Love at First Fight

by Aarons, Carrie

My hand is on her thigh as I drive, the other on top of the wheel, and I run my thumb up and down her bare skin where her pretty white lace shorts stop.

  “Just my aunts and sisters and cousins. They’re like piranhas,” I mutter.

  She swats at my arm. “I’m sure they’re lovely. And I’ll be fine. I have to meet them sometime, Smith. I’m flattered you asked me to come to dinner.”

  I glance over at her while we come to a stop at a red light. “I want them to meet the woman who means so much to me.”

  And I shouldn’t downplay that to her, or in my mind, just because I was anxious about my birthday coming up.

  Molly’s lips spread into a shy, small smile. “I can’t imagine growing up with so many people in your house, let alone having siblings. It was always just me and my parents, and it was pretty quiet.”

  “Growing up in my house was like living in a zoo. Not only were there kids everywhere, but most of my parent’s siblings live on the same block as us. It was a quiet day if there weren’t ten or twenty relatives filtering in and out of the front door.”

  “Sounds fun,” she says, sighing like she might have missed out on something in her own childhood.

  “Well, you’re about to find out,” I say, pulling onto the street in front of my parent’s house.

  It’s an old two-story on a tiny patch of land, just inches from the other houses on either side. The brown shingles and brown door have become weathered over the years, but that Italian flag still hangs proudly from the garage door, and my father’s New York Mets insignia sign is stuck in the front garden among Mom’s tulips.

  My aunt Esther and aunt Francine are sitting on the front porch, smoking like chimneys, as we get out of the car.

  “Smith! You’re looking too skinny. Go in the kitchen, I brought sausage and peppers. Have a sandwich,” Francine greets me like this.

  Molly snickers in amusement under her breath, but she doesn’t stay protected for long.

  “Is this is the girlfriend? She’s a blonde.” Esther eyes her.

  We have a lot of dark-haired, olive-skinned people in my family. Aside from Gianna, who is a bottle blond, my relatives aren’t used to fair skin and light hair.

  “Be nice,” I warn both of them as I open the screen door for Molly and usher her inside.

  As we move through the small rooms of my parent’s house, we run into at least ten or fifteen more of my aunts, uncles, or cousins. They all either kiss our cheeks, ask who Molly is, want to talk business, or some other loud, obnoxious topic. I keep it moving, trying to get Molly to the one person who would be offended if we didn’t say hi to her first.

  Entering the kitchen, I see Burton leaning against the counter as my mom stands at the stove.

  “Look who’s here.” My brother sticks out his fist to pound and I meet it.

  “Came straight back,” I emphasize, because I want Molly to make a good impression on my mom.

  “She’s much prettier than you mentioned, bro. Shame on you.” Burton, my younger brother, kisses Molly on the cheek.

  She chuckles and raises an eyebrow at me. “Is that so?”

  I flick my brother in the temple, making a mockery of the pest he is. “That’s not true at all. This scoundrel is just trying to win you over. Don’t let him. He’s a slob and a terrible mouth breather. I had to share a room with him until I was fifteen.”

  Burton flips me his middle finger, which Mom sees, and she promptly whacks him on the head with her sauce spoon. It leaves a trail of red in his light brown locks, and he starts whining, running off to the bathroom.

  “Smith,” Mom greets me, pressing up on her toes and expecting me to lean down and kiss her cheek.

  I do so, because I respect the hell out of my mom, and then introduce Molly. “Mom, this is Molly. I don’t know if you remember her—”

  “Justin’s ex-girlfriend, of course I do.” Mom gives my girlfriend the hawk-eye, and I’m so apprehensive, I might break a tooth I’m grinding down so hard on my molars.

  It’s vitally important that my family not only like Molly, but accept her. It’s rare that I bring a girl home to any family function, for that matter, and this isn’t just any woman. This is the woman.

  “Then again, you were way too good for him. We all saw it. And what that schmuck did to you, and to my best friend, his mother? He never deserved you.” Mom points her sauce spoon at us. “My son is a much better man, I hope you understand how genuine and special he is.”

  “Ma …” I start to scold her, but Molly interrupts me.

  “Believe me, I’m well aware of Smith’s character. He’s a wonderful, caring man, Mrs. Redfield. You did an amazing job, with all of your children. I really admire that.”

  My mother nods her head as if what Molly is saying is fact. “Well, I’ve heard about some of the wonderful things you’ve done for the youth of our city. I’d like to talk to you about that.”

  “Anytime.” Molly smiles triumphantly, as if she passed some kind of test to be accepted into my family.

  “Good, wash your hands and grab a chair. Those meatballs aren’t going to roll themselves, and I have to show you the family recipe. We can talk while we work.” Mom points at one of our old, wooden kitchen chairs.

  I snort, because she may have passed the first test, but Molly is about to get initiated. Her face is pleasantly surprised as she turns to me, and I shrug, knowing I will never rescue her from this duty.

  “I’ll be in the living room with the men.” I hike a thumb toward the doorway.

  I leave the two of them in the kitchen, glancing back to see that they’re deep in conversation. There is shouting in the living room, and no doubt Dad has the baseball game on. I wander in to see my dad, his brother Jack, my sister Katrina and my two nephews Chase and Clinton watching the Mets on TV, and Harrison and Erica standing off to the side.

  “Smith!” The two seven-year-old twins jump up and wrap themselves around my waste.

  “Hey, ya rascals.” I ruffle their dark black hair. “What’s the score?”

  “Two zero, Mets.” Dad waves distractedly in greeting.

  “You know not to talk to him during a game. He’s rubbing off on the boys.” Katrina smirks and rolls her eyes as I bend down to kiss her cheek.

  I nod to my uncle, who nods back but is too engrossed in the game, then head over to talk to Erica and Harrison. I haven’t talked to Harrison much since the blowup at restaurant depot, and things have been strained. Neither he nor I have taken the initiative to solve it, but I should man up and be the bigger man. I was the one who blew up, who stormed out. I’ve seen, through a lot of conversations with Molly, how much my grief has manifested itself in the wrong ways, and even if I couldn’t move as quickly as my family through the stages, I needed to give them a little proof of my healing.

  “Hey,” I say to both my brother and my sister as I approach them.

  Erica leans in for a side hug, and Harrison just nods, obviously still miffed about what went down between us.

  “Molly here?” Erica asks.

  My whole family has been dying to meet her. Some of them already have back when she was with Justin, but this is different. We’re together now, and my family knows I don’t get involved seriously with someone if they don’t have my whole heart. Probably because I’ve never really been involved with someone. The fact I brought her here says a lot.

  “Yeah, she’s in the kitchen with Ma,” I confirm.

  “Ah, getting grilled about her upbringing and intentions, I suppose.” Erica snorts.

  We all know the drill when it comes to our mother.

  “She’ll do fine. She’s an angel,” Harrison chimes in.

  He spent some time with Molly while she was with Justin and even voiced to me how wrong he thought my best friend was for her. That she was too good for our childhood buddy.

  An awkward silence descends on our little group as I don’t respond, and Erica pipes up, “I’m gonna, uh … get something to drink.”

  Sh
e makes a hasty exit, leaving us conveniently alone to talk. My siblings were never subtle, and I’m sure they’ve all heard about my blow up at the restaurant depot.

  “How you been, Smith?” Harrison asks, starting the conversation.

  “Pretty good, actually. Been spending a lot of time with Molly, and when we’re not in the Hamptons, I’m at the new restaurant. Or the old ones, but those are well-oiled machines.”

  He nods slowly, and I think he might just continue this small talk, but my oldest brother jumps right into it. “Was expecting a call or an apology from you, but I guess you couldn’t find the time.”

  I roll my eyes at his melodrama. “Stop it, don’t take that passive aggressive tone with me.”

  “What? I just would have loved an explanation for getting stormed out on in the middle of a department store.” He shrugs as if he’s innocent.

  “Harrison, you pushed me too far, and you know it. It wasn’t the time or the place for that conversation, at least admit that. I know I’m at fault too, I overreacted. I’m sorry about that, I shouldn’t have flown off the handle.”

  My brother, ever the stubborn one, crosses his arms over his chest. “Fine, so maybe I didn’t need to prod you that hard. I’m sorry about that.”

  At least we’ve both uttered the words now, no matter how begrudgingly.

  “Can you just respect that I’m handling things in my own way, in my own time? I’ve been killing myself at the restaurant, and that’s my monument to Stephanie. Let me grieve in the way I need to.”

  Harrison chews this over, and then nods. “She is really changing you. Or at least, you’ve found someone who is finally helping you to talk about Steph’s death. I’m thankful for that.”

  A weight moves off my chest, because it seems that the tension and apologies have been cleared or spoken between us. He’s talking about Molly, and while I haven’t told my family so much, he’s not wrong in his assumptions.

  “She has. She’s … well …”

  Harrison lays a hand on my arm. “You don’t have to put words to it, trust me, I get it. It was the same for me when I met Kenneth.”

  My head simply bobs at the comparison, because he knows. Anyone who has met the human who feels like the other half of their soul understands.

  That’s what Molly is for me.

  32

  Molly

  Smith introduced me to his family, and so it was only natural that I’d want him to meet mine.

  I waited for a weekend that my parents had free and then scheduled a lunch at their house, making it completely convenient for them. I wouldn’t dare to ask them to come out to our beautiful house in the Hamptons, because Lord knows they never would have. My parents don’t venture from their NJ suburb, nor do they agree with the lifestyle of those in the Hamptons.

  And I secretly want Smith to see where I grew up. Meeting his enormous family opened my eyes to exactly who Smith is, though I was getting the whole picture way before then. It gave me insight into how his brain works, what he holds important, and I want him to see the same. Back when he was teasing and taunting me, Smith made so many comments about my underprivileged upbringing. He would pick on me for being a simpleton, for being too sweet or naive.

  Maybe I am. Maybe I’m a hometown girl who happened to move to the city, and it hasn’t quite seeped into my blood. But I want him to see where I came from, why I wasn’t like a lot of the other women he hung around with.

  “Welcome to Linden.” I smile as he parks his car in my parent’s driveway.

  “Hm, looks like New Jersey.” He sticks his tongue out at me.

  We’ve had this debate numerous times over the past few weeks, of which is better, New York or New Jersey? Obviously, we each take a side, and no one agrees at the end. It usually gets solved with Smith kissing me, distracting me, and then we’re not even talking anymore. He’s really good at that.

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” My eyebrows crease, I can feel it.

  “Oh, nothing,” he singsongs and unfolds himself from the car.

  “Okay, so no talk of money, even if they bring it up. And no talk of living in the room next door to mine at the beach house, Dad won’t like that. Definitely don’t mention we’re sleeping together, and if they ask, say you’re in restaurants. Don’t tell them that you own them.”

  I lay out these instructions as we walk up to my parent’s front door, a bottle of wine in my hand and a bouquet of flowers for my mother in Smith’s arms.

  Smith nods. “Got it. I’ll throw a wad of cash on the table, ask them if they’ve rented any private jets recently, and then tell your parents I’m going down on their daughter nightly.”

  His sarcasm has me laughing, a nervous jitter that works its way out of my throat. “You’re horrible.”

  “And you need to relax. I know how to be a human being, Molly.” He rolls his eyes.

  I know he does, I’ve seen it plenty of times. Smith can be extremely charming when the situation calls for it. But I know my parents. They’re going to look at his styled jeans and T-shirt that cost more than a trip to the movies, an expense for them, and judge him right off the bat.

  And I really like this guy. I’m falling for him more each day. Looking back on my time with Justin, I thought I’d been doing the same thing, but now I know better. This was what it is supposed to feel like when you meet your soul mate, even if he pretended to hate you for a year.

  My fist knocks once on the screen door before I unlatch it and let myself in. “Mom? We’re here!”

  The announcement is met by some shuffling in the kitchen, and then out she walks, red checkered apron tightly secured around her waist.

  “Hi, honey. You made good time?” She comes over to hug me.

  “We did.” I hug her back.

  I’m acutely aware of how quiet it is here as opposed to Smith’s house, and I kind of miss the chaos. Going to his parent’s home was a surprise around every corner, a new conversation every second, and so much love. My parents and I made the best of our little unit, but I missed something I never knew I was missing ever since I’d spent time with the Redfields.

  “Mom, this is Smith.” I step back, waving my hand at the tall, stunning man standing next to me.

  Mom sticks out her hand, and I can already tell her demeanor is apprehensive. Crap.

  “Smith, nice to meet you.” She shakes his hand, and it’s forced and weird.

  “Mrs. Archer, I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you.” He shakes her hand and then offers the flowers he brought.

  “Well, these are beautiful. I’ll get them in some water.” She scurries to the kitchen, and I should have known from the start that this was how the rest of the day would go.

  We find Dad in his shop out back, and he’s just as brisk with his greeting of Smith. I know they’ve already had a little powwow, and decided they weren’t even going to entertain the idea of warming to my boyfriend.

  Lunch is awkward at best, and frigid at worst. My parents barely speak when spoken to, no matter how hard Smith turns on the charm. I try my hardest to run around the conversation like a show dog, bringing up points and making everyone sparkle. But it does no good; my parents want nothing to do with him.

  Mom is washing the dishes in the kitchen after, and I approach her cautiously, sitting down at our small kitchen table.

  “Smith’s pretty great, huh?” I start, baiting her.

  The buzz of annoyance is holding me in its grasp, because I wanted to show Smith how wonderful my family is. Just like he’d shown me, and I wanted the connection I found in Queens to translate here to my hometown. But my parents have been obstinate and cold, and I am honestly not only embarrassed, but sad that we’d have to overcome their prejudiced opinions.

  “Hmm …” She clucks her tongue, and my temper flares.

  “What is it? Just say it. I’m not an idiot, Mom.” I sound like the petulant teenager I never was, but I can’t help it.

  “First, a banker, and no
w a man who owns restaurants? Jeez, Molly girl, you really developed some expensive boyfriend tastes when you moved to the city.”

  Mom’s words barb and twist around my heart. They hurt more because my parents know my character, but can’t see past their own insecurities and tainted history with people of a higher salary band. I’m so fed up with that kind of attitude, but I’m even more pissed off that this is all she sees Smith as.

  My blood is boiling as I address her back where she’s washing the dishes in the sink.

  “For your information, both of those men grew up in a very lower middle-class neighborhood in Queens. Smith is one of eight children, and his mother and father worked every day to provide those kids with food and a roof over their heads. Yes, Justin was a piece of crap. He boasted about his money and threw around the newfound privilege he’d earned. I’ll give you that. But aside from the way he broke up with me, he was never anything but kind to your daughter, and you. You should remember that. As for Smith, he’s one of the most hardworking people I’ve ever encountered. You know he never went to college, just like Dad? He worked as a dishwasher in restaurants until he could learn enough and work his way up to a more prominent position. And then when the option came along to not work for someone else anymore, he did most of the construction on his first eatery. He only has one other partner, and they work just as hard if not harder as you and me. You have no idea the kind of man he is, but you’re judging him based on his income. Which he’s worked like a dog for. Not that you’d know he’s worth that much, since he’s one of the kindest, and most understanding humans I’ve ever encountered. You would know, if you bothered to ask him anything about himself, that he still takes his mother to church on Sundays and volunteers at his niece’s ballet recital to work the bake sale table. Just because someone has money doesn’t make them a villain, and I’m sick of you and Dad treating people that way.”

  I’m so heated that I stand up, sending the kitchen chair flying, and stomp out of the kitchen entryway. But I only get four steps before smashing right into Smith’s chest. With just a look up into those stormy indigo eyes, I can tell he heard every word. He practically hauls me up by the waist, until my feet are barely skimming the floor, and holds me to him while he smashes his mouth to mine.