Chapter 21 Dane

Chapter 21

Dane

Amanda’s fucking gorgeous, and I’m pissed.

I’m pissed because someone dropped off a letter telling her that the issues between our families are all her family’s fault, and now she’s gorgeous and sad when she should just be gorgeous.

We haven’t been at my grandparents’ party for ten minutes before someone quietly asks me if she’s okay. Six more make subtle similar inquiries in the next hour as guests arrive and everyone mingles over appetizers and champagne before dinner.

“She’s sad that our families haven’t made up so that the rest of her family could be here” is my story, and the number of I wish they’d all just get over it too responses I get, in some form or another, once again resolidifies my belief that we’re doing Tinsel a massive favor here.

The Andersons are the only family in town who aren’t celebrating my grandparents’ anniversary.

Their absence is even more noticeable in the face of Amanda being here. She’s a glowing red beacon of something is amiss but I’m trying my best .

Uncle Rob pulls me aside to tell me that my fiancée needs to smile more .

That she’s bringing down the vibe .

I tell him she just found out one of her favorite dogs died in New York. The one who humped my leg when we ran into each other and started dating.

I’ve never made up stories and lies so much in my life, but when I rejoin Amanda and quietly fill her in, I get a real smile for the first time all night. “Look at that. I’m rubbing off on you.”

Huh.

She is.

We hug my grandparents and wish them happy anniversary.

Correction: I hug my grandparents.

Amanda tries, but my grandma makes a face, my grandpa makes a noise, and Amanda grabs my arm instead. “Oh, that’s embarrassing. Predinner champagne doesn’t usually affect me like this.” She sways back and forth a little more, overdone to the point that I almost snap at my grandparents for making her uncomfortable.

She’s trying.

She’s hurting.

And this is their night, and I need to remember that.

So instead of making a scene about the way they’re treating her, I squeeze her hand on my arm and vow to stop by their house tomorrow to inform them that I’m choosing her over them, and they can fucking deal.

“My fault,” I say to my grandparents. “I didn’t give her time to eat this afternoon.”

Uncle Rob’s right behind us, and he grunts out a mutter that my grandmother’s echoing in her glare.

Awesome.

“Sorry,” Amanda whispers as we head toward our seats for dinner.

“Don’t be sorry that someone else has poor manners.”

“You two going to Vicki Anderson’s anniversary party tomorrow night?” someone asks.

“Unless we’ve both been cast out of our families and we decide to elope to Vegas instead,” Amanda quips.

Then cringes.

I get the cringe. Feels like we might be cast out tonight. Or we might cast ourselves out.

Even if the Vegas plan is highly unlikely.

“Exactly that,” I agree before she can correct herself.

It takes too long to find our seats, and when I do, irritation claws at my chest all over again.

We’re at the far back table.

Our place cards say Dane and Amnada .

Spelled exactly like that.

Our tablemates are the local pest control guy and his wife, my high school nemesis and his new wife, and the mayor and her husband.

Being seated with the mayor is only offensive if you know that my grandparents have voted for her opponent at every election for the past twelve years, since Vicki Anderson always endorses her. And being seated with my high school nemesis is one more sign that we might fail.

That my grandparents are too stubborn to give up the feud, even for the sake of my happiness.

That hurts.

That fucking hurts.

Our very awkward dinner is wrapping up when Uncle Rob stands at the head table and clinks a spoon against his glass. “If I could have everyone’s attention, please. I’d like to propose a toast to my parents.”

Amanda and I have to scoot our chairs around to get a good view, as we’ve been placed with our backs to the head table.

I can’t see my dad. Can’t see Lorelei or Esme.

I can hardly see my grandparents, as the raised platform for their table is barely raised, and everyone in front of us is craning to see too.

The people who aren’t looking back at Amanda and me, that is.

Have they been staring all through dinner?

I wouldn’t have noticed.

My back was to the rest of the party.

“First, we want to thank you all for being here to celebrate Mom and Pops,” Uncle Rob starts. “It means so much to them to see the appreciation the whole town has for the contributions they’ve made to Tinsel all of these years.”

There’s a smattering of applause.

Amanda claps with them. Not too loud, not too soft. Just fitting in.

Whereas I’m starting to sweat.

People are looking at us.

A lot of people. Not just a few. A lot.

We’re at the back of the room. No one should be looking at us.

But they are.

Uncle Rob starts the story about how my grandparents met. And people are still turning to look at us.

Amanda scoots her chair closer to me and squeezes my hand. “Are you okay?” she whispers.

“Yeah.”

She scoots even closer and squeezes my hand harder.

Quietly. There’s no scraping of the chair legs on the floor. No grunting from the effort. It’s all subtle motion bringing her closer to me and making my heart pound harder, which is making me sweat more.

I like her.

I’ve always liked her, but this week, I’ve seen how much more there is to like about her.

“If you’d asked my dad seventy years ago what he wanted to do with his life, the answer wouldn’t have been run the family fruitcake shop with a girl from the Bronx , but that’s exactly what their love story has been built on,” Uncle Rob says. “Marrying a New Yorker still isn’t something Pops would necessarily recommend for anyone else, but it sure worked out well for him.”

My cheek twitches and my jaw tightens.

Grandma’s from Kansas. She moved to the Bronx when she was eighteen, ran out of money at nineteen, and hopped the wrong bus back to Kansas, and Grandpa found her working a makeup counter in a mall in Grand Rapids not long after.

Amanda is more of a New Yorker than Grandma ever was.

That was a dig at us.

I’m positive that was a dig at us.

More people cast glances back at us.

“Pops won the in-law lottery, though,” Uncle Rob says. “Doesn’t happen with everyone.”

Amanda makes a soft noise like that one landed.

Doesn’t help that some people are getting restless, with more of them turning to peer at Amanda and me.

“But we all know wisdom comes with age, not hormones,” Uncle Rob adds with a chuckle.

“Dad, stop,” Esme hisses while a few people chuckle uncomfortably.

“What?” Uncle Rob says. “Pops is six years older than Mom is. And those were different times. He knew what he was getting into far better than a lot of you young people today. Especially some of you. Who should know better. And who should put family first.”

That’s it.

That’s fucking it .

I jerk to my feet and tug hard on Amanda’s hand. “We’re leaving,” I tell her.

“I’m okay,” she whispers.

“I’m not.”

She doesn’t say another word. Instead, she squeezes my hand impossibly harder— okay, I’m here for you —and trots along a half step behind me as we head to the exit.

It’s not far.

We’re in the back, after all.

“Don’t be rude to your grandparents, Dane,” Uncle Rob says into the mic while more murmurs and whispers erupt around us. “This is their day.”

I don’t answer.

I want to.

I want to lift a stiff middle finger and let it do all my talking for me.

But instead, I keep walking, Amanda right on my heels, all the way out the door.

“I’m sorry—” she starts as we shove out into the thick, heavy, dark night air, but I cut her off with a look.

“You didn’t put us in the back. You didn’t treat me like an outcast. You didn’t snub my grandparents when they tried to hug you. You didn’t give a toast loaded with lies and insults. You didn’t do a fucking thing wrong. So don’t be sorry.”

“Okay,” she whispers.

She says okay .

I hear but I’m the one who got you into this mess .

“Continuing this was my idea,” I say quietly as we reach the car. “Stop blaming yourself.”

“They’re your family.”

“I don’t want to be related to dicks. If they don’t fucking knock it off, I’m never coming back. And that was true before tonight.”

She peers up at me, briefly illuminated by a flash of lightning while a heavy gust of wind makes her free-hanging curls rustle.

Storm’s coming.

Heat will break.

But this overwhelming desire to kiss Amanda, to assure her that this fake engagement might be the best thing to ever happen to me, that it might set me free, likely won’t stop anytime soon.

Fuck my family.

I mean it. I don’t want to be related to dicks.