Page 3 of Fun Together (Make Romance #1)

Eli

Friday night dinners have been a staple in the Miller household ever since I can remember.

I’ve always looked forward to them, even though I did go through the usual teenage phase of wanting to be anywhere other than the dinner table on Friday night.

It was the only thing my parents ever required of us.

I could go hog wild, as long as I had my ass in the chair at seven o’clock every Friday.

Even though we’ve all aged out of the attendance requirement, we never really stopped having the dinners. There were several times I would FaceTime in back when I lived in New York.

Tonight, we have one addition joining us at the big round table in the dining room.

My older brother Emmett’s daughter, Florence, is sitting between me and my younger sister, Evie.

She looks down at the green beans on her plate, scrunching up her freckled nose, like they’re a big pile of worms she’s being forced to eat.

“You’ve had green beans before, Flo,” Emmett says. He looks tired. But then again, he always looks tired, like he came right out of the womb with his pointer finger and thumb pinched above his nose.

“But these look different,” she says, poking at them with her fork. “They’re not soft like those.”

“Probably because they didn’t come from a can,” Evie chimes in. If Emmett always looks tired, Evie is whatever the exact opposite of that is. She’s a walking ball of energy, like she was born with Red Bull running through her veins.

Emmett glowers at her. “Canned vegetables are better than no vegetables.”

“You don’t have to eat them, honey,” my mom says from her spot at the head of the table.

“Two bites,” Emmett says by way of attempting to compromise with a four-year-old.

She points to my plate. “Eli isn’t eating any.” She’s right, I hate green beans. But I know when I need to take one for the team.

“I’m saving the best for last,” I say, scooping some green beans onto my plate and stabbing my fork into one. I nod to her plate, encouraging her to do the same.

“Okay,” she says solemnly, like eating this green bean is her final gauntlet.

We take a synchronized bite. I still hate them, but I pull a dramatic face. “Mmm, delicious.”

She giggles and then takes another bite before looking at her dad like, Are you happy now?

Dinner continues as it always does. Evie and I dominate the conversation while Emmett frowns down at his phone.

He’s currently renovating a house, and he seems to be in a constant state of frustration about it.

We’ve been calling it his “divorce project” since he bought the house shortly after separating from his wife, Mara, last year.

No one, not even Mom, knows what happened with them.

It’s kind of an unspoken agreement we’ve all made with each other to not bring it up.

Dad methodically eats everything on his plate, one food at a time, while Mom nods and laughs along to whatever we want to talk about.

Evie has now steered us in the direction of my parents’ upcoming thirtieth anniversary. “You have to have a party,” she says.

“We’ll have a party for our fortieth,” my mom says, attempting to brush off the suggestion.

“What if you die before that?” Evie asks.

“What if we all die tomorrow?” my dad asks, saying the first words he’s uttered in about fifteen minutes.

“No one is dying,” my mom says, nodding deliberately toward Florence.

Emmett covers Flo’s ears. “We’re all technically dying.”

Mom tosses her napkin onto the table. “Good Lord, enough about dying.”

“So, it’s settled then,” Evie says with a pleased grin. “We’ll have a party.”

“I like parties,” I say.

“I love parties!” Florence shouts.

I can see my mom’s resistance waning in the face of her children and grandchild’s enthusiasm. We’re all well versed in how to wear Mom down. “Fine, but nothing crazy, Evie. Just a few people.”

Evie picks up her phone. “Let’s make a plan. First, we’ll need a caterer.”

“I can cook,” Dad says, getting up to grab our empty plates to take into the kitchen.

“You can’t cook for your own party,” Evie objects.

“Let me rephrase. I don’t want to pay for a caterer.”

Evie shrugs. “Fine. No catering. Music?”

“How about that band that played at Emmett’s high school reunion?” I ask. “What were they called again?”

Emmett leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Wet Blankets?”

“Or was it Dirty Blankets?”

“ Something Blankets,” Evie says, typing it in her phone.

“No bands!” Dad shouts over the running water in the kitchen sink.

“Why not? Live music is fun!” Evie yells back.

“It is fun,” Mom says. “But having a party at all is going to cause noise and I don’t want the whole neighborhood in a tizzy.”

“By neighborhood, you mean Mrs. Webber?” I ask.

Mrs. Webber is a woman in her mid-sixties who takes her position as a member of Poplar Street very seriously, like it’s her sworn duty to protect her neighbors from the dangers of a single out-of-place blade of grass.

“She’ll be in bed watching Forensic Files by then, anyway. ”

“Still, I don’t want a big thing,” Mom says. “It’s a lot to clean up and there’s always someone who ends up drinking too much and causing a scene.”

“We just won’t invite Uncle Tony,” Evie says.

“Isn’t he in Arizona? Or was it Vegas?” I ask.

“He’s in Myrtle Beach, working as an Elvis impersonator,” Mom says, shaking her head.

“Too bad we can’t have him perform at the party. I’m sure Mom and Dad would love to re-enact their first dance to Tony’s rendition of ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love.’”

Evie springs up from the table and goes into the kitchen. “Someone will need to give a toast.”

“Not it,” Emmett replies.

She grabs a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge and gestures to me with it. “Eli can do it.”

“This is your thing. Why can’t you do it?”

“Because I don’t want to,” she says simply.

I turn to Emmett. “Why can’t you do it?”

Evie says in a loud whisper, “Because of the d-i-v-o-r-c-e.”

“Evie . . .” Mom chastises.

“What?” she asks innocently.

“Sorry,” I say to Emmett. Why would he want to stand up in front of people talking about the beauty of love and marriage?

Emmett just shrugs and says, “I also have to fight the urge to puke every time I have to talk in front of a group of people.”

I turn back to Evie. “Okay, he gets a pass. I still think you should do it.”

“Tennis match for it?” she asks. “Whoever loses has to give a speech.”

“That’s not fair and you know it.” She’s really fucking good at tennis. And I haven’t picked up a racket since high school, when I was on the tennis team for a season my junior year.

She shrugs. “Take it or leave it.”

My odds aren’t the best, but they aren’t zero. “Okay, deal.”

“Meet me at the park courts tomorrow morning at ten?”

“Sure, sounds good.”

She grabs her keys from the kitchen island. “I’m out. Got to meet Daniel for a workout.”

“Tell him I said hello,” Mom says.

Emmett stretches with a yawn. “We need to head out too. Ready to go, Flo?”

“I guess.” Flo reluctantly gets out of her chair. She’s been quiet, but you can still feel her excitement from being around everyone. Even if she’s not part of the conversation, she likes feeling included. I remember feeling that way too, as a kid.

Fifteen minutes of goodbyes and hugs ensue, until it’s only me and my parents left at the table.

I feel a little left out, with everyone else off to continue their Friday night plans, and here I am at home with Mom and Dad.

Andrew is packing for his trip, so I’d be in his way if I went over there.

I guess I can call some other friends to see what they’re up to, but I don’t really feel like doing that either.

I think about Faye and our conversation earlier, wondering if she’s at home watching Survivor right now. I pick up my phone and scroll to her contact. It’s been so long since we’ve texted, I don’t know if she has the same number.

I thought about reaching out to her when I got the job at her company, but since we haven’t seen each other in years and after the breakup with Andrew, it didn’t seem like something I should do.

Part of me was hoping I’d see her again and would only feel excited to reconnect with an old friend. But when those elevator doors opened and I saw her big, blue eyes shocked to see me standing there, I felt the swirl in my stomach I’d been fearing.

Because the thing is, I’ve had a tiny crush on my best friend’s girlfriend since I first met her.

And as it turns out, five years apart didn’t eradicate it as much as I hoped.

She’s still so pretty, with her curly dark hair wrangled into a bun on top of her head.

The peachy-pink glow of her skin, and that little gap between her two front teeth you can only catch a glimpse of when she laughs.

I forgot how much I like to make her laugh.

I open a new text thread and my fingers float over the keys, trying to think of something to say to her.

What are you up to?

How’s the show?

Used that vibrator yet?

I set my phone down on the table and move to get up. Maybe I’ll go for a run or for a drive—anything other than thinking about Faye’s shiny new toy.

“Just a second, Eli. There’s something your dad and I want to talk to you about.” Mom’s voice is serious, and Mom isn’t ever this serious about anything. I run through possible scenarios. Cancer. Death. Food Lion was out of stock on the slightly salted cashews she eats like candy.

“We are so proud of you for getting this new job at such a good company. You’ve not had an easy time of it lately, and we are so happy for you.”

“Is there a ‘but’ coming next?” I ask.

“We just wanted to check in to see how the search for a place to live was going.”

Oh yeah, did I mention that I’m twenty-seven years old, and have been living with my parents for the past five months? Or that I’ve been sleeping on a fold-out couch in the basement next to a treadmill that hasn’t run in over a decade because my old bedroom has been converted into a home office?

“But you said I could stay however long I needed,” I say.

Mom sighs, but she has a soft smile on her face. “You will always have a place to stay here. But we need our basement back.”

Realistically, I know I can’t live with my parents forever. And I do miss having my own space. The time has gotten away from me and I haven’t gotten around to apartment hunting.

“But I just got a job this week. I can’t pay for rent yet.

” I sound like a whiny, privileged asshole, and I know it.

Asking Mommy and Daddy for help they can barely afford to give.

I depleted my entire savings after losing my job, before returning to North Carolina with my tail tucked between my legs and nothing but fifty dollars to my name.

“You don’t have to move out tonight. I just want this to be something you’re keeping top of mind if any opportunities come up.” She places a reassuring hand on my forearm. “You’re smart and resourceful. You will always have our support. But you need to try a little harder.”

“She’s right, son.” Dad returns to the table and gives my hair a playful ruffle. “You’ll figure something out. You always do.”