Out of My League - Sarah Sutton Page 0,64
otherwise.”
“Does your dad do a lot of cooking, Sophia?”
“We alternate the cooking between the three of us,” I told Wes. “But he’s definitely better than my mom. She can even manage to ruin macaroni.”
A bug of guilt crawled its way into my stomach when I thought about how I left my parents today, scuttling around at the idea of what my parents were doing now, but I shoved it down. Squished it with the bottom of my shoe.
Wes nodded sympathetically. “Well, I’d love to meet your parents one day.”
I tried to imagine that scene, our parents interacting. Dad would’ve liked Wes—they were a bit alike, both putting off the businessman-type vibe—and I think Mom would’ve, too. With Wes’s infectious grin, it was hard to believe otherwise. It actually wasn’t too bad of an image.
Penny laughed, holding her hand in front of her mouth to try and stifle it. Wes looked at her levelly, wearing something in his expression. It looked sharp. “Food go down the wrong pipe, hon?”
“It’s just that—” she got out, shaking her head, reaching for her glass. “Oh, this is just funny. Meeting her parents? Please.” Penny drank the last liquid from glass number two, pushing her plate of ziti away from her. “I think this is silly. This whole thing is silly.”
A frown etched into Wes’s features, though his voice was level. “That’s enough, Penny. Why don’t you eat some more ziti? I followed the recipe you found for me.”
“And I don’t care what you think,” Walsh responded, almost as if his father hadn’t spoken. “Unless it’s about this amazing food.”
“Of course you don’t.” Her reply came cold, covered in ice. Her words sounded a bit wild now, the carefulness of her enunciation lessened by the effects of the wine. “You haven’t cared in a long time.”
Wes looked at me from across the table, speaking to me over them. “Please, ignore them. Walsh. Enough.”
“I used to,” Walsh argued back, and it was the first time that I heard his voice shake. It was a small tremble, one that I never would’ve noticed before we’d gotten to know each other. But as he watched his mother, threw words back and forth, I could hear it plain as day. “I used to care.”
“Enough.” Wes’s voice cut firmly between them, trying to build a wall in the middle of the table. But he wasn’t building it fast enough, frantically reaching for supplies that weren’t there. “I mean it, you two.”
Penny glanced at her husband for a mere moment, taking a second of deliberation before deciding that he wasn’t worth listening to, and she looked back to Walsh. “I don’t know why you’re introducing Sophie to us if you don’t care what we think.”
“It’s Sophia,” Walsh corrected again, “and maybe I wanted you to meet her because she’s important to me.”
For some reason, I found myself reaching under the table again and touching his knee, wanting to defuse the situation. Why was he getting so passionate about defending me, anyway? Was he really pretending about our relationship to this extent, or was it just to argue further with his mother?
“She seems way out of your depth, Walsh.”
“And at least she isn’t a drunk,” he said loudly, exasperated.
At those words, Wes slammed his fork down, causing the table to shake. It made both the wine and me jump.
And for a moment, it was eerily quiet. No one spoke. Penny’s back stiffened as if a board had been tied to her shoulders, propping her up straight. Her eyes got this faraway look, glazing over as her mind wandered.
Penny looked from Walsh to Wes, then down to her plate. I didn’t know her well enough at all to read the expression that crossed over her features, barely there, blink-and-it’s-gone. It reminded me of Walsh’s hidden expressions, moments before he covered his feelings with a mask of a smile.
“I’m not hungry, as it turns out.” She looked at me before she left the room, her eyes scanning me. In that moment, I could finally see the resemblance between her and Walsh. She placed her hands on the table, ready to push to her feet. “I’m going back to my room.”
As Penny abruptly stood, she upset the placemat that her wineglass rested on, sending it crashing to the floor.
The wineglass splintered with a scream onto the hardwood floor, the shattering ring echoing in the silence that followed. I felt Walsh stiffen beside me, but I couldn’t look at him. My gaze was latched onto Penny,