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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.  

Downsizing

            Over the next few days, Abby apologizes profusely.  She sends me multiple texts, each heavy with exclamation points and blue-faced emojis.  Things are a little awkward at work for a while, but I insist that nothing’s wrong.  Mark, Abby explained, has wanted to be married since he was a kid.  He has trouble seeing when other people don’t have the same goals as he does.  Not that you don’t want to ever get married, she backtracks and apologizes until I finally tell her to shut it with a laugh.  I just want to pretend that the scenario never happened. 

            I try to think of ways to repay Cam for being so cool about the marriage comment.  Then again, I don’t want the situation to blow up any more than it already did by making a big deal out of it.  Maybe I’d just lie low and let my gratitude speak for itself.

            After work one day, Cam texts me with a surprise request.  I immediately run into the kitchen, skidding on the tile.  Emma’s sitting at the counter, eating, and looks up at me in surprise.

            “Cam wants me to meet his family,” I burst.  Emma raises her eyebrows, still chewing.  “Tomorrow!  I have no time to prepare!”

            Swallowing, Emma clears her throat.  “That’s honestly probably better for you.  I know you—you’d overanalyze everything and probably make note of conversation topics.”  I give her a look, but she continues.  “Come on, that’s exactly who you are and you know it.”

            “I’ve never rehearsed conversation topics!” I insist.  “Well, maybe I’ve thought about them. I’ve never, like, written them down and taken them with me on a card or anything like that.  That’s just crazy!”

            Emma rolls her eyes.  “I’m just saying, the only thing you should be planning is your outfit.  No cleavage, a nice dress, not too short.” 

            “No stripper heels, then?”  I shake my head in mock disappointment.  “Will you help me pick something out?”

            Emma nods, finishing off her scrambled eggs.  “As long as you help me pick out my outfit for my date.”

            “Date?!” I squawk.  Leave it to Emma to casually drop a bomb like that.  “With your college man?”

            Emma sighs dramatically.  “Must you word it like that?  Yes, with DJ.”

            I clap excitedly and do a little dance. 

            “You’re more excited about this than I am,” Emma says drily, but I can tell she’s looking forward to it.  Emma doesn’t go on dates—she’s so busy with her work schedule that she barely has time for the things she wants to do, let alone go out with guys she’s interested in.  As a matter of fact, I can’t remember the last date she went on—Emma’s turned down more guys than I can count. 

            “Where are you going?” I ask as I dash into her room.  Picking out a boring outfit for Cam’s family dinner will be easy, but Emma’s outfit will be way more fun.  I’m already tossing options on her bed by the time she gets to her room.

            “I just cleaned,” she grumbles. 

            Ignoring her, I pull out a minty green top with flowy sleeves and a plunging neckline.  “This would look so good with black skinny jeans,” I say. 

            “It’s a little hippy, don’t you think?”

            I shake my head.  “Not unless you plan on wearing a flower crown!”

            Emma and I go through multiple options, which takes up over an hour.  She’s being unusually picky, considering she’s the one who bought all these clothes.  Her anxiousness makes me realize that she really is worried about this date. 

            “Em,” I finally say as I hang up yet another rejected top, “you know you’re going to be beautiful, no matter what.” 

            “Blah blah blah, but I want to impress him!  He sees me at work constantly, and I want him to see that I clean up nice.”

            “Then wear a dress!” I suggest.  I pick up a dainty floral dress that she’s already turned away.  “Put a brown belt at your waist, curl the ends of your hair, and voila.  Pretty but not trying too hard.”  I see hesitation in Emma’s eyes, and I’m not above begging.  “Please, just try it on.”

            Once I’ve got her in the dress, the rest is relatively simple.  I give her one of my multi-layer necklaces, pick out a belt, and tell her to wear wedge heels.  She spins in front of the mirror, taking in the flow and twirl of the dress. 

            “Yeah,” Emma says finally.  “This is it.”  I whoop and do a little dance. 

            “He’ll be stunned and impressed that he snagged a girl like you,” I say, beaming. 

            After spending all that time picking out a dress for Emma to wear to her date, I’m done with trying on clothes for a while and decide to choose my outfit tomorrow.  Since Emma already ate, I decide to grab some food solo.  Maybe go to a sit-down place, bring a book, people watch.  The more I think about it, the more excited I become about the concept.  It seems so romantic, so movie-esque.  I could be Audrey Hepburn, I think as I slide a light jacket over my shoulders.

            I decide on a casual-yet-classy bar and order brie and a craft beer.  My table is facing the window and I start to observe the people walking by.  Surprisingly, I haven’t seen anyone I know by the time I get my food.

            I quickly discover that eating while reading is impossible, so I demolish the brie and then pick up my book and start reading.  I don’t even know how long it’s been when I hear a familiar voice and whip my head around.

            It’s Kent, my boss.  The boss who complimented me and then left me hanging.  As usual, he’s dressed impeccably—and he’s seated in the booth directly to my left.  I bury my head further in the book and don’t make eye contact.  From the glimpse I got, it looks like a business meeting.

            After a few minutes of eavesdropping, I determine that I was right.  Kent is with a pretty woman in some killer heels and a skirt suit that probably costs two of my paychecks, and a man who continuously loosens his tie.  This man has a booming voice, so listening in is easy.  Apparently, these two people work in similar fields as Kent, and are all in charge of multiple people. 

            I’ve all but abandoned my book when the woman begins to complain about the laziness of her workers.  The man chimes in, while Kent remains relatively silent.  I’m almost expecting him to bring me up—well I rarely talk to this girl with a man’s name… what is it… Riley, Rick, Ryan?  Anyway, she’s a terrible worker, just abysmal, but I had to lie to her face… she needs to step up her game or else…

            Just as I let me imagination get the best of me, Kent speaks.  And the first word I hear is “downsizing.”  I almost drop my book. 

            “I interviewed all of my employees personally, and it’s going to be a tough decision,” he’s saying.  “We haven’t been using our revenue wisely, and it’s still a difficult economy we’re in.”

            Maybe my crazy worries weren’t so crazy after all… what will I do if I’m let go?  I put the book down and sign my check with shaking hands.  Will Kent name any names, or will I have to live in fear for the coming weeks?  Should I suck up to him?  Should I look for another job?  My job may be tedious at times, but I’m good at it.  I’m familiar with the work environment and what’s expected of me.  Most of all, I’m not ready to leave. 

            The three bosses have changed the subject, and are now laughing about some golf trip paid for by the woman’s company.  I’m irritated.  Maybe downsizing wouldn’t be necessary if higher-ups didn’t spend money on golf outings.  I gather my book, wallet, and phone, and head out the door, my head low. 

            I call Cam as soon as I’m home and discuss the whole situation with him.  My voice becomes increasingly high-pitched and I know I’m rambling like I always do when I’m stressed.

            “Baby, baby, baby,” Cam says as I grow increasingly more hysterical.  His voice is the soothing counterpart to my screeching.  “You don’t know what, if anything, will happen.  They could have just been complaining and exaggerating.  I know it’s hard, but try to let it go.”

            “Shouldn’t I do something?” I ask desperately.  “Suck up?  Work harder?”

            “Putting a little extra effort in what you do probably won’t hurt,” he advises.  “Don’t act like you’re trying harder, but be more precise, more timely—just do everything you can to subtly prove you’re worth their time and you rock your job.”

            I smile, the phone pressed to my cheeks.  “I have no idea how, but you’ve made me feel much better,” I say. 

            “Keep me updated, okay?” he asks.  I detect genuine concern in his voice.  I assure him that I will. 

            “Are you ready for tomorrow night?” he asks, switching from one nerve-wracking situation to another.  “Don’t be weirded out, but my mom is super excited to meet you.”

            “Super excited?” I repeat nervously. 

            “It’s all new to her.  The last girl I brought home was my high school sweetheart, and that was for prom,” he laughs.  “But no pressure, seriously.  She’ll only want to, you know, DNA and drug test you…”

            “Stop!” I say, but he’s managed to make me laugh.  “I won’t pee in a cup or agree to any testing, but I will be on my best behavior.”

            “Good.”  I can hear the smile in Cam’s voice.  “I’ll pick you up at 6:30.  I’ll see you then?”

            “See you then,” I agree.  “Good night, and thanks.”  I feel like a lovestruck teenager when we hang up, and cradle my phone in my hands for a few minutes, thinking about our conversation.  He’s calmed me down considerably, and I don’t even know how he did it.  I might still be a little wary of him, but that feeling diminishes day by day, with another, more indescribable feeling taking its place.