Just a Number (17 page)

Once we’re out of the city, and I don’t have to shift gears every time we hit a red light, I reach over and take Amelia’s hand; I plan to take full advantage of being in contact with her right up until we hit that damn sign.

“So, did your dad tell you that Carla and her kids would be joining us?” I ask once we hit the highway.

Smiling, she leans her head back on the headrest and stares at me. “I figured as much,” she responds. “It’s been obvious for some time that he’s had feelings for Carla. I think it’s great.”

“Yeah, my sister will be happy,” I announce. “She’s been saying for a while now that they’re perfect for each other. She’ll be thrilled when she sees them together.”

Suddenly, Amelia sits upright, posture rigid. Something snapped her out of her contented state. “Julia is coming tonight.” It’s not a question.

15. Weakness

I
sit in nervous silence for a minute, the very real possibility of our not being able to keep this secret finally coming to light.

“Yeah, but you already knew that, sweetheart,” Owen says, confused.

Don’t get me wrong; I love Julia. She’s the best. She’s always taken me shopping, and she was there for me through my teen years when I had questions about sex and boys. Mom and Dad split up when I was seven. Neither one of them harbored any ill-will toward the other, and everything was pretty amicable, right down to who retained custody of me. They’d presented me with my options—Portland with Dad, or Texas with Mom—and I made my choice to live with Dad, visiting Mom whenever school would allow for it. I’d heard stories growing up about parents who split up, and it all sounded so…ugly. Even watching Owen and Gretchen go through this—without children—makes me so thankful that my parents were both grown-up enough to admit they just weren’t meant to be together forever.

They’re both happy now, and that’s all that matters.

Because I was so young when they divorced, my mom wasn’t around to talk with me about sex and boys when I was ready. Sure, my dad tried to be all “hip and happening” (his words, not mine), but there was just something deeply disturbing about your dad trying to have “the talk” with you. That’s where Julia came in.

She’s always been deeply intuitive about what’s happening around her, and this is what worries me. I don’t know how she does it, but she’s always been able to read me like a book, asking about the boy I’m seeing before I’ve even told her I’ve met someone.

And now she’s going to be at my dad’s house. With Owen and me. Who are together.

We’re so screwed.

“She’s going to figure it out,” I inform him, panic rolling around in my stomach until it forms a knot, making me more than a little uneasy. “She’ll know something’s up. She’ll say something.”

Sensing my panic, Owen pulls the car over onto the shoulder of the highway, putting his hazard lights on before turning to me. “Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes. “Everything is going to be fine.”

Sadly, I don’t hear his words of assurance right away. Various scenes of how Dad might find out and react play out in my mind instead. “We were fools to think we’ll get away with this. We should have just told him a few weeks ago. He could have been okay with it by now.” Realistically, I’m not entirely sure I believe this myself, but I know that if he finds out now, it’ll ruin his Christmas and possibly sour the holiday for him altogether. What have I done?

“Amy, listen to me,” Owen says, reaching over and forcing my eyes to his. Once they lock, I feel a small wave of calm wash over me, and I exhale slowly. “Yes, she’ll probably
suspect
you’re seeing someone—and she’s already told me she suspects as much with me—but if we carry on like everything is normal between us, that’s as far as she’ll get.” He pauses, his thumb moving along my jaw soothingly. “But, we can tell him when we get there, if you want.”

The calming tone of his voice continues to soothe me, my rationality returns, and I shake my head. “No… I mean, yes, I
want
to tell him. Keeping something this big from him is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. But I just don’t think telling him now is a good idea.” I second-guess myself again, so I ask, “Do you? You’ve known him way longer, and in a way I don’t. Am I wrong?”

Owen’s expression turns somber, and he shrugs. “It’s tough to say. I definitely think that if he finds out on his own, it could be so much worse than if we just tell him. But I don’t think you’re wrong in wanting to wait until the New Year. He’s got so much planned over the next few days, and there’ll always be company over. We need to tell him alone…” Owen pauses, and then adds on, “And when he’s not so close to his weapons.”

I laugh, and when Owen’s eyes soften, I know this was the reaction he was hoping for. “So we stick to the plan,” I say, feeling a little bit of my confidence in our decision returning.

Once things have been resolved, Owen puts the car in gear and we pull back out onto the highway when it’s safe. Because we’re already running a little behind, he decides to drive a little over the speed limit. The roads aren’t so bad, and there’s very little traffic in our way, so we figure it’ll be pretty smooth sailing.

Until we see the flashing red and blue lights in our rearview window.

It would figure that an hour and a half away from our destination would have Washington State’s finest pulling us over. Owen puts the car into park and rolls his window down, waiting for the cop behind us to approach. He grabs his license from his wallet and his registration from the glove box, having it ready for when it’s requested.

The crunch of gravel and snow outside is heard as the highway patrol officer approaches, and then he’s right outside the driver’s side window, leaning over and peering inside. “License and registration, please.” Owen hands it to him, and the officer thanks him. “So, where are you headed to in such a rush, Mr. Cavanaugh?”

“Portland, Officer,” Owen replies respectfully.

The officer peers into the car, his eyes catching mine. “Speeding sets a bad example for your daughter there, don’t you think?”

Inhaling sharply, my eyes widen in shock as they move to Owen. He’s still facing the officer, but I can see that the man’s assumption bothers him by the way his jaw clenches as he reaches for his ID and the ticket. But when he fails to correct the officer, I step up.

“He’s
not
my father, actually.” Sure, I could probably be a little more polite, but I’m mildly insulted. How dare he just assume this? Yes, there’s a definite age gap between us, but it’s not like our situation is entirely uncommon. Maybe girls don’t go around seducing their father’s best friends on a regular basis—or maybe they do, I don’t know—but it’s not like a twenty-plus-year age gap is unheard of. You can pick up any celeb magazine and see a laundry list of names in a similar situation.

Celebs; they’re just like us, indeed.

The officer continues to look between us, possibly trying to figure out the nature of our relationship. Unable to take his scrutinizing gaze anymore, I reach over and take Owen’s hand in mine, being sure to go that extra mile and thread our fingers together. It’s a brazen move that I’m not sure will be fully embraced by Owen, but I want the officer to eat his words.

Never one to disappoint, Owen turns to me and smiles—and not one of those smug grins like we’ve just put this presumptuous officer in his place, but one that I’ve grown accustomed to seeing on an almost daily basis these last few weeks. This is
my
smile, and it’s full of admiration as it reaches his eyes. He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it, my cheeks warming slightly.

The second realization crosses the officer’s face, he clears his throat, and we turn our attention back to him. “My apologies,” he tells us, his voice nervous but sincere. “Just, uh, pay attention to the posted speed limits.”

“Of course, Officer,” Owen agrees, sounding somewhat smug now. “Won’t happen again.”

Once the officer is back in his cruiser and he pulls back out onto the highway, Owen follows suit, and I pick up the ticket. It’s not too bad, but I offer to pay for half since we’re road trip buddies. After a lot of his “no, you’re nots” versus my “yes, I ams,” I win.

“That officer was a dick,” I blurt out, putting the ticket and Owen’s registration in his glove box so we don’t misplace them.

“Maybe, but it was an honest mistake,” he replies, defending the officer. “I mean, I
am
the same age as your father.”

I know he’s right, but I’m still pissed, and I can tell he is, too; he’s just trying a lot harder than I am not to dwell on it. Maybe I should follow his lead.

We change the topic of conversation back to the party tonight. I’m excited to see everyone again, even though it’s only been four weeks since I saw most of them at Thanksgiving. And while Julia and Stephen both live in Seattle, too, it’s rare I ever see them with our schedules never lining up.

The remainder of the trip goes by pretty quickly, and when we slip by the “Welcome to Portland” sign, Owen and I break our rule. But only for a couple extra minutes. Can we really be faulted? We’re going to have to spend several days without any major contact, so what’s a little extra hand-holding?

By the time we roll to a stop outside Dad’s house at two, we’re feeling pretty good about the plan. Or, as good as can be expected. Carla’s car is already parked next to Dad’s gray Tahoe, and the Slades are here, also. Other than Julia and Stephen, I’m not sure who else Dad’s invited tonight, but I know he usually likes to go all out at Christmas time. It’s his favorite time of year—hence why I can’t risk him finding out about Owen and me right now.

Owen shuts the car off, and I look toward the house, taking several deep, calming breaths and wiping my sweaty palms on the legs of my jeans. I tell myself over and over again that everything will be fine. I feel a light touch on my shoulder—an innocent touch that’s not uncommon between the two of us—and I look over at Owen. He looks just as nervous as I am.

“You ready?” he asks.

Smiling, I nod and unclip my seatbelt. “About as ready as I’ll ever be.”

We grab our bags from the trunk of his car and head up the front steps together. I take one last steeling breath and push the door open. Dad’s got all the decorations up, a fire roaring in the fireplace, and the tree in the living room right in front of the big window, covered in a variety of store-bought as well as hand-made (by me) ornaments that we’d acquired over the years. I take a second to let the nostalgia of the holiday pour over me, but it’s short-lived as everyone emerges. William Slade’s sixteen-year-old son, Benjamin, takes our bags from us and sets them down near the stairs, while Carla’s two kids, Ethan and Hayley, both chatter on a mile a minute about everything they’ve been doing to get ready for tonight. They’re fourteen and sixteen, respectively, so it’s hard to get a word in edgewise once they start. I just stand there and listen. Hayley’s almost-black hair is about six inches longer than the last time I saw her, now hitting her at the waist, and her honey-colored eyes sparkle as she goes on and on about her holiday so far. Ethan is usually a little more reserved, but he seems to be coming out of his shell as he joins in the conversation, occasionally pushing his fingers through his cropped brown hair.

After Hayley and Ethan leave to go help in the kitchen, Carla steps forward, wrapping me in her warm embrace before William takes a turn, and then finally my dad. I hug him just a little bit longer than everyone else because I miss him that much more.

“You guys are late,” Dad says, looking between Owen and me.

Before he can ask why and force me to lie—poorly, I might add—I shrug. “Sorry. My fault. I had a few last minute things to do.” What? It’s not an outright lie. I did have things to do if I was going to successfully keep my hands to myself over the next few days.

“No worries,” Dad assures me. “Ethan, Hayley, and Ben have been very helpful.”

I run my things upstairs to my room, and when I turn around after hanging the garment bag in my closet, I’m surprised to see Owen in the doorway. “What are you doing up here?” I ask in a hushed tone.

He sets his bag down next to the door and smiles. He’s not staying in here, is he? I mean, that would be awesome, but would make our plan harder to stick to. “Your dad said I should stash my things up here. He doesn’t want them in the way once everyone else arrives.”

Disappointment floods my veins, and I nod. “Right. Makes sense.”

Reading my expression, he smirks slyly. “What did you think was happening?”

The deep tenor of his low voice sends a quiver beneath my skin. “I figured maybe Dad was so oblivious he was going to make us bunk together. That, or he figured it out and is just
that
much cooler about it than I thought he’d be.”