Abby Ryan has her whole life planned out, up until graduation that is. As a journalism student at the University of Southern Washington, she has one goal in mind for her last semester of senior year: secure a scholarship for graduate school. But whe...
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I'm not sure what was more surreal—seeing my family sitting at the same dinner table as Tristan's or watching them interact as if they've known each other for much longer than the two hours that my family has been here in Pullman.
Aside from the fact that my mother has refused to even look at Tristan since she walked into the restaurant, I'd say the dinner has gone exceptionally well so far.
I'm not sure if the easy flow of conversation was simply because of how well everyone got along, or if it had more to do with the three bottles of wine my mother ordered for the table as soon as she sat down, but I don't mind either way, because seeing my Nana and Tristan's mom fawn over us while holding hands and drunkenly giggling is possibly the cutest thing I've ever seen.
I could tell the conversation was making my mother uneasy, though. Her eyes were distant, trained on the far wall as she sipped on her wine as if she was thinking back to something, and when she blinked and looked at me, her eyes were clear as she took a deep breath and downed the rest of the glass. I considered her for a moment, trying to figure out where her heightened discomfort could have been coming from. I know she doesn't like Tristan, but even she is polite enough to be civil and cordial toward him and his family for one dinner. The stiff set of her shoulders and the fine line of her lips wasn't just because she was roped into coming to this dinner; it was something else, something deeper. I just couldn't figure out what.
The shrewd set of her eyes as she watched the rest of the table and picked at her salmon only intensified when Nana, three glasses deep in the sweet white wine, told Tristan how handsome and gentleman-like he was, the perfect husband, she'd said. Her eyes darted to mine, a clumsy wink punctuating her very clear hint. My gaze flicked over to my mom, watching the inconspicuous eye roll that I'm sure I was the only one privy to, but she didn't seem to get genuinely uncomfortable until Mrs. Beck reached her hands out to me, pulling my attention back to tell me how much she agreed, and that in her mind, I was already her daughter.
She was most definitely drunk when she said it, but I knew that she meant it by the genuine smile and tears brimming in her warm eyes. I nearly cried at the comment, but I managed to bite down on the inside of my cheek hard enough to push back the emotion because while she is completely toasted, I'm stone-cold sober and crying in the middle of this restaurant in front of both of my families is something my brothers would never let me live down.
I caught the shocked look on my mother's face when I leaned back in my seat, but it was gone as quick as it came, and after sitting quietly through the rest of the dinner and dessert, I caught her watching Mrs. Beck. She seemed like she was trying to gauge her, to figure out if she really meant it—if she really thought of me as part of her family already.
I might have been the only one paying attention to her enough to see past the indifferent, calm exterior she's so perfectly crafted since I was a child. She managed to pull a demure smile onto her lips as she ate a few bites of cheesecake, masking the unease that I could feel radiating from her. I wanted to say something to calm her, to make her feel better, to pull her attention away from whatever it was that was weighing down on her so heavily, but I was at a loss for words. I was terrified of saying something wrong, of pushing her away even further, especially the day before my graduation. So instead, I sat back in my seat and tried to focus on the way the rest of my family melded so perfectly with his.
