Bad, Bad Bluebloods(Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,57
me. I put my fork down and lean back into the cushions, playing with Grandma Reed’s charm bracelet. I don’t dare take it to school with me. Can you imagine what those Blueblood psychos would do if they got a hold of it? “It was wrong of me to try to force a relationship.” He swallows hard and glances away, like he’s ashamed about something. I narrow my eyes.
“You didn’t buy a chicken instead of a turkey again this year?” I ask, already thinking ahead to Thanksgiving dinner. Charlie chuckles and glances back at me, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he smiles.
“Wow, you know me too well,” he says, laughing. But it feels so … forced. That was not what he was going to say. I narrow my eyes, but Dad’s already standing up and moving into the kitchen to fry up some eggs. I’m already stuffed, but I don’t have the heart to tell him no. Besides, I just like watching him cook, smelling the smells, sinking into the ratty old couch.
If the Idols think money buys happiness, I feel sorry for them.
This, this right here is what life is all about.
Dad isn't exactly thrilled to receive an invitation from Zack's family to have Thanksgiving dinner at the Brooks’ place. He hasn't said much since the video came out at the football game, but I know he's upset. More for me than for him, but still, even though I told him I forgave Zack, it isn't enough. Nor should it be, considering what Zack did to me.
Still, when the invitation comes, it's tempting to go.
“I did not know he was the one that drove you home from school,” Dad says, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at me like he’s severely disappointed. I tuck my bottom lip under my teeth and grimace. I never lie to my dad; I try to make it a habit not to lie at all. The thing is, I didn't exactly tell him either.
“Dad,” I start, glancing over at the brown paper bags full of groceries on the counter. I went shopping for everything we would need to have a huge Thanksgiving feast, but I’m just … tired, and Dad’s tired, and quite frankly it sounds kind of fun to hang out with Zack. Does that make me a crazy person? “Look, I'm not trying to minimize what Zack did to me. But I know you like to hang out with him, and I know he kept you company last year when I was gone. Going over to his house for dinner doesn't mean that he's been forgiven or that has sins have been forgotten.” I exhale and slide my palms down the front of my red skirt. “But don't you think he deserves a second chance? You gave one to Jennifer.”
Charlie purses his thin lips and tucks his hands into the pockets of his paint-covered overalls. He must believe in second chances, or he really wouldn’t be having an affair with Jennifer. We haven't talked about that yet; it seems so unimportant right now. Dad's health is the only thing that matters.
“I guess they'll probably have a full spread over there …” He starts, and I grin. I don't need to keep pressing: I’ve already won him over. Dad says I forgive too easily, but he also believes in the power of forgiveness. It’s a fine line to walk.
So on Thursday, we had over to the Brooks’ family home in Dad's rusted-out Ford. It rattles down the pristine white limestone driveway, coming to a stop near an impressive set of steps. The porch on this house is as big as the entire Train Car.
Zack is waiting outside, leaning casually against the wall near the front door with his big hands tucked into the pockets of his black slacks. I surprised to see him dressed up in a white button-down and jacket. He seems so uncomfortable in it, like he'd rather be in sweats and a tank, working out in the gym. Even though he seems nonchalant, I can tell he’s nervous about our visit. Probably nervous about confronting my father. As he should be, anyway.
Charlie gets out of the car in his unflattering yellow and red plaid button-down (I tried to convince him not to wear it) and brown slacks. Pretty sure this is the same outfit he wore to his friend’s wedding two or three decades ago. He’s also wearing an extreme frown that looks carved into the