accomplishment. “Dinner is ready.”
“It smells wonderful, Sloane,” Mrs. Dorsey says.
I blush at the compliment.
“Boys!” Mom shouts into the house. “Dinner!”
Seconds later, the thunderous sound of Dylan’s footsteps on the stairs rumbles through the house.
Dad and Mr. Dorsey emerge from the garage, where I assume they were having dad-talk about power tools or hot water heaters or something.
I assign everyone a dish to carry to the dining room, and moments later we’re seated around the table, ready to dive in to the meal I’ve spent all day preparing. The table is entirely covered with food.
We all settle into our seats, Mom and Dad at either end, Mr. and Mrs. Dorsey along one side, and me, Tru, and Dylan along the other.
As Mom starts handing around dishes, I can’t help smiling. I’m getting to spend Christmas Eve dinner sandwiched between my two favorite boys on the planet. What could be better?
And I made every last bite of the food. Sure, Tru helped, but this was my plan from start to finish. If someone had asked me even a week ago if I could pull this off, I would have bet against m
yself.
It just goes to show what I can accomplish when I set my mind to it.
And right now, my mind is set on saving my parents’ marriage. The first step is convincing Dad to move to Austin.
“So, Dad,” I start to say, “what do you think of—”
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?” he asks before I can finish my sentence.
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” I wipe my fingers on my napkin. I gesture at Tru. “Dad, this is—”
“Finn McCain. So I’ve heard.” Dad extends his hand to Tru. “Garrett Whitaker. Nice to meet you.”
“Actually, this is Tru.” When Dad frowns, I explain. “Tru Dorsey. From next door.”
He frowns. “I thought you were seeing Mia McCain’s boy?”
“No. It’s always been Tru.”
The room fills with a heavy tension.
“I thought we discussed your hanging out with bad influences,” Dad says to me.
As if Tru isn’t sitting right there. As if his parents aren’t.
“Garrett, please,” Mom says. Her face burns a bright shade of red, embarrassed by her husband’s rude comment.
“If this is what has been going on here in Austin, Elizabeth,” Dad says, speaking only to Mom as if the rest of us aren’t even there, “then maybe Sloane should come back to New York with me.”
A short time ago, those would have been the words that I was dying to hear. Now, that’s the last thing I want to do.
This is my chance. I’ve been waiting for the right moment to bring up the move to Austin. It’s now or never.
“Actually, Dad, I’ve been thinking about staying here. Austin is really great, and I love the school and the people.” I swallow hard. “I think you would love it, too.”
Dad frowns at me. “Yes, I’m sure Austin is a perfectly fine city, Sloane—”
“I want to stay,” Dylan blurts.
Everyone at the table turns and stares at my baby brother.
“Your mother and I agreed—”
“I don’t want to live with you and your girlfriend anymore.”
Dylan stares at his hands fisted in his lap. All I want to do is pull him into a tight hug and tell him that everything will be okay, that I will protect him. But I know that right now that’s the last thing he wants.
“Dylan,” Dad says with a warning tone in his voice. “This is not the ti—”
“No,” I bark, coming to my baby brother’s aid. “It’s not his fault.”
Dad frowns at me. “Stay out of this, Sloane.”
“You’re the one with the girlfriend,” I argue. “We know about the divorce.”
Tru takes my hand under the table and gives me a quick squeeze of support. I give him a squeeze back to let him know I appreciate it. I appreciate him.
“Girlfriend?” Mom’s voice sounds odd. Distant, maybe. Or stunned.
She looks like a combination of hurt and furious.
“We can talk about this later, Liz,” Dad says, gesturing at our dinner guests.
“Girlfriend?” Mom says again.
“Maybe we should go,” Mrs. Dorsey says.
“No.” Mom sounds way too calm. “Stay. You told me she was a nanny, Garrett.”
“She is,” he insists.
“Don’t lie!” Dylan shouts. “I saw you kiss her.”
Before Dad can open his mouth to give whatever excuse he thinks will diffuse this situation, Dylan shoves back from the table and runs out of the room.
“Nice,” I say to my dad, pushing to my feet. “Way to ruin Christmas.”
Then, with no thought except to find Dylan and hug him as tight as I possibly can, I race out of the room after him.
I find Dylan in my bedroom, sitting on the floor with my tablet in his hands. When I found out he was Engineering Boy I gave him my password. There was nothing left to hide anymore.
“Whachya doing?” I ask as I sink down onto the floor next to him.
“Re-reading Graphic Grrl.”
I nod. “Excellent choice. I approve.”
We sit there for several minutes in silence. When I can’t stand it anymore, I ask if he’s okay.
“I couldn’t let him lie anymore.” Dylan sets my tablet on the floor and lets his head hang back on my bed. “I couldn’t let him get away with it.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I tell him.
“I—” He looks at me, his soft brown eyes full of pain. “I didn’t mean to make Mom feel bad.”
“It’s okay. She needed to know, right?”
He shrugs.
“Besides, now everything is out in the open. No more secrets.”
Dylan flashes me a wicked grin. “Except Graphic Grrl.”
“Yes, except her.” I give him a playful punch in the arm. “If you decide to spill that secret at our next family dinner, be prepared for serious consequences.”
“I won’t,” he says, suddenly serious. “I promise.”
“I know you won’t.”
I wrap my arm around his narrow shoulders and pull him close.
“I meant it, you know,” he says softly. “I want to stay here. I want to live with you and Mom.”
I have to admit, my heart swells a little bit at that. I want Dylan to live with us more than anything. Well, not more than I want my whole family back together, but since that seems like an impossible option at this point, having Dylan is the next best thing.
Still, I have a feeling deciding that will involve legal ramifications I can’t begin to understand.
Luckily Mom is the lawyer in this relationship. I’m sure she’ll get everything worked out.
For now, for Dylan’s sake, and for the sake of having something to cheer about this Christmas Eve, I’m going to act like it will all work out.
“Maybe you can follow in my footsteps at NextGen,” I tease. “We’ll make an artist out of you, yet.”
“Not likely!”
“Well, Austin does have a huge tech industry,” I concede. “I bet they have an excellent science and engineering high school.”
“That sounds more like it.” Dylan leans back against my side, and then just as quickly sits back up. “Oh wait! Your present. I almost forgot.”
He scrambles to his feet and races out of the room. A few seconds later, he’s back on the floor next to me, a Christmas present clutched in his hands. The package is rectangular, about the size of a three-ring binder, and wrapped in snowman-covered paper. The edges are all crumpled and there is what looks like an entire roll of tape holding it together, but it was clearly wrapped with love.
“Open it,” he insists.
I take the present from him and start to carefully unwrap the snowmen. Normally we don’t open presents until Christmas morning, but considering everything that’s happened I think an exception is definitely in order.
As I peel back the paper, I see it’s a framed picture. The frame itself is plain white, one of those cheap plastic frames you can get practically anywhere.
But what’s inside the frame is definitely unique.
It’s a print of my first four Graphic Grrl strips.
“Dylan,” I whisper in awe.
“I used the high-resolution files from your flash drive,” he tells me. “And don’t worry, I told the lady at the copy shop that I was just a big fan. Your secret is safe.”
I’m not sure which makes me happier: that my baby brother took the time to make me such a meaningful present, or hearing the pride in his voice for clearly getting it right.
“Now don’t freak out when I tell you this,” I say, looking at him through watery eyes, “but have I told you how much I love you lately?”
“Ew!” He pretends to squirm away as I plant a kiss on his cheek.
But then he relaxes back against my side and whispers, “I love you, too, Sloaner.”
“You know we’re going to be okay, right?” I ask him. “No matter what happens with Mom and Dad—”
“And Nadia.”
I fa
ke a retching sound. “And Nadia. No matter what happens, you and I are going to be fine.”
“As long as we’re together?”
“As long as we’re together,” I confirm. “And I would like to see anyone try to split us apart.”
“What about Engineering Boy? He could do it.”
“No way.” I shake my head and squeeze Dylan closer. “That’s the thing about arch-enemies. They need each other. On their own, they’re just weirdos with powers.”
“So Engineering Boy and Graphic Grrl are stuck with each other?”
I nod sagely. “Forever.”
Dylan rests his head on my shoulder. “Good.”
In that instant, I’m resolved. Whatever it takes, whatever I can do to make it happen, Dylan is going to live with me and Mom. I’m not letting them split us up. Not again.
…
Tru had never felt so helpless as he did just then, watching Sloane run out on this meal she had worked so hard to prepare. He stood by her all day, he had seen the effort and emotion she had put into making sure this was the best holiday meal any of them had ever eaten.
And it would have been, too. If he hadn’t just lost his appetite.
He didn’t blame her brother for fleeing or Sloane for chasing after him. It was beyond shitty to realize your family was so irreparably broken. Especially since it was obvious to Tru it had been falling apart for some time. Hell, they probably already knew they were going to get divorced when Sloane and her mom left New York for Austin.
If Tru ever had any respect for Sloane’s parents, he didn’t anymore.
The fact they had let her believe for all that time their family was separated, split into two, because of her made him boil.
“That was a bit of an overreaction,” Tru’s father said.
“David,” his mother half-heartedly chided.
She didn’t look particularly surprised. She must have known this was going on. His mother was surprisingly good at keeping secrets, or so he was learning.
Sloane’s mom threw back a long sip of wine. She looked wrung out, but Tru couldn’t find any sympathy for her. Not when she had let Sloane stew in guilt for months.
“What?” Tru’s father looked irritated. Probably because his wife had dared to chide him in front of people. “They’re acting like children.”
Falling for the Girl Next Door Page 16