Neal, walking beside her, asked, “Hey, what’s wrong? You were fine two seconds ago.”
“Just nervous, is all,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes on the bottle cap.
“You’re nervous? But I thought you said this wouldn’t be a big deal.”
“It shouldn’t be,” she said, forcing confidence into her voice.
“So what’s got you like this? Not to make you feel even worse or anything, but it’s kind of making me jumpy.”
Funny, he certainly wasn’t acting like it. “I’ve never done this before. Not with someone like you.”
“Like me?” He wasn’t sure what to make of that, she could tell.
“Not you specifically, but…” She kicked the bottle cap extra hard, feeling her face flame in the slightly chilly air. “I like you a lot,” she said quietly. “And I want this to go well, but I’m afraid that it won’t, somehow, even though it shouldn’t.”
“Aw, Farrah.” Neal put his arm about her shoulders and tucked her into his side as they walked. He wasn’t quite tall enough to do it comfortably, but she still thought the gesture was nice. “If that’s all there is to worry about, then don’t. Things will go just fine.”
Neal really wasn’t the type of guy you had to worry about introducing to your parents, all things considered. He was the sort of guy parents wanted their daughters to know. Even if he wasn’t, her parents were decent individuals and had always supported her, no matter what she got herself into.
“I don’t actually think it’ll go badly—”
“Then stop stressing about it,” he said, squeezing her shoulders comfortingly. “We’ll walk in, get it over with, and do homework or something.”
“As riveting as that schedule sounds,” she said with a small smile that Neal was quick to echo. “They probably won’t be home until about five-thirty -ish.”
“Then we’ll do homework first, I’m flexible,” he said, letting her go. “Do you make dinner at your place, or do they do that?”
“It depends on the day, if someone has something in mind or not,” she said, tentatively relaxing again. “But most of the time I start it and they finish.”
“Cool, I can help with that.”
It was around then that they reached her house. Right after entering, Neal stopped and looked around with wide eyes. He whistled appreciatively. “Wow. This place is so organized.”
Considering that his house was cluttered and forever buzzing with life, this probably looked like a vacant hotel or something. From the front door you could see the 52” flat-screen TV with the impressive movie collection filling the bookshelves on either side of it, and the two loveseats angled in front. Everywhere you looked there were attractive silk flower arrangements or family photos.
You could also see the long, fancy-looking pine table that her parents used for dinner parties and family visits but little else, with the glass cabinets of the fine china standing in the corners and the nice mini-chandelier hanging over it all. On the walls here were her Uncle Jeffry’s original paintings, which her father thought could give Picasso a run for his money. Every time they got a new one the whole interior design of the room changed to accent it.
The rooms were attractive, to be sure, but Farrah probably did things in them about five times a year at the most.
“Yeah, Mom and Dad are neat freaks like that, I guess. Nobody ever actually spends time in these rooms,” she said, going into the mostly stainless-steel kitchen through the dining room and dropping her backpack onto her chair at the modest dinner table in there. “You want anything to drink?”
“Sure, water would be great.” Still with his own bag dangling from his shoulder, Neal came up behind to watch her (presumably to figure out where everything was). “And you seriously don’t use your living room at all? You’ve got an effing incredible TV in there.”
“It’s mostly superficial. I’m much more comfortable in my room.” She handed him his water and proceeded to pour her own from the refrigerator dispenser.
“That’s so crazy. It’s like—like a TV show, or Better Homes and Gardens magazine,” he said, looking around the kitchen with its steel appliances and dark granite counters with something like awe. This was a major change from the bright color and simplicity of his house, and just thinking about the contrast made Farrah think that she should be wearing a cocktail dress.
“What do you know about those magazines?” she asked teasingly.
“Enough to liken them to your house.”
“I know, it’s pretty bad.” She opened the fridge in search of snacks, but found none. Maybe there was something in the freezer.
Nope, just some funny-tasting veggie chips.
“Well, I’m not the best judge,” said Neal. “But so far I have to agree.”
“I’d choose your place over mine any day.”
“That’s just because my parent’s hippy vibes have soaked into the walls,” he said as she picked up her book bag again and flipped on the studio lights in the slightly unfamiliar living room. Might as well get acquainted with it now. She didn’t want to hang out in her room and give her parents any strange impressions when they came home.
“Hippy vibes?” she repeated as she threw her bag onto one of the stiff, practically brand-new loveseats. “They’re easy to be around. I hardly think that makes them hippies.”
“That’s only because you don’t know them well enough to see how they’re never sober.” Neal took his own backpack off and flopped down next to it.
“They aren’t?” Neal had mentioned they smoked pot, but…
“Yeah. It’s pretty funny when they are sober, actually. They don’t know how to do anything.”
“Oh my god, I never would have guessed.” Farrah didn’t have anything against weed. She was fine if her friends smoked it, and she was even okay with them smoking it around her, but nobody could convince her to try it. She was too afraid of psychological addiction. “Do they use it for medical?”
“Nope, it just keeps them functional.” He took a slurp of water and set his glass down upon the convenient coaster on the glass coffee table. “Why do you think they took my wings so well? I smoked them out first.”
Farrah’s jaw dropped. “That’s cheating!”
Totally unbothered, he shrugged. “To be honest, I thought you knew. Why else would they have gone on about accepting me for who I naturally was, even though I wasn’t born like this? Once they got back to their normal high they were already over the worst of it.”
“I still think that’s cheating. It sounds way too simple.”
“Well, my parents are easy people to deal with—but if your house is any indication, yours are a little more… difficult.” He gestured around for emphasis.
At that point Farrah finally realized that she was standing around awkwardly and promptly put her glass on the table and sat next to him. “Yeah, a little,” she agreed.
Neal zipped open his bag and pulled out one of his notebooks and his iPod. “Do you have speakers?”
“Are you going to be anal about what we listen to?”
He thought, and his face broke into a sheepish grin. “Probably.”
“Then I don’t have speakers.”
At first he was taken aback, and then he laughed. “Have I ever told you how awesome it is that you put up with that most of the time?” he said, but she couldn’t tell if he was joking.
Just in case, Farrah spoke with what she hoped was equal ambiguity as she retrieved her own books, “I could probably stand to hear that more often.”
He laughed again as he took out his own pair of speakers. Why he had asked for hers was a mystery. “Okay, I’ll DJ then.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She dug out a mechanical pencil and started on her English homework as he got I’m Blue by Eiffel 65 to start playing. That was what made her look up, torn between a smirk and incredulity. “This song? Really?”
“Oh come on, Fare, it’s classic. This song never gets old.”
She
let out a strange giggle and shook her head. “I can’t believe you still have I’m Blue—have you kept all your NOW CDs, too?”
Neal flashed a winning smile. “As a matter of fact, I have. Isn’t that sexy?” And he nudged her with his elbow.
She couldn’t keep herself from laughing a second time as she said, “Oh yes, Neal, that is absolutely the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
She pushed at him. “Stop breaking my concentration! I have work to do!”
“Aw, look at you, getting all distracted by a boy—do I make you flustered, too?”
They did eventually manage to get their homework done (always a hassle, that homework), and at that point Farrah had to start something for dinner.
“What do you want to eat?” she asked, standing in the middle of the kitchen and not feeling any sudden inspiration to make anything.
“Something you can cook.”
Farrah frowned over at him. “Just name something. You’re my guest.”
“I don’t care, I’m telling you. I’ll eat whatever.”
She let out a long-suffering sigh and opened the refrigerator to see what sort of dinner foods it could be hiding. “Well, we seem to have a plethora of chicken—how does that sound?” she said.
“Like a plethora of awesome?”
That was good enough for her. Pulling out the chicken and setting it on the counter, Farrah pushed up her sleeves and went over to the sink to wash her hands. “It feels wrong to make your guest help you cook,” she said to nobody in particular.
Despite her comments, he was already washing his hands. “Yeah,” he said. “But if I don’t help I’ll get bored, and is that a good thing to do to your visitors?”
She had to admit, “I’m damned either way, as far as etiquette is concerned.” And she tossed him the towel she had dried her hands on and began un-packaging the chicken.
“Exactly, so who needs it?” he said, putting the towel back. “What can I do?”
“Get eggs, ham and mozzarella out of the fridge. I think we’ll make chicken cordon bleu.”
“Ooh, sounds fancy,” he hummed as he did followed her instructions. “Hey, if I were ham where would I be?”
“Probably in the upper right-hand drawer.” Then she reflected, “It does sound high class, doesn’t it?”
“You bet.” Neal placed the ingredients next to the chicken. “Now what? Flour? Bread crumbs?”
“Oh yeah.” She got the bread crumbs out of the pantry, and also fetched a bowl from a cabinet.
And things just went on from there, with much laughs and conversation to pass the time. If asked later Farrah would not be able to say what it was they spoke of, specifically, but she could remember that it was pleasant and fun, that it felt perfectly natural to work with Neal.
Cordon bleu wasn’t a hard thing to make either, despite the fancy-sounding name, so they finished it fairly quickly and retreated into the living room again. “Mom and Dad can make something to go with it,” she said as she scouted for a remote and flipped the TV on. “Anything you like watching?”
“Not really,” said Neal, settling next to her in a way that made her skin prickle.
“You know, you are really hard to please sometimes,” she told him as she scrolled through the channels. Over a thousand and he still didn’t know what he wanted? Really?
“I think you’re trying too hard. I’m actually a really easy person to keep happy.” Even though he was taller, he still laid his head on her shoulder. When she peeked, his expression as she was looking through the channels was perfectly neutral. Then he pointed. “There. Just put it on Mythbusters. Can’t go wrong with them.”
She did, and the high-definition screen promptly displayed what looked like a water heater exploding through the second story and roof of a house without walls. It was in the middle of an empty asphalt lot, and someone who sounded a lot like Adam was cheering, so that was probably what they had wanted to happen.
“You’re not going to fall asleep on me, are you?” she asked, putting the remote control on her thigh.
“Nope. This just seemed like the thing to do,” he said casually, reaching over and turning the surround-sound volume down a few notches. “You smell pretty good, too, but I mean that in the least creepy way possible.”
Maybe it was sad, but this was actually not the first time Farrah had heard this. “You can blame the fabric softener for that. The smell just lingers in my clothes.”
“Nice.”
At that moment she heard the garage door open. Farrah glanced at the TIVO box for the time: 5:42. “About time. I was starting to wonder what was holding them up.” Then she sniffed and remembered, “Oh yeah, let’s go check on that chicken.” She stood up and Neal followed, but as she walked into the kitchen her heart started hammering in her chest and her stomach began to twist itself into a pretzel. She knew she had nothing to worry about, and yet…
The door that connected the house and garage opened as she was ducking to look at the chicken. “Farrah, we’re home,” her father called happily.
She shut off the oven and straightened up. “Hey, how was work?” she said, but even in her own ears the response was skittish.
Standing next to her, Neal raised his eyebrows in silent inquiry.
“Stop, I know it sounded weird,” she hissed.
He obediently wiped the expression from his face, but humor glinted in his pretty blue eyes.
“You are not helping, you know that?”
He covered his mouth and turned away with slightly shaking shoulders.
“Neal!”
Her parents came into the kitchen. “Whatever you made, it smells great,” her father said. Then he spotted Neal and put out his hand. “Hey there, I’m Don O’Brien, Farrah’s dad, and this is Tracy, her mom—” he gestured needlessly behind him, though Farrah didn’t think it was because he thought Neal was an idiot. Her father was always happy to introduce his family to anyone who would listen. It was just how he was.
Her mother only nodded. She had never been one for talking.
“—And you’re Neal, right? Farrah said you’d be coming over.”
“Yeah, nice to meet you,” said Neal easily, shaking her father’s hand. “And I have to say, your guys’ house looks like it came out of a magazine.”
Clearly flattered, Farrah’s father beamed. “Thank you. We do try,” he said. “And you and Farrah go to the same school?”
“Yeah. I’m a senior.”
“Oh, that’s so stressful and fun at the same time,” her father recalled with melodrama. “You manage to get an SAT score you’re happy with yet?”
“I had 2110 with the last one, so I guess I am,” Neal said with a partial shrug and an amiable smile. “Don’t really have the time to take another, though, at this time of year.”
“That’s right, the year is winding down—but I wouldn’t worry about your score. It’s damn good.”
Farrah was inclined to agree (especially since the one SAT she had taken so far had only yielded 1780). In all of their conversation, she had never asked him about SATs, or his college of choice, or the future at all. Not really—and if they did touch on it, it was always wing-related.
Hearing him talk to her father, she really felt ashamed that she didn’t know.
Her mother approached her and said, “He’s going to be at this all night, let’s just make a salad.”
Farrah nodded dumbly. “O-okay.”
“Calm down, will you?” Her mother was rolling her eyes in something akin to tolerant amusement. “We’re not going to tear him apart.”
That hit her like a sack of bricks. “W-what? I didn’t—”
“Save it and start washing the lettuce,” her mother said with characteristic briskness, already sauntering to the refrigerator to collect it for her.
Without exaggeration, that was exactly as awkward as Neal meeting her parents got. They instantly took a shine to him, and only Farrah was le
ft in the dust. Her father and Neal chatted up a storm as they all ate together, and even her mother was talking (something she didn’t usually do). Intellectually, Farrah had known they would get along, but she hadn’t once thought their meeting would go over so… anticlimactically.
“Oh, Christ, it’s nine-thirty?” her father said, looking at his watch. Then to Neal, “Look, I know you’re a teenager, but getting at least eight hours of sleep a night is beneficial, which is why I need to be in bed within the hour.”
Neal could not seem to help the way he laughed. “No, I understand Mr. O’Brien. I should probably be heading home now,” he said.
“I noticed you didn’t drive over,” Farrah’s mother said around her glass of iced water. “Farrah will give you a ride.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I don’t live that far away—”
“Nonsense, we like you,” her father said dismissively. “Just leave the dishes to us, Fare.”
Well, she hoped they hadn’t strained themselves coming to that conclusion. “Um, sure thing,” she said, pushing her chair back. She didn’t mind giving Neal a ride, and there was no sense arguing with her parents when they united like this. “I guess we’re going, Neal.”
He stood up too. “Sure thing—and thanks again for having me, Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien. It was a lot of fun.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. You’ll be over again,” her father said lightly, waving the pleasantries off.
Neal smiled. “Well, thanks all the same,” he said.
“You’re welcome.”
“I’ll be back in twenty,” said Farrah, retrieving her car keys from where they hung on a peg by the door to the garage. Neal was there with his backpack a moment later and they both clambered into her car.
As she was backing out onto the street Neal said, “Your parents are really cool. I don’t know why you were so worked up.”
Matters of Circumstance Page 8