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Calista looked fascinated, as if Dad had said that he had uncovered gold in their back yard at the age of five and had molded it into a hockey stick.
Mom pointed to the oven. Ronan flipped the switch to 450 degrees and slid the tray in.
“Geels powered back after their big loss to you guys. You’ve got them rattled.” Dad sounded satisfied as if the one-point win had been a stomping. For the next forty minutes, Calista and Dad chatted hockey while he and Mom whipped up a salad and sides. Ronan listened and watched Calista more than he should, loving how animated she became over her favorite topic, though she more typically leaned toward quiet and still. He wanted to hug Dad for making her comfortable.
He tossed together a salad and spoke up when they focused on him, then the oven dinged and dinner was served.
Ronan took a seat beside Calista, and they all dug in.
“So good.” Calista looked at his mom with admiring eyes. “You cook often?”
“Every night.” Mom sat a little straighter and squared her shoulders, then her expression grew more subdued. “You haven’t said what you do?” Some parents would know this from the hockey news. His were about supporting the game, not the front office.
Calista chased a pine nut with her fork. “Student.”
Mom kept going. “And you’re twenty…?
“Twenty-four.”
Mom arched her eyebrows, though her questioning was this side judging. “But no paying job?”
Ronan almost choked on his bite.
Calista nodded. “I work part time at Dad’s auto shop, but I’m taking time off to finish school.”
“Ah, family business.” Dad gave Mom a warning look. “That’s nice.”
“Oh, yes,” Calista said with relish.
“And the rest of the time is school, and you’re twenty-four.” Mom was full-on judging now. “Oh, well, takes some students longer.”
Calista looked down at her lap and flushed.
Ronan’s protective instincts flashed to the surface, but he shoved them down. He wanted his parents’ take on his relationship, and Mom had a process. He had to let this play out. He clutched the napkin in his lap and held his tongue.
“Nothing wrong with that,” Dad said. “How much longer you got, kiddo?”
“One credit.” Calista put her fork down as if the topic messed with her appetite. “I burned down a lab, so I have to complete a special project to graduate.”
He hadn’t heard that story. Ronan twisted to face her raw honesty. There was so much more he wanted to learn about her.
Mom arched her eyebrows as if she was the one feeling the heat. “Oh, my.”
Ronan could tell Dad was trying to stay on the fence, but he was shifting over to Mom’s side. “Tell us more.”
Calista twisted her napkin in her lap, making him want to cover her hands with his own, but he resisted. She swallowed. “I work with fuel at Dad’s shop all the time, so I was cocky. I just didn’t realize how concentrated I had the stream.”
How did he not know this?
“That’s what insurance is for,” Dad said, kindly. “When the project’s done, you’ll have your bachelors?”
Mom took a sip of her iced tea. “Back in my day, they called it a MRS degree. Are you looking for that? I got mine, met Mr. Stromkin at University of Washington and knew he was the one.”
Calista crossed her eyes to him and mouthed. MRS? The acronym processed behind her eyes. “Master’s in research science?”
Mom shook her head. “MRS. Marriage, dear, do you want to get married one day?”
“Oh.” Calista giggled and relaxed against her chair. “Maybe, if someone could ever put up with me.”
