Awkwardly Ever After by Marni Bates Page A

is on the other side of the door.”
    â€œVery funny,” I snapped as the knocking grew louder.
    â€œDylan, are you going to get that?” Mackenzie called out, and I knew that if I didn’t answer the door, the whole group of them would investigate the source of the racket.
    The last thing I needed was to be on the receiving end of any more of Izzie’s panic-stricken looks or Spencer’s dissecting stares.
    â€œI’ve got it!” I hollered, moving quickly for the door before Dylan could comment that I’d made myself right at home. I yanked it open just as the dark haired man at the door lowered his fist. He looked like he was in his mid-fifties and was dressed in what I suspected he considered “business casual” with a pair of tailored khaki slacks and a button-down shirt with a few buttons undone at the collar. He looked like he should be at a golf course or heading to the Katsu sushi restaurant downtown, not dropping by the Wellesley house in the late afternoon.
    â€œUm, can I help you?” I asked uncomfortably. If this guy was some kind of honorary uncle or godfather or something, then I was probably making a royal mess out of the situation.
    â€œMackenzie? You’ve grown and . . . gotten some sun.”
    I burst out laughing, because the idea that someone would confuse the two of us was downright, well . . . laughable. “She’s inside. Do you want me to get her or—”
    â€œDon’t bother.” Dylan cut me off and I turned to look at him, expecting to see a full-fledged grin on his face. There wasn’t even the slightest trace of a smile. “Long time no see . . . Dad.”

Chapter 6
    Am I the only person already sick of hearing about prom? It seems like everywhere I turn there are signs declaring that Smith High School should get ready to get wild with the Mardi Gras theme. Seriously. Seriously? Because nothing says “Prom in Oregon” quite like sparkly dresses, bauble necklaces, and jazz, right? Oh wait. Nope. Not even a little bit.
    Â 
    â€”Anonymous letter to the editor
Published by The Smithsonian
    â€œM aybe I should, uh, get Mackenzie?”
    I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but I couldn’t let Dylan go through whatever this was alone. Not when tension and hostility were radiating off him in waves.
    â€œThat sounds great! It’s nice to meet you.”
    The stranger—Dylan’s father, I mentally corrected myself—nodded enthusiastically at the exact same moment his son said, “Leave her out of this.”
    I wasn’t entirely sure if Dylan was referring to me or to Mackenzie, but his dad clearly had no intention of turning around and going anywhere.
    â€œI’ve missed you, Dill-pickle.” The nickname rang hollowly as I watched Dylan absorb the comment. The guy who made sarcastic comebacks in the face of rejection had morphed into a brick wall. Sure, there were nicks and cracks in his composure, but I knew he wasn’t going to budge an inch. At least not until there were miles of space between him and his father.
    â€œYeah, you seemed really broken up in all those holiday cards you sent us over the years. How are Chase and Adam doing? You all looked like you were having a great time in the Christmas photo.”
    â€œThey’re doing well.”
    â€œNeither of them need a kidney transplant?”
    His dad looked taken aback by the question. “No kidney transplants.”
    Dylan nodded. “Okay, then. Great. Glad to hear it. Because honestly that’s the only way I would give you even five more minutes of my time. Now that we’ve got that settled, leave.”
    â€œI was hoping we could talk.” He glanced over at me and shifted uncomfortably. “In private.”
    â€œAnd I was hoping that you’d be able to keep your pants zipped when you were married to Mom. Looks like we’re both destined for disappointment.” Dylan surprised