Page 60 of The Sweet Spot

Mom knew what would happen if she did that. A blowup would ensue, and I would get my wish, and they would both stay home.

“I will talk to him. It will be fine.”

I sure hoped so.

Chapter Thirty-One

Wolseley

Brandon and I went to the Kodiaks Christmas party for just a few hours. I could tell he was anxious about the visit with his parents. He tried hard to hang out, but I could see that lost look in his eyes like he was thinking about a million things. I put him out of his misery the minute I thought we’d stayed long enough, but I’d still had a great time and made more connections. I also got to hang out with my friends.

But like Brandon, the nerves about his parents crept up on me too.

His parents came in late Monday night, and I had already gone home. We both agreed it was probably best to meet them after they’d had a good night’s sleep and some breakfast. I offered to come and make it, but he assured me he could handle that. I’d already prepped some food for today, so when I showed up after lunch, I could get started on dinner.

Was I nervous? Hell yes! His dad seemed like a real jerk, but I had prepared myself. I’d met enough jerks in my time. One of my best instructors was a total asshole, and I’d made it out alive. Brandon’s dad would be a piece of cake. So aroundtwo o’clock, I headed over. Brandon’s parents were still adjusting to the two-hour time change, and I learned his dad liked to eat right at six o’clock, so if I wanted everything done, including dessert, I needed to get started by two thirty, and I guessed we’d eat at four, maybe five. Odd, but I was going with it.

I texted Brandon to let him know I was there. I was still Ubering everywhere, but transportation was so easy that I didn’t think I needed a car. I grabbed my two oversized bags of supplies and headed up to his condo. I got to his door and gently knocked before heading inside. Brandon met me at the door and took the two bags. When he moved to one side, I saw his father sitting on the sofa, watching one of the twenty-four-hour news networks. He looked up, staring at me with the same blue eyes as Brandon’s. He surveyed me and arched a brow. Clearly, he wasn’t impressed.

“Wolseley, this is Peter, my dad,” Brandon said, his voice tight. I didn’t want to know what I’d already missed.

“Hello,” he said and went back to the news.

Brandon and I exchanged looks, and he rolled his eyes. I stifled a giggle as we headed into the kitchen where Brandon’s mom was cleaning his already clean kitchen.

“Hey, Mom. This is Wolseley.”

She put down the cloth and smiled at me, the fake kind of smile you give someone when you’re pretty sure you aren’t going to like them. Ugh. I was striking out again.

She had light blue eyes and perfectly coifed shoulder-length blonde hair. She reminded me of a Stepford wife.

“Hello, dear,” she said.

“Wolseley, this is my mom, Susan.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

“Mom, how about you leave Wolseley in the kitchen, okay?”

His voice was firm, and she seemed to get the hint. She put the cloth in the sink and skulked off to the living room to join Peter.

“Just do your thing. I’ll keep them busy,” Brandon said to me quietly.

Susan tried to help me multiple times, but I had it all under control. I thought to give her a task, but figured it was better to just get the job done. I’d compromised on the menu and made ham, something I’d never made before and hoped to never make again. I paired that with some creamy mashed potatoes, roasted green beans with almonds, carrots with a brown butter glaze, a salad, my homemade bread, and for dessert, assorted cookies I’d made that morning. Brandon loved my chocolate crinkle cookies.

I called Brandon over to slice the ham because I wasn’t cutting through flesh. He seemed relieved to be away from his parents. I’d made a brown sugar glaze and a honey mustard sauce for the ham since Delia told me that people liked something like that with their ham.

We all sat down to eat, and Susan insisted we say grace. I didn’t realize Brandon’s family was religious. My family wasn’t, not that it mattered because I would never dream of judging someone based on their religious beliefs. Once she was done and we said our amens, we dug in. Peter made sure to start every dish, to which Susan deferred. Strange, but I went with it.

“What is this?” Peter said, pointing to the sauces.

“Oh, that’s for your ham,” I said as pleasantly as possible. “One is honey mustard, and the other is a brown sugar glaze.”

He scowled. “I don’t want anything on my ham. Why all this fancy stuff?”

“Honey mustard isn’t fancy,” Brandon said.

Neither was a brownsugar glaze.