“Hey, Ryan, how’s it going?” he says waving, then coming through the doorway. “Was that alright?” he asks Christine.
“Don’t piss me off…”
“There you are!” My mother hands her a glass of wine, which she accepts without hesitation.
Evan shakes his head, and she smirks at him like a flippant teenager.
“Don’t start,” she warns him. “Or I’ll have to take you straight back home.”
“Mind your own—”
“Who’s this charming young man?” my mother interrupts.
“Did she seriously just say that?” Evan hisses under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
“This is Evan,” Christine says, throwing me a quick glance. “My son.”
This time I need a paper bag as big as Santa’s sack.
“Oh, but…” Mum seems embarrassed.
“Yeah, I was a bit of an accident,” Evan says, without missing a beat.
“I didn’t mean to…” Mum stumbles, trying to justify her surprise, but she’s not a very good actress.
“It’s okay,” Christine says, elbowing Evan.
“He looks just like you,” Mum says, trying to recover some dignity.
“Everyone says I look more like my father.”
“And he…isn’t he coming this evening?”
“Why would he?” Evan says shamelessly.
“Er…I…” Mum’s face is flushed so red she’s almost purple.
“Evan’s father doesn’t live with us,” Christine explains curtly, swiftly finishing off the wine in her glass.
“I’ll get you another,” Mum says, sensing her discomfort. “And maybe a drink for Evan, too?”
“A beer would be great.”
“Evan!”
He shrugs. “Worth a try.”
My father walks into the living room, completing the scene.
“We’re all here,” he says, approaching us. “Good evening, Chris, and hello…”
“Evan,” he offers.
“Sure, sure…Evan, I knew that.”
He knew?
“I could never forget my own grandson’s name.”
