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“Itold Harry he could meet my parents.”
Margot, who’d been powering through her French worksheet Monday morning, lifted her gaze to mine. Even her face held an expression of pure horror. “Youwhat?”
“It—well, it just kind of came out,” I said, distress building as I recalled the situation. “I asked him if I was ever going to meet his family, and then he asked if he could meet mine, and I said—I basically said,Sure.Oh, my gosh, I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You want Harry Hotpants to meet Alice and David?” She enunciated each word clearly, looking at me like I’d just told her I planned on stripping naked between third and fourth period. “Are you—did you hit your head? Are you concussed?”
“I don’twanthim to!” I quickly objected. “I mean, I fully see how terrible of an idea that is. But he wanted to, and he asked… Margot, I don’t know. Why would he even want to meet them in the first place? They’re not anything special.”
“He probably wants to meet them because he likes you. I mean, it’d makesenseif you had normal parents. If he was a normal boyfriendwithouta neck tattoo that symbolizes him literally being strangled. But you don’t have those things. Even the twins are weirdos.”
I let out a low groan, burying my face against my French worksheet.
How much of a disaster would it be if Harry met my family? Jamie would probably glare at him the entire time. If Nellie didn’t take Jamie’s side, she’d probably make him quiz her with her flash cards the entire time.
“You know…” Margot said after a moment, her scheming voice on. “This could actually be your way of accessing more freedom. Without lying about where you are all the time. This could transition them into giving you a bit more slack.”
“Or it could be what makes them lock down even more.”
How would they even meet him anyway? Would I bring him home for dinner, force him to pass the peas to my mother?
As if guessing my line of thinking, Margot said, “You could always bring him Saturday.”
“What’s going on Saturday?”
“It’s the first Saturday in April,” she said, tone hinting at the obvious. “The Hestons are throwing a fundraiser at the country club, remember? I think it’s for more parks around Fenton County or something like that. They’re bringing out that band that plays music you can actually dance to, not mope around like you’re attending a funeral.”
Crap, I didn’t remember about the Heston party. “Harry plays at Crushed Beanz Saturday night.”
“He can’t take a night off?”
“He’s the lead singer. They need him.”
Besides, bringing him to that fundraiser made me feel like I would break out in hives. Harry Russo didn’t belong at a fundraiser or fancy gala or anywhere near those people. Harry Russo, eating fancy finger food? Harry Russo talking with myparents? Harry Russo in a suit?
Okay, that last one wouldn’t have been too bad.
I shook my head to clear it. “Margot, a fundraiser is theworstway to meet my parents.”
“Not really,” she said, tapping her pencil against her mouth in thought. “He wouldn’t have your parents’ one-on-one attention. Plus, I’d be there to be a buffer. I’m sure Ms. Nancy would help occupy his time. She’s always grabby-handy with fresh meat. Especially when they’re as cute as him.”
I hadn’t told Margot about Nancy’s reaction to Harry at Le Petit Bateau, but it nearly made me snort that Margot knew how she’d act. “And my parents would have to be on their best behavior,” I realized. “Their very best. They wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong impression of them.”
“I say you should ask him,” she said, turning back to her worksheet. “You might be surprised. He might find a way to get out of his gig.”
Tiny zaps of electricity shocked through me, unpleasant and jittery. “He wouldn’t have anything to wear.” Or at least I assumed—he didn’t strike me as a guy who owned a suit.
“Please. The Gilfman Clothier can tailor a suit on short notice. Plus, it helps that he’s average build—easy to match.” The bell rang overhead, startling me from the intensity of my thoughts. Margot began packing up her worksheet, gathering her books. “He might say no, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate being asked.”
Would he? Or would he feel awkward, trying to find an idea how to say no? I liked to think we were past that awkward phase in our relationship, but I couldn’t tell.
Although for once, it would be nice to show up to one of those events with a guy on my arm. To finally have a date to chat with instead of all ofthem. Someone who I could smile genuinely at, not having to force it.
I pushed out of my seat with a sigh, the absolute last to filter from the room.
* * *
“Destelle, I’ve organized your volunteer schedule for the week.”
