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They agreed to come on Saturday, and if my dad had golf, he obviously postponed or canceled it, and if my mom had appointments, she rebooked them.
They’re here now, sitting in my brand spanking new kitchen, enjoying iced tea with lemon slices that I made last night so it would be properly chilled, and eating cucumber sandwiches. I know this isn’t a country club, and that’s token country club fare, and I really wasn’t trying to impress, but who doesn’t love a good cucumber sandwich? With just the right amount of mayo and salt and pepper on super soft, fresh bread, they’re about the best, most refreshing summer food you could ever come across. Don’t give me that bullcrap about it being watermelon. I have one of those for later, but right now, it’s cucumbers.
“I can’t believe it,” Mom says, touching her freshly cut bob. She’s dyed her hair a dark brown and gone for caramel highlights, which are new. The hairstyle suits her, and since she’s neurotic about covering up the grays, she looks good. I know she does yoga like nine times a day too, and she jogs in the summer and uses her treadmill in the winter. She’s probably in better shape than I am.
My dad, on the other hand, rocks his salt-and-pepper hair without fuss. He’s more of a jeans and T-shirt on his days off kind of a guy, and even though my mom chose to wear a sweater dress complete with a scarf, pearl earrings, a gold necklace, and red pumps, he came casual.
“It’s fabulous,” he seconds, but in between bites of cucumber sandwiches, he frowns. “I just don’t understand how it happened.”
If I had told my parents that I snapped my fingers and magicked this house into being, they would have been no less shocked and might even have understood that more than they understood how it really happened.
We just had a walk around the house before we came in here for sandwiches and drinks. I showed my parents everything on the outside and inside, and they were amazed, but they wore their skepticism the way they’d always worn it. Loud and clear.
“Who is this man?” Dad asks, trying not to sound like he wants to find him and shake the shit out of him until he learns what his real intentions are.
I glance at the tabletop, a sweet deal I found online with the whole red top and the red vinyl chairs. It perfectly matches the retro vibes the kitchen gives off. Looking down, I trace an invisible pattern there with my fingernail.
“The guy who helped you with the renovations,” Mom prods not-so-gently, like I might, by some incredible chance, not know who they’re referring to.
I know this might shock them more than the house did, but I raise my head and smile, letting them see the full effect of it. “He runs his own home building, renovation, and construction business, and he wanted to do the job for his portfolio. I tried to pay for what I could, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He made sure that I knew it would bring in much more business than the renovations themselves actually cost. And he’s incredible. He’s truly a great human being. He’s so nice, and I’ve met his grandma, and she’s the kind who would raise a no-nonsense family, and we’re…um, well, we got to know each other through the whole house renovation thing, and now we’re dating.”
Yup, it’s official. My parents are staring at me like I’m a cow who was abducted by aliens and who just descended back from the moon with a freshly minted set of not one but eight udders. Purple udders. And the cow is green with four yellow snake heads with perfectly blue eyes. And instead of legs, it has tentacles.
Yeah, okay. I might have botched this whole thing, from the house to proudly stating that I have my first real boyfriend.
“I know what you’re going to say,” I add before they can say anything. No good statement ever started with those words. “I just wish you could for once believe that I know what I’m doing or at least give me the benefit of the doubt. The house was a good thing. And I’m happy.”
“We aren’t trying to hurt your feelings, sweetheart,” Dad starts, setting his half-eaten sandwich down. “But your mother and I know what men are like. I especially know what men are like, seeing as I am one. There was a point in time when your mother was so beautiful that I only thought about—”
“Bill! Really!” Mom flushes the same shade as the pumps she has on, which are fire engine red. “Don’t start a sentence with ‘a point in time’ and finish it with ‘was so beautiful.’ That’s insulting.”
“Not to mention gag-worthy because you’re talking about a time before me and Mike existed, and that’s just gross.”
