Meet the Parents

            My date with Cam starts in an hour, and I’m still in a towel staring at my closet.  Panic swells in my chest like a balloon, and I know if I don’t pick an outfit fast, that balloon will burst.  I swear I spend at least half of my life picking out what to wear. 

            Dress?  Heels?  Dress with heels?  Too much.  Jeans and heels?  Maybe.  But do I really want to wear jeans to meet Cam’s parents?

            Speak of the devil.  My phone chirps at me, and I lunge for it and read the text.  “I’m outside,” it says.

            “SHIIIIT,” I yell.  Cam is way, way early, and I’m practically naked.  I swear I can hear his footsteps, so I walk to the front door to let him in.

            I was right.  He knocks just as I get to our door.  I swing it open and say “ta da.”

            Cam’s eyebrows shoot up instantly.  “Um,” he starts, “looks nice, but maybe try something less absorbent.  So maybe not a towel.”

            “I thought this was a pool party,” I say sullenly.  Cam cracks a smile and snorts. 

            “Come on, cheer up,” he tells me.  “You’ll look good in anything.”

            “Aww, A+!” I say, beckoning him in.  “And since you’re so early, you can help me pick something out!”

            “Uh, I just realized I forgot something—”  I give him a look before he can finish his sentence.  “I’m kidding.  Let’s see these options.”

            I take him into my room and instruct him to sit on my bed.  He moves a rogue bra out of his way and takes a seat.  “What about that?” he asks immediately, pointing out a skintight black dress.

            “Are we meeting your parents at a strip club?” I ask.

            “Okay, okay, so that one’s for my eyes only.”  He winks at me.  Cam is one of the only guys I know who can wink and get away with it. 

            After about five minutes of me sighing every time Cam suggests something short and inappropriate and him saying that everything I pick out is “fine,” I feel a tug at my towel.  In one swift motion, he pulls it off.  It falls to the floor and he grabs my hand, gently tugging me towards him.  I turn and sit on his lap, facing him. 

            “Come on,” he says softly.  “Let’s take a quick break.” I start unbuttoning his shirt as he kisses my neck, something that I’ve never been able to resist.  Closing my eyes, I push his shirt off and giggle when he gives me a gentle bite. 

            “No hickeys tonight,” I whisper in his ear, then gently nibble on his ear, kissing my way to his mouth.  He quickly tugs his pants down and I can feel that he’s already hard.  I shiver with anticipation. 

            Trailing my fingers up his chest and to his shoulders, I slowly push him down on bed so I’m straddling him.  His hands rest on my hips, and I lower myself down, grinding on him.  Soon, his grip tightens and I love the feel of his fingertips digging into my sides. 

            Afterwards, I quickly yank on some black underwear and choose a pair of floral-patterned jeans and my go-to, a crisp white top with little gold buttons.  “See?” Cam murmurs to me as I put earrings in, “That made the decision easy.”

            “Time constraint made the decision easy!” I laugh, spraying perfume into my hair.

            Ten minutes later, we’re on our way, a bottle of wine cradled in my lap.  Cam’s parents live in one of the suburbs of Columbus, and he tells me a little about his family while he drives.  His mom and dad have been happily married for twenty-seven years—aw!  He has an older brother, who won’t be home, and a sister who still lives with his parents. 

            “Don’t worry, they’ll love you,” Cam insists.  I’m starting to feel nauseous. 

            Cam’s house is one of many in a line of cute white homes with two-car garages.  Very Midwestern, very conservative.  I see a well-maintained garden and a light blue front door.  I can already tell that someone in Cam’s family has an eye for design. 

            “Welcome!”  A woman who must be Cam’s mother flings open the door as soon as we step out of the car.  She hurries towards Cam and engulfs him in a hug.  “It’s wonderful to see you.”  She breaks free and smiles at me.  “And you must be Ryan.”

            “Hello,” I say with a smile.  “It’s so nice to meet you!” 

            “Well, come in, come in!”  Cam’s mother rushes us inside.  “Dinner is just about ready.” 

            I was right about the eye for design—Cam’s parents’ house is absolutely stunning, with original art on the walls and clean hardwood floors.  Definitely no dogs in this household; the furniture is immaculate, and they even have white couches! 

            We’re led by Cam’s mother—who has asked me to call her Jeannie—to a set table, complete with hydrangea centerpieces and candles that cast a soft glow.  I’m impressed, and also increasingly desperate to make a good impression.  Jeannie and I chat a little about my job, and she ends up asking if the woman who writes articles for design magazines is related to me. 

            “She’s actually my mother!” I say.  I can tell that wins me major points, even if it has nothing to do with me other than my genes. 

            “I absolutely adore Classic Design,” Jeannie gushes, talking about a magazine my mother writes for.  Before we can discuss it further, a tall man with immaculate posture enters the dining room.  I immediately straighten my blouse.  He does not look like a man who would tolerate a wrinkled shirt. 

            “Is dinner ready, dear?” Jeannie asks.  The man nods. 

            “Take a plate and come into the kitchen,” he says in a voice that reminds me of Cam’s, only deeper.  I glance at Cam and grab the plate next to his.

            The selection looks incredible.  I take some of everything and sit down, my hands in my lap.  When everyone is seated, Cam’s father dips his head, closes his eyes, and is silent for a moment.  Everyone else does the same, so I follow suit.  A moment later, he looks up and everyone starts to eat. 

            “Dad,” Cam says before he takes a bite, “I don’t know if you were introduced, but this is Ryan.”

            He doesn’t even look at me.  “Interesting name for a girl,” he says, cutting a piece of chicken.  “Is that a nickname?”

            I clear my throat, glad I don’t have any food in my mouth.  “No, just a name my mom liked,” I tell him.  “It’s very unique, and I love it.  I didn’t use to when I was younger, though.”

            “I can see why,” his father says.  I’m not sure what to say, but the girl across from me, Cam’s sister, speaks up.

            “I think it’s cool.”  She smiles at me.  “I’m Clara.” 

            “You have a pretty name too,” I tell her.  She rolls her eyes, which are caked in eyeliner. 

            “Thanks.  It’s a little piano-school teacher for me, but it could be worse.”

            “Clara is a lovely name,” Jeannie says.  Clara shrugs. 

            “Cam hasn’t brought a girl home since high school,” she says, chewing.  “I’m relieved.  I was starting to think something was wrong with him.  But I guess I already knew that.”  She grins, then yelps.  “Hey!  Don’t kick me!”

            I laugh.  I can already tell that things are easygoing between Cam and his sister, which is something I like to see.  Their father, though, clears his throat loudly.  “I’m sure our guest doesn’t need to see you behaving like this.”  I’m not sure how to respond, so I take another bite.  Everything is insanely delicious. 

            “This is all fabulous,” I say.  “Compliments to the chef, for sure.” 

            “That would be Tom,” Jeannie beams.  She must be referring to her husband.  Honestly, I’m a little shocked.  He doesn’t seem the cooking type. 

            I turn to him.  “Wow, that’s incredible,” I say.  “If every night included meals like this, you’ve got a lucky family!” 

            “Well, it is like this every night,” he says without a hint of a smile.  I feel Cam put his hand on my knee, gently, and I feel as though I’m saying everything wrong.  After a few more bites, I try again. 

            “So what do you do for a living?” I ask, leaving the question open so either Jeannie or Tom can answer. 

            “I work at Children’s Hospital, and Tom here is an accountant!”  she says, beaming. 

            “Oh, my dad is an accountant, too!” I say.  Tom says nothing. 

            “Ryan here is a writer,” Jeannie says.  She must notice the tension.  “She works in fashion.”

            “Well that’s not your typical job, is it?”  Tom finally looks up at me.  “So, is it mostly women in your department?”

            “Um,” I don’t know what to say.  “Yes, but my boss is a man, actually.”

            Tom chuckles.  “Must be gay.”

            “Dad!  Stop!”  Clara speaks up, her tone frustrated.  “Can you just be nice, please?  Ryan is trying really hard, and you’re making it weird.”

            “How am I ‘making it weird?’”  Tom sets his silverware down and stares at Clara, unblinking.  “Is there something wrong with making conversation?”

            “There is when you’re doing it like that!  You’re making it seem like she’s a criminal or something.”

            I’m completely bewildered.  Cam squeezes my knee. 

            “Now, now,” Jeannie starts, but she’s ignored entirely. 

            “I just want to know more about her job,” Tom is saying.  “It’s an entry-level position in fashion and writing, and honestly it seems like woman’s work.  I was just curious.” 

            “Woman’s work?”  Clara looks enraged, and I wonder how often the two of them fight. 

            Cam finally speaks up.  “Look, I guess this is a bad night to have come.  I think Ryan and I will leave now.”

            “No.”  Tom stares at his son.  “You will not be leaving.  You’ll finish your dinner.  Your sister will apologize and everything will be fine.” 

            Clara stabs at her asparagus and doesn’t say a word. 

            “No, I think we should be going.” Cam pushes his chair out, but Tom bangs his fork down.

            “You. Will. Stay.”

            The rest of dinner is entirely silent except for the sound of silverware occasionally scraping the expensive china plates.