This is the thirteenth part in a series, so if you have not done so already, you might want to read Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, and Part XII before continuing.
“What was that?” I asked Owen when we were alone again.
“What was what?”
“You were like a completely different person with my mom.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No, I’m just not used to seeing you like that.”
“I was trying to make a good impression.”
“I get it. You went into Impress-the-Parents mode.”
“Exactly.”
“My mom wasn’t exactly herself either.”
“How so?”
“I don’t think I had ever heard her giggle before?”
Ironically enough, Owen giggled at that. “Really?”
“Yeah. She’s just never been a bubbly person.”
Don’t get me wrong. My mom was the one who told me the importance of smiling as much as possible when you’re around men, so I had heard her fake laugh and fake giggle plenty of times. But what had come out of her mouth when Owen and I arrived sounded genuine. That was what had caught me off guard.
But of course I couldn’t tell Owen any of that. So I changed the subject. I took one of his hands in mine and said, “Well, whoever that guy was back there, my mom loved him.”
“Good. I want your mom to like me.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that. She’ll love you just because I do.”
He smiled at me and we kissed before he said. “What about your dad?”
I went cold. “What about my dad?”
“Do you think he’ll like me?”
“No, I don’t,” I said without hesitation. I barely caught myself before saying he’s a piece of shit and I hope he rots in hell. I managed to remember that my persona doesn’t talk like that before the words made it out of my mouth. Instead I said, “He’s not a very nice man.”
Owen’s brow creased. “You don’t have a good relationship with him?”
“You could say that. The last time I talked to him he called me a spoiled, selfish bitch.”
Owen’s eyes widened in shock.
“So, I don’t talk to him anymore.”
“Wow. I take it he’s not going to be at the wedding?”
“Of course not.”
“I see.”
This conversation had taken a turn I didn’t like, so I made an effort to a topic that was more favorable to me. “What about your family? What are they like?”
He went on to describe a family that all got along. Not only did they go on lavish vacations together every year, but they went to see movies together, they traded books, they even had a family dog. I kept waiting for him to describe a white picket fence surrounding his house, but either there wasn’t one, or he didn’t deem it worth mentioning. It probably didn’t go with the aesthetic of the massive Victorian house he said he had grown up in. Maybe it was a wrought-iron fence instead?
I couldn’t wait to see for myself.
To be continued…