Out of My League - Sarah Sutton Page 0,65
my heart pinching tight for her.
Her cheeks darkened with each second of quiet that ticked by before finally looking to me. The strength of her voice was gone, leaving it quivering as if she were about to cry. “Hope our introduction was impressive, Sophia.”
Without another word, Penny hurried from the room.
After breaking from the state of shock, Wes grabbed his napkin and started cleaning up the mess. I moved to help him, my chair making a harsh noise as I pushed it back against the floor. With a napkin full of glass shards, he quickly said, “Oh, Sophia, please. I would feel even worse if you helped.”
Awkwardly, I sat back in my seat.
“We had a guest and I wanted to make this special,” Wes spoke in a low voice, speaking to Walsh but not looking up. “Nice for Sophia. You couldn’t have held back, Walsh?”
Walsh looked at his father incredulously. “Are you kidding? She was insulting Sophia! What’d you want me to do, agree with her?”
“No, but you didn’t have to provoke her. You didn’t have to keep at it. You know she’s like that when she’s…well, when she’s—”
“Been drinking? That’s no excuse, Dad!”
Wes rose from the floor, clutching his now stained fabric napkin, filled with glass shards. “I know.” He set the pile down upon the tablecloth, scrambling to put a garlic knot on his own plate and Penny’s, scooping just a little bit more ziti to his pile to keep what was underneath warm. And then, he picked up both of the plates. “Sophia, it was very lovely having you in our home. Despite the evening, I hope you come back. I’m sorry we couldn’t get through the dinner, but there should be some of Janet’s cookie dough in the fridge if you two want dessert.”
As soon as his father walked from the room, Walsh pushed his plate back, slumping into his chair and rubbing his hands over his face. Strained silence made the atmosphere in the room tense, almost tangible.
“Walsh,” I began, but he let out a harsh breath.
“Please, I just…” Walsh didn’t look at me but at his plate of food. “I’m sorry. I hoped she would be on her best behavior. She said—Dad said she’d try, but she never does.”
“It’s okay,” I told him truthfully, mirroring the way he slouched in his seat. A sharp pain clenched in my stomach at the idea of him hurting, looking at where his cheeks were pink with embarrassment. Through the hair falling in my eyes, I met his gaze. “Are you okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean about the stuff she was saying.”
Walsh sat up, turning that incredulous look on me now. “Of course I’m not okay! She was awful to you—”
“She wasn’t trying to hurt me.”
His lashes kissed his cheeks once, twice. “Uh, were you present for that conversation?”
If the air weren’t so tense, I might’ve smiled. “She wasn’t lashing out at me, Walsh. She was lashing out at you.”
Saying things to provoke him, to rile him up. It turned into a game. I couldn’t imagine why, though. Why she’d been so cruel and antagonistic towards him. But I could recognize it in the way my own parents interacted with each other sometimes. When they were angry with each other, they used the other’s weakness. Exploited it.
Walsh didn’t respond right away, allowing my words to hang in the air, marinating for a moment. The way he looked at me made me wish, not for the first time, that I owned a direct line to his thoughts. Focused gaze, tightly-pressed lips. What could he possibly be thinking about, looking at me like that?
“She knew how important this was to me,” he said after a moment.
“But why? Why was this so important?” What was I missing?
Walsh smiled instead of answering, but it gave me no comfort. It was his fake smile, smooth and practiced. Corners tight, teeth hidden, lips curled slightly. Half lifted, half arrogant, and totally faked. It eclipsed all his emotions, only showing the ones he knew looked good on him. “Let’s get out of here.”
I tried to brush it off, to swallow his subject change. Walsh sat so close, but he still felt a million miles away. “And go where? It’s nine o’clock.”
“So?” He stood up, grabbing onto my hands to try and drag me up with him. “It’s not even that dark yet. We need to do something other than baking cookies.”
I put all my weight into leaning back against the dining room chair. “I was