“You sound surprised,” I say, pretending to be offended.
“Shhh,” she hisses, swatting my arm. “You know what I mean.”
“I know, I know.”
“I guess the real question is: Are you intohim?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I tease, twisting my way out of the question.
Chapter Eighteen
Kristen drops me off at home first. Thankfully, with the boys in the car, she doesn’t have another chance to try to get me to gush about how great the date was.
“My bag’s in the trunk,” I remind her as I get out.
“I’ll pop it for you.”
Maurice slides out after me and opens the trunk all the way. Before I can tell him I’m fine, a voice calls out from the house.
My dad materializes from behind a hedge, dragging our trash cans behind him toward the curb, toward us.
“Hey, Mr. Jones,” Kristen calls out.
“That your dad?” Maurice asks, closing the trunk.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Um, you don’t have to meet him or anything like that,” I say, in place of admitting that I don’t reallywantthem to meet.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind saying hi.”
Dad walks up and chats with Kristen for a moment. She introduces Vincent and Maurice, and since Maurice is still standing outside the car, he and my dad shake hands.
“Nice to meet you, sir,” Maurice says.
“Same to you. You guys have fun?” Dad asks, glancing at me.
“We just went to Rockne’s,” I say, starting down the driveway in hopes Dad will catch the hint.
“Oh, so you won’t be needing any of the honey-glazed salmon I have in the oven?” he teases, gesturing toward the house.
“That sounds delicious, Mr. J.,” Kristen says, talking through the open window.
“I’ll definitely have room for that,” I tell him. “I’ll see you guys, okay?”
We wrap up our goodbye and I walk to the house with Dad. He’s still wearing his clothes from work, so he probably just got home.
“Your mom said you and Kristen were… uh… looking for… boys,” he says, though “boys” comes out more like a question.
“Ew, Dad.” I can’t help but laugh. “She’s just trying to help me find a date to the festival, that’s all.”
Dad adjusts his glasses as we head inside. “And this boy, is he a contender?”
I remember what Mom said, about how she always thought Jameson and I would get together. I know that my parents don’t have any reason to think I’d be interested in girls instead of boys, but talking about it with them isn’t the same now that any conversation about me dating a guy is a lie.
“Maurice is… nice,” I tell him. “But that’s all.”
Dad nods, glancing around the living room as I drop my bag by the doorway to the kitchen. I can tell he has more to say, so Ihover. I can smell the salmon from here, the honey glaze tinged with sesame.
“You know, it’s okay if you want more.”