I look down and take a moment before saying, "Okay, but no gifts. It makes me uncomfortable."
"Why's that?"
"I don't know. It just always has. Please," I say in a serious tone.
"Okay. No gifts. But just so you know, I have a shit-ton for the kids," he says with a chuckle.
I smile and we sit back, kicking our feet up onto the coffee table. "So when did you start making all the rules?"
"When you started making me worry about you."
I don't respond to his statement; I don't know how to respond. The protectiveness of his words confuses me, but they make me feel good. Instead, I just sit there next to him and stare at the undecorated tree by the front window and worry about Ryan meeting my parents.
I have been on edge all day thinking about how dinner will go tonight. I'm nervous because the last time I saw my parents, it didn't go so well, and nothing has been discussed or resolved. I'm also nervous about Ryan meeting them. I know my mother will jump to conclusions and assume we are dating, and that will not go over well since I know she will be judging him and measuring him up to her unreachable standards.
When I see Ryan's black Rubicon pull up in front of my house, I slip on my coat and head out. He gets out of the car to help me into my seat. When we pull away, he must have picked up on my nerves when he says, "Relax."
Feeling the need to warn him, I say, "Ryan. You need to know that—"
But he doesn't let me finish when he interrupts me and repeats, "Candace, relax."
"They're just very judgmental people."
"There is nothing that they can say that I haven't heard before," he says, and I wonder what he means by that. Is he referring to his parents? I know he is close with his mother, so I assume maybe his father has something to do with his statement. Ryan has never mentioned his dad. I figure his parents are divorced and he just isn't close with him, but I have never asked.
I start fidgeting and twisting my hands when he pulls into the gates of The Highlands. He reaches over and lays his hand on top of mine to calm me, but it doesn't help. When he pulls into my parents' circle drive and shuts off the car, I don't get out. We both sit there for a moment when Ryan asks, "You ready?"
"Yeah," I breathe out.
"Bunny," my dad beams as we walk through the door. His candor is not what I expected, and he pulls me in for a big hug. "You look beautiful, dear." He turns to Ryan and shakes his hand. "And you must be Ryan. Thanks for joining us. Come in."
Turning back to me he says, "Your mother is finishing getting ready. She should be out shortly."
We walk back into the kitchen and my father asks, "What can I get you two to drink?"
"A beer is good, Mr. Parker."
"Please, call me Charles."
My father hands Ryan a bottle of beer and pours me a glass of red wine.
"Why don't we go to the library and visit while we wait for your mother?"
As we are walking through the house, Ryan keeps a supportive hand on my back, and I appreciate the gesture.
"So, Ryan, what is it that you do?" my father asks as we all sit down.
"I own a bar right off campus."
"Oh, how did you get into that type of work?"
"Long story short, after I graduated college, I couldn't seem to find a job with the economy, so I just sort of fell into this business deal. It's been working out nicely though, so I can't complain."
"What did you study in college?"
"Finance."
"Now that's a respectable degree," my mother says as she walks into the room, heels clicking against the wooden floor.
I cringe inside at her passive-aggressive statement. When she approaches, I stand to give her a quick embrace.
"Hi, Mom."
"Good to see you, darling. And Ryan, welcome."
Ryan stands to take her hand, and says, "Thank you for having me."
"Of course. It isn't every day that our daughter brings a man home."
I roll my eyes, and Ryan sits down next to me and squeezes my knee. I know this is going to end in disaster already. My mother's words are like poison, and I'm beginning to question why I even came.
"Ryan was just telling me about the bar he owns," my dad tells my mother.
"A bar?"
Before I allow my mother to make some snarky comment, I jump in, "So, when are the two of you leaving for Colorado?" My parents own a cabin in Aspen and go there every year after Christmas.
They begin to talk about what they have planned for their trip this year, and I sit back and listen to them go on and on. It's pretty much the same every year.
As I take the last sip of my wine, my father says, "Bunny, why don't you show Ryan around. I need to talk with your mother about something. We will leave in about thirty minutes."
"Okay, sure."
I walk Ryan around the house and then outside to show him the view of the Sound.
"I'm sorry about that," I say.
"About what?"
"They can be a lot. They're pretty pretentious."
"Candace, no one has perfect parents. Everyone's flawed in some way."
We walk back to the covered patio and sit down on one of the benches. I tie my scarf tighter around my neck, and Ryan wraps his arm around my shoulders.
"So, you grew up here in Shoreline?" he asks.