Lost to You (Take This Regret 0.5)(30)
Author: A.L. Jackson

My attention dropped back to the words, but I could still feel his eyes penetrating through the thickness of parchment and leather.

In silence, we studied the menus. When the waiter arrived, I ordered a water and the Thanksgiving special, hoping to make the least impact with my presence as possible.

After our orders were taken, Christian’s father sat back in his seat, still studying me. “So, Elizabeth, how did you and Christian meet?”

I swallowed and swiped my napkin across my mouth. I stole a glance at Christian, and he just smiled at me in encouragement. I turned my attention back to his father. “We both signed up to be paired with a study partner in our American Government class, and Christian turned out to be mine.”

Richard Davison nodded, and I thought maybe it was an acceptable answer.

I sucked in a little breath of relief. Maybe I could handle this.

“And where are you from?”

“San Diego.”

“A long way from home.” It wasn’t a question, just an observation I was sure was tied to another thought.

“Yes,” I said.

“So why New York?”

“I’ve always dreamed of moving here. Columbia University was my first choice.”

“Hmm. It’s a hard school to get into.” Another observation.

“Yes,” I agreed.

God, I wasn’t prepared for this, to be set on display, subject to Richard Davison’s scrutiny. I’d counted on Christian’s promise that his parents would find me so inconsequential that they wouldn’t look twice in my direction.

Mr. Davison sat back while his salad plate was removed and a soup bowl was set in its place. “And what do your parents do?”

My nerves flared, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I’d always been proud of my family, but everything about his demeanor put me on the defensive. “Um…just my mom. My dad left when I was young, and my mother has always worked in manufacturing.”

He lifted his brow. “Design?”

I minimally shook my head. “No. She works on the floor.”

Whatever interest Richard Davison had in me was silenced in my response, as if my answer had given him all the information he needed.

Tension fell over the table, and Christian brushed his fingers down my leg, another apology, one I couldn’t even acknowledge.

Instead I stared at his father, contending with the powerful urge I had to defend my mother, to tell him how hard she worked to feed us and keep a decent roof over our heads.

I remained silent because it was clear in Richard Davison’s eyes nothing I said would matter, anyway.

My assumptions made about Christian’s parents were right. They were as hollow as I suspected, bred too high, their heads filled with too much.

Christian had never had a chance.

Is this what he would become? Would he succumb to the mold of his father, to the distance in his mother, be shaped into this machine that cared for nothing?

The thought soured and caused nausea to roll in my stomach. God. I couldn’t stand the thought of this happening to him, for the light in his eyes to dim and the playfulness in his smile to fade.

Finally, the main course was served.

Christian’s mother sipped at her wine, and in between bites filled Christian in on the elite. “Did you hear Stephen Bell and Emily Cann are engaged?” She tittered a laugh. “Who would have thought those two families would come together? That will be quite the fortune for their children. Oh, and the Graham’s have sold their house and bought a historical downtown…”

I had to squash the urge to roll my eyes. Christian’s mother hadn’t seen him in months, and this was all she could offer him? Gossip? She never even asked him how he was, if he was happy or troubled or was struggling in any way.

Longing inflamed my already homesick heart. The idea that I didn’t want to be home for Thanksgiving all but evaporated. What I would give to be in the midst of the shuffle of my mother’s kitchen now, the scents rising up from the oven as the turkey cooked to perfection. What I would give to feel the tender hand of my mother while she pushed my hair back from my face as I peeled potatoes, how she’d be so thankful that all of her daughters were there. The only difference was I wanted Christian there with me.

I peeked over at him. He ate in outright discomfort, though with an obvious sense of normalcy. A pang struck me at my core. He’d never had that, love without expectations, someone there to cherish him despite his faults, someone to praise him for his strengths.

The love I’d been too scared to acknowledge before glowed and burned, whipped and stirred as it grew. From the outside, it was nearly impossible to see the damage his parents had created on the inside of that gorgeous exterior.

As he sat there now, it was obvious, these bold marks of ruin that scored his spirit.

Casting a furtive glance in his parents’ direction, I cut another piece of turkey and brought it to my mouth. Could they really not see him the way I did?

“So, Christian, tell me how your classes are going,” his father said between bites.

Christian stiffened.

Here we go.

I wondered how his father had restrained himself this long.

Clearing his throat before he spoke, Christian seemed to measure his words to evoke the least reaction from his father. “They’re going really, really well. My grades are good. Just have to make it through finals and I should have all As.”

“Mmm…” his father mused, sliding a forkful of mashed potatoes into his arrogant mouth. “You know you need to focus these next couple of weeks. Don’t for a minute get confident. It just takes one slip and you’ll lose all the footing you have.”

“I know that, Dad. We study constantly.”

It was clear in the way Christian’s eyes darted in my direction that his assertion included me. We.

Richard Davison’s brow arched in speculation, his appraisal clear and unjust. “And you think it’s wise to distract yourself this way?” he asked Christian, though his gaze remained unwavering, locked on me in decided disgust.

The man had no right to look at me like that.

I struggled to maintain a straight face, reminded myself I was here because I’d been invited, remembered my mom had always taught me to be respectful, even when someone so obviously didn’t deserve it.

“Dad, you have no idea how much Elizabeth has helped me this semester. She studies just as hard, if not harder, than I do. She’s going to be an attorney, too.” I could feel Christian almost pleading with his father to like me, the way his body drifted forward and his head tipped to the side in supplication.