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"You’re welcome."
"Are you nervous to meet my parents?" BJ tugs at his t-shirt collar. "They’re not mean. I promise."
I smile. "No, sweet boy. Maybe I was when you first told me about them, but they seem really nice. They’re not like Waxley’s parents who weren’t nice to him at all—they kicked him out of their house. Calloway’s father also wasn’t great, because he screamed and had panic attacks, which frightened little Calloway. From what you’ve told me, your parents accept you the way you are, and they still want you in their lives. The only thing is that your father can be distant, which is tough. Tonight, I’m going to follow through on what I promised you—I’ll ask him to spend more time with you. I’ll let him know that the most important thing a father can do is put down his book and take his son on a walk. Otherwise, his son will spend all his free time with his Daddy, and then there will be no room for the father in the son’s life."
BJ rubs his cheek against my chest, softly and tenderly. "Have you met many of your partner's parents before?"
I shake my head. "Only two. One was my college boyfriend and the second was my first Little when I came on the scene."
BJ pushes out a whistle. "Ooh la la."
I let out a snort. "His parents weren’t a fan of our size difference. They couldn’t get past it."
BJ blushes, then grins, looking like a dewy flower that’s welcoming the morning sun. "My parents won’t mind. Or at least—they’d better not. I’ll kick their booties if they say anything."
"Don’t say booties. It’s a bad word."
"Says you." BJ sticks out his tongue. "You’re always saying naughties."
I tap my right thumb on my hip. "Daddy has permission to say swears when the time calls for it."
"Says who?!"
"Says the Daddy gods."
BJ rolls his eyes to high heaven. "Uh huh. Well, you’d better watch that mouth around my parents. They’ll clean it out with soap."
"You’d better not say booties again."
"Fine. I’ll kick my parents’ bums if they mention our size difference. Is that better?"
"Tooshie would be preferable, but bum works, too."
BJ nods sagely. "That’s what I thought."
I guide BJ up the walkway to his parents' house. I must admit that it’s a nice abode, very suburban yet decorated in a way that betrays their refined taste. The flowerpots in the windows are so chic I can’t help but wonder if BJ’s mother Mays in Paris. The green grass freshly mowed, the trees are tended to, and the white picket fence in the backyard is sparkling clean.
Suburban paradise. BJ truly comes from an all-American family.
BJ bangs on his door. "We’re here, Mom."
I squeeze his hand tight in warning. "Be polite, boy. No yelling for your mother."
BJ blushes, then nods. "I’ll only yell for you, Daddy."
I roll my eyes. I walked right into that one.
A kindly woman who can’t be out of her mid-forties opens the door. She’s blond and gorgeous, with a pointy nose and freckles.
She seems nice. Smiling. Blue-eyed. An apron wraps around her petite waist, which suggests she’s been cooking. The smells of a freshly baked apple pie drift out of the house which makes my belly rumble.
"Mom!" BJ leaps forward and buries his mother in a hug. "Thank you for paying off my credit card last month."
BJ’s mother pats his head. "Awwww, you’re such a sweet boy. You know Mommy has to make sure you don't wreck your credit, don't you?"
"Yes, Mom."
BJ’s mother smiles at me. "If we let BJ pay his own bills, he’d mess something up in a week. He thinks he’s a big boy, but the truth is that he’s never quit being my little man. Now, if only BJ had someone in his life who could help him with that…"
