Chapter 17: The Dinner
Later, over ice cream cones at a bench near the exit, Seth brought it up again.
"So, about introducing you to people—"
"You already introduced me to your friends. At the coffee shop."
"That was different. That was 'here's this girl I'm hanging out with.' This would be 'here's my girlfriend, be cool.'" He grinned. "Ramirez is going to lose his mind."
"Is that a good thing?"
"It's an entertaining thing." He licked his ice cream thoughtfully. "Also, there's a team thing next weekend. Barbecue at the coach's house. Players and their... plus-ones."
"Plus-ones."
"Girlfriends. Significant others. People we bring so we don't have to stand alone by the grill making awkward small talk." He looked at her hopefully. "Would you come? As my girlfriend? Officially?"
Hallie considered this. A barbecue full of football players and coaches, all of them watching, all of them judging. The old Hallie would have said no immediately, would have retreated to the safety of invisibility.
But she wasn't that Hallie anymore.
"I'll come," she said.
"Yeah?"
"On one condition."
"Anything."
She reached over and wiped a smear of ice cream from his nose. "You have to stick with me. No abandoning me to Ramirez's questions."
Seth laughed, warm and free. "Deal. I'll be glued to your side. Inseparable. A shadow."
"That's creepy."
"You love it."
She did. She really, really did.
________________________________________
That night, her phone buzzed with messages before she'd even made it upstairs.
Jasmine: SO?????
Jasmine: HOW WAS THE DATE????
Jasmine: DETAILS NOW
Hallie: It was good.
Jasmine: GOOD? That's it? GOOD?
Hallie: It was perfect. He asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes.
Jasmine: I'M SCREAMING
Jasmine: I'M LITERALLY SCREAMING
Jasmine: MY PARENTS ARE CONCERNED
Jasmine: THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE
Hallie: It's not your life.
Jasmine: IT'S ADJACENT TO MY LIFE AND THAT'S CLOSE ENOUGH
Another message came through, this one from Seth.
Seth: Hey, Grey?
Hallie: Yeah?
Seth: Today was perfect. Thank you for saying yes.
Hallie: Thank you for asking.
Seth: :)
Seth: Same time Monday?
Hallie: Same time Monday.
She set the phone down and looked at herself in the mirror—at the girl with the storm-grey eyes and the smile she couldn't seem to wipe off her face.
Girlfriend.
She was someone's girlfriend.
And for the first time in her life, being visible didn't feel terrifying at all.
________________________________________
Meeting Seth's father was not part of the plan.
The plan had been simple: Seth's mom had invited her for dinner Friday night, a casual thing, nothing formal. Seth had warned her that his dad might be there, might not, it depended on work. Hallie had prepared herself for polite small talk, maybe some awkward silence, and then escape.
She had not prepared herself for Greg Sanders.
He was waiting in the living room when she arrived, a tall man with Seth's coloring and none of his warmth. His eyes swept over her as she entered—taking in her clothes, her posture, her face—and Hallie felt suddenly, acutely aware of every detail of her appearance.
"You must be Hallie." His voice was deep, measured. "Seth's mentioned you."
"Dad." Seth's tone was careful, neutral. "This is Hallie. My—"
"Tutor," Hallie supplied, because she didn't know what else to call herself. "I help Seth with math and English."
Seth's father nodded slowly. "Yes. The grades." He said it like the words left a bad taste in his mouth. "Well. Dinner's almost ready. I'm sure we'll have time to talk."
He disappeared into the kitchen, and Hallie felt the tension in the room ease slightly.
"That went well," Seth muttered.
"Define well."
"Could have been worse. He could have started interrogating you immediately."
"He's saving that for dinner."
Seth winced. "Probably."
Dinner was... uncomfortable.
Seth's mom was lovely—warm and welcoming, asking about Hallie's designs with genuine interest. His younger sister, Emma, was a welcome distraction, chattering about school and friends and the book she was reading. But Greg Sanders sat at the head of the table like a judge at sentencing, his eyes returning to Hallie again and again.
"So," he said during a lull, "you're the one helping Seth with his academic situation."
"I'm tutoring him, yes."
"And you're how old?"
"Seventeen. Same as Seth."
"Seventeen." He nodded slowly. "And your parents? What do they do?"
"Mom works at the grocery store. Dad's in construction."
"I see."
The words hung in the air, weighted with something Hallie couldn't quite name. Seth shifted beside her, his jaw tight.
"Dad—"
"What? I'm making conversation." Greg's smile didn't reach his eyes. "It's good to know who our children are spending time with."
Hallie felt the barb land, sharp and precise. She kept her face neutral, the way she'd learned to do in classrooms where being visible meant being a target.
"I appreciate your concern," she said quietly. "I'd feel the same way if our positions were reversed."
Something flickered in Greg's expression—surprise, maybe, or reassessment. He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded once and returned to his meal.
The rest of dinner passed in careful politeness. Hallie answered questions about school, about her plans, about her "tutoring methods." She kept her answers brief and her expression pleasant, revealing nothing, giving no foothold for criticism.
When she finally escaped to the front porch with Seth, she felt like she'd run a marathon.
"I'm so sorry," Seth said immediately. "He's—"
"Protective. I get it."
"That wasn't protective. That was—" He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "He does this. With everyone. Anyone who might be a distraction."
"Am I a distraction?"
Seth looked at her, his brown eyes soft. "You're the only thing that makes any of this bearable."
Hallie felt her heart crack open, just slightly. "Seth—"
"I know. Too much. But it's true." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "He doesn't get to decide who matters to me. That's my choice. And I choose you."
She reached up and touched his face, letting her fingers trace the line of his jaw. "Your dad's going to be a problem."
"Probably."
"Are you okay with that?"
Seth covered her hand with his own, turning to press a kiss to her palm. "For you? I'd deal with a lot worse."
They stood there on the porch, wrapped in each other, and Hallie let herself believe it.
________________________________________
Later, at home, her phone buzzed.
Seth: Hey. You okay? Really?
Hallie: I'm okay. Your dad is intense.
Seth: That's one word for it.
Hallie: He loves you. In his own weird, controlling way.
Seth: How do you always do that?
Hallie: Do what?
Seth: See the good in people. Even when they don't deserve it.
Hallie considered the question. Thought about all the years of watching, observing, learning to read what was underneath.
Hallie: Everyone's fighting something. Your dad's fighting the fear that you'll fail. That doesn't make it right. But it makes it understandable.
Seth: You're incredible, you know that?
Hallie: I try.
Seth: So, are we still on for Sunday?
Hallie: Sure thing. I wouldn’t miss it.
Seth: Great ;)
She set the phone down and stared at the ceiling, thinking about Greg Sanders's eyes on her across the dinner table. The way he'd assessed her, judged her, found her lacking.
She'd been invisible her whole life. Being seen came with risks she was only beginning to understand.
But Seth was worth it. She was sure of that.
Even if his father never would be.
What will Seth’s coach and teammates think of her? Will they find her inadequate too? Like Mr. Sanders. They will probably think that she’s not good enough for him, that he needs someone more outgoing, able to stand in a room full of people without going into panic attack.
Deep down she knew that these were her insecurities talking, her fear of not being accepted for who she was. But could anyone blame her? She was dating Seth Sanders, the school’s golden boy. While she was just a nobody with good grades; they belonged to two completely different worlds.
Suddenly, the prospect of Sunday’s gathering had become terrifying. But she promised Seth she’ll go, it means a lot to him, and she will not let him down.