The drive to Rody’s parents’ house felt shorter than it ever did. Even as Rody kept his hand clasped around Vincent’s fingers, his grip firm, Vincent could feel the tension starting to take over.
“Hey,” Rody said softly, glancing over with a reassuring smile. “We’ll just eat, get through the pleasantries, and leave, yeah? Just like last time. And remember, if anyone steps out of line, I’ve got your back.”
Vincent smiled faintly, his eyes darting away. It wasn’t as though he didn’t appreciate Rody’s support. He could handle a few offhanded comments and judgmental stares—it wasn’t as if he hadn’t faced worse, and besides, he loved Rody. Being with him was worth every bit of tension and passive-aggression from his family.
“Thank you, chér,” Vincent murmured, squeezing Rody’s hand gently. “I just… wish things were different.”
Rody’s jaw tensed as he pulled the car into the driveway. He’d seen Vincent working his hardest to make an impression, trying to be friendly, bringing his best dishes and the most thoughtful gifts. But each time, it ended the same way, and tonight promised to be no different.
Rody’s mother, Anne, was already waiting on the doorstep, smiling brightly—too brightly, as if forcing herself to ignore the disappointment she must’ve felt seeing Vincent beside her son once again. She greeted them both with hugs, though the one she gave Vincent felt stiff and brief.
“Oh, Rody!” Anne gushed, as they walked inside. “You’re looking so well! And, ah, Vincent, of course. Lovely to see you.”
Vincent nodded politely, swallowing any resentment he felt and offering his shy, slightly awkward smile. “Thank you, Anne. I, um, I brought some pastries from the bakery—lemon tarts and macarons. I remember you mentioned you enjoyed them.”
“Oh, how thoughtful,” she replied, taking the box but giving it only a passing glance. “Though you know, Rody’s favorite was always Manon’s apple crumble. She made it with this sweet cinnamon topping—it was just perfect.”
Rody rolled his eyes, pulling Vincent closer beside him. “Mom, Vincent’s gone out of his way to bring you something special. Could we please not start?”
Anne gave a quick, dismissive wave of her hand. “Oh, honey, I’m just saying! I know how much you loved that dish. Besides, I thought it’d be nice to see her again—she should be here soon.”
Vincent’s heart dropped, but he forced himself to nod. He had no right to complain or make a scene, he told himself. He knew the family history. Manon had been Rody’s first love, the girl-next-door who fit effortlessly into every holiday gathering, family photo, and memory. How could he compete?
Vincent tried to busy himself by heading to the kitchen to help set up, but even there, Rody’s father, Gerard, was waiting, sitting at the dining table with an inscrutable expression on his face. “So, Vincent,” he started, his tone edged with something steely, “you’re still working at that little bistro, right?”
“Yes, sir,” Vincent replied softly. “The restaurant is doing well, and—”
“Ah,” Gerard interrupted with a smirk, “so you’re still a chef. That’s… quaint. But then again, it’s hard work, cooking for others all the time. I imagine you don’t get to see much of my son’s successes, with how busy you must be.”
Rody stepped in then, his eyes narrowed. “Dad, don’t. Vincent’s an incredible chef, and he makes time for us. If anything, he goes out of his way to make sure we have everything we need.”
“I’m only pointing out the facts, Rody,” Gerard replied. “Manon’s been excelling in her field—just got promoted again, if you didn’t hear. You know, she really had her life together; she could always keep up with your career.”
