The Checklist, Addie Woolridge [ebook reader for pc and android txt] 📗

all.” Nicolas waved, getting into their car. Watching the pack of Delacroix make a left out of the parking lot, Dylan exhaled, debating where to start.

“Well, that was unique.” Apparently, Nicolas had already digested the experience.

“Initial meetings are difficult,” Dylan said, trying out her most gentle consultant coaching voice. “I mean, you know what they say: never discuss politics, money, or religion over dinner.”

“In the case of your parents, they probably need to talk about all three. Last Thanksgiving, you were wondering how your family plans to retire.”

Dylan gritted her teeth. “I did say that . . . about my sisters. But really, their retirement or my parents’ retirement is none of our business. Everyone in the family has made it this far in life, so maybe we can just let it go.”

“You say that until they’re living on our couch.”

“You know, I’m not worried about it, so maybe you shouldn’t be either.” Dylan prayed to God there was some Skrillex knockoff on the radio she could use to drown out Nicolas. She didn’t care that it sounded like an android grudge match, as long as she didn’t have to hear his analysis of her family.

“Well, I don’t know what changed, because you were worried about it six months ago,” Nicolas said, shaking his head.

“I guess I’ve just made peace with the uncertainty.” Dylan shrugged, irritation causing her hands to shift from ten and two on the steering wheel.

Nicolas gave her hands a less-than-friendly look, inhaling before he said, “I wasn’t going to say this to your parents, but artists fall out of popularity all the time. And their stuff isn’t exactly mainstream. What your dad does is weird.”

“Okay, let’s not talk about them,” Dylan said, jamming her finger on the stereo’s power button.

“You’re nothing like them. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” she said, turning the radio up and scanning for whatever could pass as dubstep. Her family was quirky. That wasn’t bothering her. The man next to her was a different story.

Dylan’s family thought Nicolas was a “toad,” according to Billie, who’d texted her exactly twenty-five seconds after her parents left the restaurant. A text from her notoriously absent second sister felt like a bad omen. Deciding against bringing Nicolas over to her parents’ house, the next day she picked up her hair products while he waited in line at the original Starbucks. She’d tried to explain that it was like every Starbucks he had ever been to, but it was on his itinerary, and he’d insisted on visiting, so they’d agreed to meet for a second attempt at a family meal and a wander through Pike Place later.

As she wound her way toward the market, Dylan thought it wasn’t an altogether bad thing that Nicolas was doing something on his own. Since yesterday’s breakfast, she’d been trying to come up with a way to address the debacle with her parents, but the three attempts she’d made had been met with some combination of confusion and sarcasm. Dylan was so frustrated that she had nearly thrown her wine at him over dinner last night. She had been excited for his visit, and now that he was here, he felt like a pair of old shoes she had worn one too many times to be comfortable. Then again, they had been together for so long; maybe she just needed to visit a cobbler. After all, she had never been bothered by things like his googling every one of her restaurant suggestions. Both of them liked to know what they were getting into. So why was this chafing at her now?

Dylan wasn’t sure what was happening, but she did know that the space apart gave her time to come up with a strategy to control the conversation. Hell or high water, she was not letting him bring up her parents’ finances or letting Neale call him the Asshole Formerly Known as Nick.

After locking the car, Dylan made her way over to the market’s entrance, where Nicolas was standing. Smiling over at her, he said, “You were right, babe. It was like every Starbucks. I thought it would be different.”

“At least you checked it off your bucket list.”

“True. And I got a mug, so I’ll have something to show everyone,” Nicolas said, waving the coffee cup at Dylan. “Where are your parents?” He glanced over her shoulder.

“Probably parking. They said they’d follow me out the door.”

Nicolas looked down at his watch with a frown. “It’s already 10:07.”

“They probably went farther down the block. My dad can’t stand circling for a parking spot.”

“They are seven minutes late. In the law world I could bill for this amount of time.” Nicolas laughed at his own billable-hour joke.

“You can use that line at your next company party.” Dylan smiled and reminded herself that people’s parents hated their partners all the time, and those relationships still worked out.

“There they are,” Nicolas said, still chortling. He nodded at her as if she were in on something hilarious and waved at her parents.

Dylan looked up to see her mother striding toward them like she was going into battle, complete with heavy-duty hiking boots. Henry was wearing the exact same outfit as yesterday, a fact Nicolas would normally comment on if he weren’t openly giggling at Neale’s sartorial choices. For Neale, it was not nearly as odd as it could be. True, fascinators and crocheted coats weren’t common, but once you got past the Moon Boots, she was just wearing jeans and a T-shirt with a few too many zippers.

“Ready for a bite?” Henry called as the three Delacroix darted across the street, overestimating a gap in the traffic and causing drivers to hit their brakes. Her father smiled all around but did not attempt a hug.

“Sure are,” Nicolas said, mirroring Henry’s jaunty tone. Her mother rolled her eyes and shot Dylan a dirty look. For her part, she would rather her boyfriend and father out-jaunty each other than take the tone they’d shared over breakfast yesterday.

Her plan