“Hi,” I say, but it comes out a nervous squeak. “I thought you were going to go back to the wedding.”
“The ceremony’s finished.” The lines between Dad’s eyebrows deepen.
Oh crap. This can’t be good. What’s he going to do? If he plans to yell at me, surely he can wait until Court’s gone.
“You.” Dad points at Court, some kind of calculation taking place behind his unreadable expression. “Since you’re here, you might as well join the reception.”
“What?” I squeak. “But why?”
Court glances at me. Say no, I will him. If ever there was a time for telepathy…!
His mind deflects me like a coat of Teflon. “Sure,” he says with a smile that belongs in a bank commercial—inspiring trust and confidence.
“Pascal, you should’ve said something about him earlier so we could avoid the…spectacle.”
Dread descends like a cluster of heavy clouds. Dad actually swung a bat at one of my exes when I snuck out with him in high school. (Thankfully, he missed.) There’s no way this is a friendly gesture. “Yes, Dad. Sorry.”
“If you were just more like Curie—”
“I think Skit—Pascal is great,” Court says.
“Do you, now?” Something light and glowing breaks through the dark thunderclouds in my dad’s expression.
That’s either an “I forgive you” or an “I’m going to stab you in the back in the first opportunity” look. Since I don’t know which, I say, “I feel sick again. I really need to lie down.” To add verisimilitude, I put a hand over my belly and moan with as much pathos as I can muster.
“Pascal, you should’ve seen a doctor,” Dad says, crouching closer. His voice is full of sympathy, which means he’s buying my act.
A hand pats my back—Court’s hand. “I’ll take her to her room and make sure she rests.”
“You?” Dad squints.
“I studied nursing for a while.” Court flashes him another of his trusty bank-commercial smiles.
“Well then.” Dad leans closer and whispers, “Don’t do anything your sister wouldn’t do.”
“Okay,” I say, although I have no clue what he means. Curie’s been with Joe since high school, and there’s very little she wouldn’t do with him.
“The reception’s starting. Your mom’s holding her own, but…”
“Yeah, you should be there for her and for everyone, really,” I say.
Dad gives Court and me an inscrutable look, then leaves.
I slump in my seat until Dad’s out of sight. Then I reach for the door.
“What are you doing?” Court asks.
“Going back to my room.”
“Didn’t you hear me tell your dad I’d keep an eye on you?”
I stare at him, unsure why he’s asking me this. I can’t think of a guy who’d voluntarily play nurse to a sick woman. It isn’t like Court and I are anything. We just slept together once. “You can’t be serious.”
“More serious than prostate cancer.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, doing my best not to snort at his choice of disease. “You didn’t study nursing.” If he did, I majored in quantum physics.
“I read a biography on Florence Nightingale. Picked up some stuff.” He makes a circle around his face. “And this mug of mine is known to cure many female ailments.”