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Treyton:After this movie wraps, can I take you home with me?
He changes gears…Thankfully. Again, not that I don’t want him to meet my parents. Just not yet.
Me:I have to wait until the movie wraps!!
Treyton:Oh shit, no. Not what I meant. I was asking if I could take you home, to my hometown.
I almost drop my phone into the sink, rereading his message at least ten times before replying.
Me:I’d like that. But can I ask why?
The dots dance across the screen, disappear, reappear, then disappear again, before a message finally comes through.
Treyton:I’d like to introduce you to my parents too, and show you where I grew up.
He wants me to meethisparents?
This time I do drop my phone. Right out of my hand and into the sink it goes, sliding into a glob of toothpaste left over from when I brushed my teeth a few minutes ago.
“Damn it,” I groan, grabbing some toilet paper to wipe my phone clean.
He wants me to meet his parents…I don’t even know what to say to that.
Of course, I want to. But that’s not the point. The point is, he asked. That has to mean something, right? If he wants to introduce me to his parents… If he wants to meet mine… I can’t imagine why he would want to do either of those things if he wasn’t planning on keeping me around.
And while yes, originally we agreed to a simple, be exclusive and see where things go relationship, that casual agreement went out the window for me pretty much the day we made it. He had me, even before I realized I’d let him.
It seems fast, but then again, everything between us has seemed to happen at rapid speed.
I guess it’s true what they say; when you know, you know. And boy do I know.
Me:I’d love that.
Treyton:Have fun at dinner. Miss you.
Me:Miss you more.
The last message sits unread for several minutes, which is a good indication that he was called back to set.
Instead of fretting over everything we discussed, I try to push it from my mind for the time being and finish getting ready for dinner.
“So, Mom and I were wondering… When are we going to get to meet this man of yours?” my dad asks, somehow managing to hold that one in until half way through dinner.
First Treyton, now them.
I think maybe the universe is trying to tell me something.
“Actually, Mom’s already met him.”
“I wouldn’t say we’ve met, more like crossed paths,” she interjects.
“We won’t embarrass you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” My dad pats the back of my hand that’s resting on the table.
“I’m not worried about that. It has nothing to do with you two.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
I think back to Treyton’s earlier text, when he said he wanted me to meet his parents and that he wanted to meet mine, and I ask myself the same thing my father just did. What’s the problem?
