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Tiller must sense my nerves because he starts joking with me about my Great Aunt Millie. “Look at her goddamn earlobes. They’re practically down to her chin,” he whispers, right about the time I take a bite of my chicken.
“Will you stop it?” I whisper back, trying to keep from choking on my laughter with chicken.
“But they’re huge!”
“Yeah, well.” I lean into him, and it’s the wrong thing to do because he smells absolutely delicious. I want to snuggle into the crook of his neck and kiss him. “If you think that’s bad, check on my Uncle Dean’s fingers. They’re like green beans.”
Tiller starts laughing so hard his entire body shakes. “You can’t trust a man with green bean fingers.”
Relaxing in my seat, I smile at River on the other side of Tiller. She’s pushing broccoli around on her plate, refusing to touch anything green. It’s funny, she loves Tiller’s green hair, yet she won’t touch anything green to eat.
Just when I think everything might go smoothly, I’m reminded this is a wedding with the Johnson family and anytime all of us are together, it’s a disaster.
It’s nearing the end of the meal when my father takes notice of River and the fact that she hasn’t touched any of the vegetables on her plate. “River, eat your vegetables. Don’t let it go to waste.”
Do you notice the way Tiller stares at River, then my father? If not, watch what happens next when River looks at me, and then Tiller. “You don’t have to. I don’t like broccoli either,” Tiller adds, winking at River as he downs his second glass of straight vodka.
My dad snaps his eyes to Tiller, like he can’t possibly believe he’d question him. “Excuse me? She’s a child and she will eat her vegetables.”
Tiller tips his head my father’s direction, and there’s history between them and stems from Tiller’s refusal to fall into line. Sometimes I think the only reason my father hates him is because Tiller refuses to conform to the FIM standards of how a rider should present themselves.
“Youheardme,” Tiller snaps, keeping eye contact with him. “If she doesn’t want to eat it, she doesn’t have to.”
“She’s a child,” my father scoffs. “She should be trying new things.” And if you caught the meaning behind the words, he’s not just talking about foods, and it’s not directed at River. It’s me.
I place my hand on Tiller’s. It’s shaking. His, not mine. “Let it go,” I whisper, knowing he won’t listen to me.
“She did. She didn’t like it so let it go.” And that, my friends, means me, too.
With flushed cheeks, my father sternly snaps as he hits his fist to the table, “River.Eat.”
And River starts crying, which is followed quickly by Tiller picking up River’s plate of vegetables and tossing it on the floor. It breaks.
My father stands up, plates shaking, glasses clinking. “Who the hell do you think you are coming in here and telling me how to talk to my granddaughter.”
My heart races, my entire body breaking out into a cold sweat and suddenly I feel as if the entire room is staring at us, and most are at least gawking at the table we’re seated at, wondering what the heck is going on here and why Tiller just threw River’s plate.
Tiller scowls at my father, his eyes so dark they look black, reminding me that when it comes to being scary, Tiller’s on a whole different level. I notice the way his body trembles, the way his hands shake. He’s losing it, and I want to reach out to him, comfort him, calm him down, but there’s nothing I can say to him that’s going to make this any better. “I’m her fucking father,” Tiller shouts, his body vibrating with anger even he doesn’t understand. “That’s why.”
Slumping in my chair, I want to crawl under the table and hide. My stare moves to Alexandra and Terrance, and thankfully though they heard what Tiller said, their wedding planner is in their face ushering them to the dance floor for their first dance.
My attention draws back to the table. One of my aunts takes River’s hand and shows her to the dance floor where she’s supposed to dance with the ring bearer. She won’t, but I don’t want her at the table, so I tell her to go. “I’ll be right there.”
She goes but doesn’t stop crying.
There’s a battle of dominance between my father and Tiller’s stare, but it’s my mother who stands first. “It’s now time we move to the dance floor, everyone.”
Standing, my father walks over to Tiller and leans in, “You’llneverbe good enough to be anyone’s father.”
You son of a bitch!
I can’t move or even begin to speak when my mother steps in front of Tiller and attempts to slap him across the face. With a sinister smile, he catches her hand. “You haven’t earned the right to slap me, lady.”
My mother gasps, ripping her hand from his. “How dare you come here and smear my daughter’s name!”
“Smear your daughter’s name?” Tiller snorts, his eyes shift to mine and then back to my mother. The lines on his face deepen with a frown. “Yourdaughter isn’t as innocent as you think.”
Is he talking about me?