Fight For You

Chapter Thirty Four - Drinking Wine and Watching Fights

By the time we got back to my dad's house, my dad and I were both exhausted. I had forgotten how energetic Betty and Greta were. They seemed to feed off of each other's energy.

I pulled out my phone quickly.

Emily: Just got to my dad's house. Good luck tonight!

Before I could put my phone back into my pocket, it chimed.

Lucas: It feels weird going to a fight without you

Emily: It feels weird not being at your fight. But I know you're going to do amazing. I'll be watching from here

Lucas: Should I throw a wink at you?

Emily: I appreciate the thought, but I think you winking at yourself to the camera is probably not the best PR

Lucas: Should I mention your street name? Where does your dad live anyway?

Emily: Only if you want my dad to hate you forever - Sherwood Drive.

I shoved my phone back into my pocket as we entered the home.

"I don't understand why you didn't get a fake Christmas tree, Ryan," Greta stated in confusion as my dad used his key to unlock the door to our small bungalow.

It looked exactly like it had when I last came to visit, down to the dead fern that lingered in the corner - a gift from Ashley.

"It's so bad for the environment," Betty agreed walking inside the house and plopping her body onto one of the couches. She placed her feet, shoes and all, on the coffee table.

"I'm not discussing this again," my dad sighed in exasperation, "and get your shoes off my table." He pushed Betty's feet gently and they landed with a thump on the floor.

"Well, hosting has never been your speciality," Betty snapped, picking a newspaper off the table and flipping through its pages. She slammed the newspaper down in frustration. "Greta!" She called for her sister who had wandered into the kitchen.

Greta stuck her head out, "Yes dear?"

"It's 9 o'clock in the afternoon and I'm flipping through a newspaper. What's wrong with this picture?" Betty asked in frustration.

"There's no alcohol!" Greta chimed, popping back into the kitchen and emerging with a pitcher of something I'm sure I didn't want to know the contents of.

"You read my mind," Betty exclaimed, sitting up excitedly and taking a wine glass from the tray Greta was holding. She picked up the pitcher and poured the liquid into her glass, filling it to the brim before taking an exaggerated sip. "Ah. That's better."

"Ryan, you're not having one I assume," Greta walked past my dad and straight to me, holding a glass up to me. I knew it was futile to say no so I accepted the glass, placing it on the table next to me as I sat down across from Betty. They'd forget I wasn't drinking eventually.

"So," My dad rubbed his hands together excitedly, "How's work, Emily?"

"We're getting to the good stuff, I see," Greta stated drily as she took a sip out of her wine glass.

"It's going really well, actually." I replied, folding my legs under me.

"What does your boss do?" Betty inquired raising an eyebrow at me.

"He's a UFC fighter," I tried to say it nonchalantly so as not to attract attention, but as soon as the words came out of my mouth, I knew I had Greta and Betty's attention.