Chapter Seventeen

"When I suggested meeting your parents, I didn't think I was going to have to do it with the word Juicy stamped across my ass." Colin tossed the pair of hot-pink terry-cloth pants back at her. "Absolutely not."

She caught them with a laugh. "You have a problem with my choice of loungewear?"

"On you? Those are probably cute as hell. On me?" He huffed. "I've got seven inches on you. They won't even fit."

"Six inches, maybe," she said patiently. "And so what? These are a little long on me. On you they'll be... capris."

She bit down hard on the side of her cheek so she wouldn't crack up.

"Maybe I should just wait in here until my shorts finish drying."

The lake house had been suspiciously quiet when she'd led Colin in through the back. A note left on the island addressed to Truly clued her in—Dad had gone for a drive to give everyone a little space to cool off. Mom was out front, ripping weeds from the flower bed.

"That's going to take at least twenty minutes." She held the pants out to him. "It's either these or my sweats that have Baby Girl written on the ass. Your choice."

"Jesus Christ," Colin muttered, ears flushed the same color as the pants he snatched from her. "Look, I'm not opposed to experimenting with a little light humiliation if you are. But I'm just saying, maybe we should keep it relegated to the bedroom."

As expected, the pants hit him about mid-calf. He set his hands on his hips and heaved a beleaguered sigh. "All right. Lay it on me. How ridiculous do I look?"

Not that ridiculous, actually. If it weren't for the word Juicy printed on his butt—which, hello, where had he been hiding that peach of an ass? God, she wanted to sink her teeth into it, which was probably weird, but whatever—she'd tell him to keep them. They looked better on him than they'd ever looked on her.

"Take a look for yourself." She swept a hand out at the mirror hanging over the back of her door. "I think that might be your color."

He adjusted himself, dragging down the crotch of the pants so he could walk more comfortably, and headed for the mirror. He frowned at his reflection, turning to the side. "Huh. My ass doesn't look half bad."

That startled a laugh from her, not at all the reaction she'd been expecting. "You got dumps like a truck, McCrory." She reached for his hand and led him back out into the living room.

Mom was seated at the table, straw sun hat discarded beside her and a glass of lemonade in her hand. She looked up when they entered, expression frosty, leaving no doubt that she was still upset. She looked away, then did a double take, eyes widening as she spotted Colin over Truly's shoulder. "Truly. Who is this?" Her brow furrowed. "And why in God's name is he wearing your pants?"

Colin groaned under his breath.

"Mom, this is Colin McCrory. Colin, this is my mother, Diane. And he's wearing my pants because his were wet from swimming."

"The boy you said you hated?" she stage-whispered, a gleam in her eye. "Your father owes me twenty dollars."

Colin's cough did nothing to disguise his laugh.

"I never said I hated Colin. And what about twenty dollars?"

Mom was an actress, a great one. But Truly could see right through her fa?ade of faux confusion, all big eyes and frowning lips. "I could've sworn I remember you saying you hated him and then I told you hate was a strong word and you told me that's why you used it."

Mom smirked and Truly was no mind reader, but she was willing to bet Mom was thinking something along the lines of: payback's a bitch.

Truly had to hand it to her—death by mortification was a fine punishment indeed.

Colin reached around her, holding out his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Livingston. Truly's told me so much about you."

"Please, call me Diane." Mom shook his hand. "I'm glad my daughter doesn't actually hate you. You're very handsome."

He looked inordinately pleased. "I can certainly see where Truly gets her beauty from."

Mom blushed. "You're a real charmer, aren't you?"

"I prefer to think of myself as honest." He grinned and Mom all but swooned.

Truly couldn't help but beam. A real charmer, indeed. Maybe, just maybe, this day wasn't going to be a total bust after all.

The front door opened, and Dad stepped inside. "Truly! I was worried you'd walk in here looking like a prune, but—oh. Hello, stranger." His eyes dropped. "Stranger who is wearing my daughter's pants."

"Dad, this is Colin McCrory. He's going to be joining us for dinner."

Dad turned and walked out of the room without so much as a word.

She looked at Mom for help. "What's he doing?"

Mom shrugged. "How should I know?"

Dad came stalking back into the room from the hall, walked right up to the kitchen table, and slapped a twenty-dollar bill down in front of Mom.

She pocketed the cash with a small smile.

"Did you—did you bet on my love life?" she asked, mildly horrified.

"What else are we supposed to bet on, Pumpkin?" Dad buffed a kiss against her cheek. "Sports?"

"Ha. That was a good one, Stanley."

Dad preened. "I thought so."

On the bright side, her parents were getting along, even if it was courtesy of conspiring against her.

"And you wonder where I get my boundary issues from." Hypocrites, the both of them. "So, what? You just walk in the door, take one look at us, and assume we're together because what? We're not at each other's throats?"

"No," Dad said calmly, crossing his arms. "I took one look at the boy wearing your pants and then on my second look I spotted the sizeable love bite you've got"—he pointed at his own neck—"right about there, and well." Dad razzle-dazzled his fingers. "Clearly someone was at your throat, Pumpkin Butt."

Colin wheezed, the sound of a dying man. A death rattle.

She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and dragged him toward the kitchen. "Colin and I are going to take turns trying to fit ourselves down the garbage disposal. 'Kay? Bye."

"Now, wait just a gosh darn minute, young lady. I'd like to talk to this young man."

She slowed reluctantly.

Dad drummed his fingers against his arm. "Tell me, Colin McCrory—how well do you know musical theater composers?"

"Dad, no. Colin doesn't want to play."

"Colin doesn't want to play what exactly?" Colin asked.

She sighed. "My parents have this rule—"

"Tradition," Dad corrected. "It is a family tradition."

"Tradition, where when you're in a room you have to use a song title or lyrics by the composer the room is named for in every sentence. We've got the Sondheim sunroom, the Irving Berlin half bath, etcetera, etcetera. It's a pain in the ass."

"It's inspiring," Dad argued, hands on his hips. His offended stance. "Gets the creative juices flowing." He shimmied his shoulders in a way she'd pay to never again witness.

"It's a little like a puzzle," Mom conceded. "Keeps you sharp."

Dad crossed the room and threw an arm around Colin's shoulders. "We do things a little differently at the lake house. You see, the lake house is a wild card. Sondheim, Rodgers, Hammerstein, Bart, Bernstein, Tesori... strictly mealtimes and any composer goes."

She tugged on Colin's sleeve, dragging him away from Dad and dropping her voice. "We can go out for dinner. You do not have to do this."

Colin rubbed his fingers against his lips, brow furrowed. "It's okay."

"I mean it." She wouldn't think any less of him if he wanted to ditch. Her family could be a lot. "There's this restaurant not far from here at Vin du Lac Winery. If I call now, I bet I can get a late reservation for four. Or you and I can just—"

He leaned in, lips pillowing against hers in a chaste kiss, shutting her up and stealing her breath in one go. He leaned back, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. Lips she wouldn't mind kissing a few thousand times more. "And I'm Telling You I'm Not Going."

The quiet conversation her parents had been having on the other side of the room died swiftly.

Dad straightened, pointing at Colin across the room, a smile spreading across his face. "Dreamgirls, 1981. Tom Eyen. You familiar with any of his earlier work?"

"Like The Dirtiest Show in Town?" Colin shrugged. "I only saw the film version on Showtime, but yeah, I know it."

Dad slapped both hands over his chest and fell to his knees. "Be still my heart. Truly?" He looked at her, eyes wide, expression solemn. "Either you marry this boy, or I adopt him. Do you hear me, young lady?"

"Dad," she hissed, face hot and ears burning. "Can we try not to scare him off?"

For all the push and pull she'd done, the mixed signals she'd sent, she was kind of attached to the idea of Colin sticking around.

Colin chuckled, seemingly unbothered by her father's gun jumping. "Gonna take a lot more than that to scare me off," he whispered. He turned back to her father. "I'm guessing you know the show?"

"Know it?" Dad scoffed as he stood, wincing when his knee crunched. "I caught my older sister sneaking out and demanded she take me with her otherwise I'd tattle to Mommy and Daddy. I was nine when I first stepped inside Astor Place Theatre, fingers clutching her coattails, drinking it all in." Dad sighed dreamily. "I didn't understand half of what was happening on that stage, but God if I didn't love every goddamn second of it."

Earnest enthusiasm lit up Colin's whole face, making his eyes sparkle. "The original 1975 production? You saw it?"

"Hell yes, I did. That night was revolutionary for me." Dad grinned. "I'll tell you all about it over dinner. You drink wine, Colin?"

"I do, sir."

"White or red?"

"Whatever you think will go best with dinner."

"That's a good boy." Dad nodded. "We'll open a bottle of Chianti Classico. You sit, assuming you can in those pants."

"Dad."

"I've got eyes," he said, defensive. "Your boy's got junk in his trunk."

Colin's face went neon. "Um, thank you?"

"Polite. I like that, too. You two sit. Take a load off. Google some songs, if you need a refresher, kid. Because when we sit down to eat?" Dad grinned. "Let the games begin."

***

"Bullshit."

Truly glanced between Colin and the cards she'd discarded in the center of the table. She arched a single brow. "You sure about that?"

Colin narrowed his eyes. "You heard me. Bullshit."

"Oh ho!" Dad laughed. "You heard him. He called bullshit."

Truly smirked. "Go on. Flip 'em over."

A flicker of doubt crossed his face, his brow creasing as he reached for the cards she'd tossed down. He flipped them over, revealing one, two, three jacks.

Colin dropped his head back and groaned.

"Read 'em and weep, McCrory, read 'em and weep." She shoved the discard pile toward him.

"Yeah, yeah." He gathered the cards up and added them to the half a deck he already held in his hands, unable to bullshit to save his life. "Two queens."

"Bullshit." Dad grinned.

Colin laughed and took the cards he'd only just discarded back. His inability to lie was almost as endearing as his willingness to lose graciously.

After dinner, during which Colin had managed to hold his own—his musical knowledge was only slightly better than average, but what he lacked in skill, he more than made up for in enthusiasm; even when his phone battery ran low, he borrowed a charger and took a seat on the floor beside the outlet, plate balanced on his knees so he could keep googling lyrics—they'd adjourned to the back patio with a deck of cards.

An hour and three games of Bullshit later and Truly felt hopeful in a way she hadn't in weeks.

"You're a terrible liar, Stan." Mom flung a card at Dad, giggling when it smacked him in the face.

"Some would consider that a virtue." Dad added the card to his hand and topped off Mom's glass of wine. "Not all of us are gifted thespians, dear. Even fewer of us are Tony award–winning actresses."

"Tony award–winning?" Colin rested his elbows on the table. "And I'm only now hearing about this? You've been holding out on me, Diane."

Mom blushed prettily.

"Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Musical," Dad said.

"It's not a big deal," Mom demurred.

"Not a big deal?" Dad scoffed. "Now to that, I call bullshit. Truly and I couldn't be prouder, could we, honey?"

Mom rested her chin on her hands. "Remember when you installed a spotlight over the mantel just for the award?"

"Well, it deserved to be admired. It's only a shame I nearly burned down the house." He cringed at Colin. "An electrician, I am not."

"It was only a small fire." Mom giggled into her glass. "I thought it was sweet."

"Maybe I should start house fires more often."

Truly held her breath as Mom's gaze locked with Dad's and maybe she was wrong, maybe she was only seeing what she wanted, but this didn't seem like regular looking; from the outside looking in, it seemed as if they were actually seeing each other, the two of them lost in their own world in a way she hadn't witnessed in—too long.

Beneath the table, Colin squeezed her knee as if asking, are you seeing this?

She rested a trembling hand atop his and squeezed back.

Mom cleared her throat and dropped her eyes, the moment over, but not forgotten. Dad's face had gone pink and Mom reached for her wine, draining half the glass with one deep swallow.

Truly hid her grin behind her cards. "My turn?"

Three rounds later and Colin's hand continued to grow.

Truly wasn't faring much better.

"Shame!" Dad tutted. "Diane, our daughter has no poker face."

"Oh, that's just what she wants you to think." Mom's tongue pressed against the side of her cheek. "Truly's quite the little liar."

The scoff escaped before she could swallow it. "Gee, Mom, tell me how you really feel."

Mom scowled down into her glass, swirling the wine with a little more gusto than strictly necessary, considering she was knocking it back far quicker than she could let it breathe. "Now's not the time, Truly."

Truly gritted her teeth, just barely soothed by the circle Colin's thumb was making against her knee.

"Not so fast," Dad said, either oblivious to the tension or uncaring. Either way, Truly braced herself. "Colin, sate my curiosity, would you? Were you aware of your girlfriend's—Truly is your girlfriend, no?"

Truly groaned. "Dad, I love you, but really?"

"Hey, I'm on TikTok. I'm hip with the lingo. Simping and smashing, sneaky links and situationships. Are you two still in the talking phase or have you DT'd the R?"

"DT'd the—" Christ on a cracker. Truly groaned. "Jesus, Dad, please do me a favor and never, ever say that again."

"Come on, I'm cool! I'm hip!"

"More like you ought to be careful you don't break a hip," Mom teased. "Don't act like I didn't catch you doing one of those TikTok dances."

Truly clapped a hand over her mouth. "No. When was this?"

Mom waved her hand. "It was..." She looked at Dad and frowned. "Weeks ago, I guess."

Right. Because Dad had moved out.

"All I'm saying," Dad continued, "is that I was a child of the sixties. I'm all about the free love and rock 'n' roll if that's what this is. Can't a father be curious about whether it's serious between his daughter and the"—Dad gestured at Colin—"zaddy defiling her?"

Colin choked on his wine and Truly set her own glass aside so she could pat him on the back.

"Dad, I will literally pay you to never say that word again," she pleaded. "Name your price. I'm serious."

Colin cleared his throat, face still a worrying shade of purple, but he looked a little more with it, less in danger of passing out. "For the record, if anyone's defiling anyone, it's definitely Truly."

A laugh erupted from Dad. "You're honest, kid. Got to give you that." He took a hearty sip from his glass. "Speaking of honesty and since you and Truly are so close"—in his continuing effort to embarrass the hell out of her, Dad waggled his brows—"were you aware of our darling daughter's devious ploy to get her mother and me together?"

"Stanley—"

"It's not much of a secret, Diane." Dad polished off his cordial glass of nocino and Truly's gut clenched. Dad wasn't a big drinker; not quite a teetotaler, but he was usually a one glass of wine and call it quits guy. This stuff was strong. Forty percent ABV strong. And Dad was on his second pour. "Colin, in case you weren't aware, Diane and I are separated."

Mom's expression went pinched as she stared out at the lake. "Do you really think this is appropriate, Stanley?"

"He's a divorce attorney. I'd say he's qualified to hear this." He looked at Colin. "You are, right?"

"Family lawyer, technically, but yes, sir."

"Sir."Dad snorted. "I think considering the number of love bites on my daughter's neck, you can call me Stan, kid."

"Got it." The sweetest blush crept up Colin's neck. "Stan."

"So were you? Aware of Truly's mad scheme?"

Colin looked at her and all she could do was shrug. No point in lying now.

"I, uh, Truly cares about you both," he said, his careful diplomacy reminding her that his job required he be just as gifted with words as she was. "Anyone who knows her knows she would do anything if it meant making you happy."

"That is a generous interpretation of our daughter's motivations," Mom murmured.

Truly scowled down at the table, too tired to argue, far from in the mood to defend herself to someone who seemed hell-bent on reading the worst into her actions.

Colin leaned his forearms against the table. "Diane, I think you raised a brilliant daughter who sticks by her principles, principles I'd be willing to bet every cent I have that you instilled in her. Is she stubborn? Yeah. She's headstrong and it's a little infuriating, yeah?"

Mom chuckled a little less darkly. "That's one word for it."

Colin grinned. "You raised a real firecracker. Hell, Truly doesn't let me get away with shit, you know? Sorry," he said, sounding less than remorseful. "I shouldn't swear."

Mom threw her head back and laughed. "Truly's first curse word was—God, I shouldn't say. It's embarrassing."

"It was fuck," Dad said in a faux whisper. "Two guesses who she learned it from and it wasn't me."

Mom smacked his shoulder. "Stan."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Dad recited, laughing. "Said in the most adorable little voice from her car seat."

Mom buried her face in her hands. "That asshole wouldn't let me merge!"

"Sure, honey." Dad laughed. "You tell yourself that."

Mom harrumphed.

Colin chuckled. "Then you know that when Truly makes her mind up about something... Godspeed if you disagree."

Dad laughed. "Godspeed, indeed."

Mom cracked a smile and Truly couldn't find it in her to be sore when Colin reached across the table and grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together.

"Maybe you disagree with her methods, and you know what? That's fair," he said, gripping her hand. "But Truly loves you. Truly... God, she admires you. It's not my business; I don't know you and I know you don't know me. But I care about your daughter, and it's so obvious she cares about you. Your daughter, she has one of the biggest hearts of anyone I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. And I think anyone would be lucky to be loved by her."

Truly's heart beat loud inside her head, a near violent lubdublubdub that drowned out everything else. All her fears, her what ifs silenced by the surety of Colin's words.

"Well, shit, son," Dad said, smile watery. "You're a walking green flag. Truly, honey, this one's got some real rizz."

Colin threw his head back and laughed.

Truly grinned.