It All Started With An Apple

Chapter 5

I followed my mom into the kitchen, trying to shake off the feeling of unease that was unfurling in my stomach.  There were so many things that could go wrong during this dinner—so many things.  It was bad enough that Dannon was joining us, but for my mom to think that I had romantic feelings for him only made it all the worse.  What if she brought up my “crush” on him while I was eating?  What if—?

“You didn’t tell me he was beautiful, Bri,” my mom gushed as she reached for the plates in the cupboard.

 I scoffed softly, pulling the silverware drawer open a lot rougher than I meant to.  I wondered if she could tell that I was pissed that I was stuck in this situation.  Probably not.  “Don’t call a guy beautiful,” I snapped, grabbing a handful of forks before banging the drawer closed with my hip.  “And I didn’t tell you because he isn’t.”

My mom patted me on the shoulder, shooting me a wink before prancing to the kitchen table and setting the plates down. “Denial!” she sang, swaying her hips from side to side as she moved the plates into their correct places.  “You picked a keeper, hon.”

I huffed, circling around the table as I set a fork down in each spot.  I realized too late that grabbing a handful of them probably wasn’t the best of ideas.  “I didn’t pick him,” I grumbled, slamming a fork down onto the side of a plate.  “And I don’t like him, Mom.  We’re not even friends.”

My mom wasn’t convinced.  She grinned, trotting back to the cupboards, reaching up and grabbing four cups.  I let out an exasperated breath of air before moving back to the silverware drawer, the extra forks pinching my skin as I gripped them tightly in my hand.  Casting an irritable glance in my mom’s direction, I dumped the forks back into their place in the drawer before scooping out some spoons.

“Sure, sure,” she drawled, winking at me.

I mentally face-palmed.  Why did people have to be so difficult?

I blocked my mom out the best I could as we continued setting the table.  Instead, I tried to concentrate on other things.  But, sadly, the only other things making a sound in the house were my dad and Dannon talking in the living room and the TV blaring.  I couldn’t tell what they were talking about, but when I heard keywords like “tackle” and “touchdown” I assumed they were talking about football.

Men and their sports. 

“Dinner’s ready!” my mom called suddenly, ripping me away from my reverie.  I blinked, glancing at the table.  To my surprise the food was all set, looking brilliant in the middle of the table.  My dad was a superb cook.  Garrett and I used to be his taste-testers when we were younger, eating half the food before it could even be set on the table for the family to eat.  I smiled slightly at the memory.  Those were the days.

Dannon and my dad appeared, laughing their asses off about God-knows-what.  I cocked and eyebrow at them.  They seemed to be getting along . . . rather well.

“Wow,” Dannon murmured as his eyes landed on the food on the table.  “This looks delicious.”

I plopped into my self-proclaimed seat (it had been mine since I was out of a high-chair), and waited for my family—and I guess Dannon—to join me.  My dad clapped Dannon on the back before settling into the seat beside me.  I smiled in his direction.  He grinned back.

My mom grabbed Dannon lightly by the shoulders, steering him toward the seat across from mine.  I shot her a suspicious look.  Why couldn’t he have sat across from my dad?  They had much more to talk about than we did.  “So you can discreetly stare at him, hon,” she mouthed.