Infinite Loop

by Meghan O'Brien

  Mel gave Regan an affectionate grin. “It’s that good?”

  “What can I say? When I find something I like, I stick with it.” Regan’s eyes sparkled as she said the words, and Mel ducked her head in shy response.

  Her father cleared his throat. “Well, I think I’ll also be predictable and get my favorite—lasagna.” He gave Mel a friendly smile. “That’s very good, too.”

  Mel glanced at the menu for a moment before closing it with a lazy nod. “I’ve always been the spaghetti sort myself, so I’ll follow Regan’s lead.”

  “You won’t be sorry.” Regan resisted the urge to rub her hands together in delight at the thought of eating her favorite lunch again.

  As if sensing Regan’s impatience, their waiter came strolling up to their table with a big smile and a perky manner that had Regan wrinkling her nose in immediate irritation.

  “Good afternoon, folks,” he said. He swept his gaze over to Regan briefly, before moving it over to linger on Mel. “Ladies.” His smile widened for Mel alone.

  Regan narrowed her eyes as her father started to order. Oh, pal, she thought as the waiter directed another flirtatious glance at Mel. You have no idea how much I want to smack you over the head with my menu.

  Regan was relieved when Hank, as their waiter’s nametag identified him, gathered up their menus and left them alone again. There was something quite unbearable about watching someone flirt with Mel while they were dining with her parents. She felt helpless to do anything but sit and stew in her own annoyance.

  Her mood lifted a little at the reassuring touch of Mel’s hand on her inner thigh. With some effort, she smiled up at her parents. I wonder when the interrogation will start?

  “So, Mel—” Her father leaned forward and clasped his hands on the tabletop. Three, two, one… “How did you meet our daughter?”

  Regan rambled through a potential answer in her head. Well, Mom and Dad, Mel kind of picked me up in a straight bar, drove me back to my place on her motorcycle, and the only reason we didn’t end up in bed that night was because I let it slip that I didn’t just want a one-night stand.

  Mel’s calm answer was a lot better. “Actually, sir, I was attending a bachelorette party at a bar where Regan was out with her co-workers. I noticed her Atari T-shirt and decided to go introduce myself and remind her of one of my favorite video games.”

  Well, that sounds a heck of a lot more innocent than I think it really was. Regan was surprised at the pleased looks her parents traded at the story.

  “Are you originally from Michigan?” her mother asked.

  “I was born in Oklahoma. I moved to Michigan to go to college. At Michigan State, actually.”

  Mel’s voice was pleasant but Regan could sense the underlying tension at having to talk about herself. She sat prepared to jump in and change the subject if her parents started to pry too badly.

  “Ah,” Regan’s father said. “So you and Regan are rivals, then?”

  “Nah.” Regan grinned at her lover. “It can’t really be considered a rivalry when Mel knows full well that the Wolverines are superior to the Spartans.”

  Mel raised a dark eyebrow and gave her an amused smirk. “I know that they always seem to think they are, at least.”

  Regan merely stuck her tongue out in response. She was half-aware of the uncharacteristic playfulness she was letting her parents see, but being with Mel made her too relaxed to feel awkward about it. Both of her parents chuckled at their interaction, and her mother looked at Regan with a kind of bemused puzzlement.

  “What did you study at Michigan State?” her father asked.

  “Criminal justice,” Mel said.

  Recalling how nervous Mel had been to talk about these things on their first date, Regan snuck a glance at her face to gauge her reaction. To her surprise, Mel looked calmer in this scary situation than she had then.

  “Well, that’s interesting.” Her mother smiled. Before she could follow up with another question, their waiter returned to the table with their drinks.

  Regan wasn’t sure if she was pleased or irritated with his reappearance.

  “A diet Coke,” he recited, setting one glass down in front of Regan’s father. “Two regular Cokes.” Hank deposited one in front of Regan’s mother, and then the other in front of Regan. “And one water,” he finished, holding out the final glass for Mel.

  Regan watched Mel’s hand as she reached out to take the glass from Hank. She clenched her fists in her lap when she saw the way the waiter deliberately stroked his fingers over Mel’s as he handed over her drink. gray eyes flashed in danger, then coldly conveyed the clear message that she wasn’t interested.

  I wouldn’t necessarily mind if she decided to throw a punch in this instance, Regan mused. And I’m only half-joking.

  Mel turned her gaze to Regan, ignoring him completely. Regan’s fist uncurled a bit and her fingers twitched in her lap.

  If I had the nerve, I could just grab her hand. Regan shared a look of irritation with Mel. I wonder what my parents would think of that.

  As it turned out, Hank left before Regan could weigh the pros and cons of sending that kind of message to everyone at the table. She watched him walk back to the kitchen with narrowed green eyes.

  Skinny little bastard.

  “So you got your bachelor’s degree in criminal justice?” Regan’s mother said, recalling the point at which the questions had left off. At Mel’s affirmative nod, she asked, “And what do you do for a living now?”

  Regan’s internal groan was so loud in her ears that she stiffened in her seat, almost afraid that her parents would hear it. Perfect. Seeking out Mel with apologetic eyes, Regan was a little shocked to see how calm and determined her lover looked.

  “Up until about a couple weeks ago, I was an officer with the Detroit Police Department,” Mel said. Her voice was steady and confident, a far cry from the confusion and turmoil she let Regan see. “Now I’m thinking about a career change. I was thinking about graphic design, maybe something computer-related.”

  Her father’s brow furrowed in concern, and Regan could almost see his brain firing away at this information. At least she didn’t suggest that she might become a tattoo artist. Regan knew her father’s philosophy of always doing the safe and sensible thing, and she also knew that changing careers midstream—to become an artist, of all things—would really tie him in knots.

  “Why are you quitting?”

  Blunt, Dad. Regan sat up, clearing her throat and giving her father a pointed look. “Hey, is the interrogation really necessary?”

  Mel turned to Regan with a mellow smile. “It’s okay, Regan.” She turned back to Regan’s father with a polite nod. “After all, he has every right to want to know about the person in his daughter’s life.” At Brendan’s appreciative smile, she continued. “To be honest, sir, I realized that being a cop just wasn’t for me. I was very unhappy and I didn’t feel like I was doing what I’d joined to do.”

  “And what was that?” He gave her a sheepish smile, then added, “Oh, and please call me Brendan. I insist.”

  “Well, Brendan, my dad and my uncle were both cops, and if I want to be honest, that’s the main reason I joined. But I also wanted to feel like I was helping people. I wanted to feel like I could change someone’s life for the better.”

  “You don’t feel like you were doing that in the police department?” he asked.

  Despite the way her stomach clenched in sympathy at the continued questioning, Regan was aware of the gentle curiosity in her father’s voice. She knew he wasn’t on board with the struggling artist idea, but he sounded genuinely interested in Mel’s experience.

  “No, I didn’t. I felt like I was always picking up the pieces after someone’s life went wrong. I’ve seen so many senseless things, and I’ve seen so many of the same senseless things, over and over again. It wore me down, to be honest.” Mel looked down at the tablecloth for a moment, then raised serious eyes to Regan’s parents. “And then a fe
w weeks ago my partner and I were involved in a shooting. He was hurt and I just—I realized that I couldn’t do it anymore. I was miserable. And life is short.”

  “That it is,” her father murmured, giving Regan a quick glance full of something she couldn’t identify. “I’m sorry to hear about your partner. Is he all right?”

  Mel allowed a brief smile full of so much emotion that Regan felt it in her gut, a moment of instinctive empathy. “He’s going to be fine, thank you.”

  Her father looked at her with sincere compassion. “I can understand where that would be an extremely difficult job. And certainly not something suited for everyone.”

  “No, it’s not,” Mel said. “And to tell you the truth, I was pretty terrified by the whole idea—changing careers, starting from scratch—but Regan has really helped me put things into perspective.” She shot Regan a warm look. “I’m not sure how I would have gotten through the past few weeks without her.”

  “So you’re also an artist?” Regan’s mother asked as soon as Mel stopped speaking. Her slim, pale hands fidgeted with a napkin, and Regan had the urge to still her mother’s nervous movement with force.

  Mel answered with a shy smile. “I haven’t actually been very involved with art for a while, but I spent a lot of my childhood and adolescence drawing. I’ve just started to get back into it, though, and Regan has encouraged me to get started in digital art.”

  “What are you going to do until then?” her father asked.

  What would he do if I kicked him under the table? Regan wondered, watching her father with defensive eyes. I know he hates uncertainty, but give me a break.

  “I mean,” he continued, looking back and forth from Mel to Regan. “I imagine it’ll take you some time to prepare yourself to get a job in that field.”

  Mel gave him a serious nod. “You’re right,” she said. “Actually, I’ve been thinking a lot about that. When I was in college I did some volunteer work with abused and neglected kids. That was the last time I felt like I was really making a positive difference, and it meant a lot to me. I’m friendly with the program director at an organization in Detroit that works with those kinds of kids and she’s been hinting around about hiring an activities coordinator for a while now.” With a shrug, she said, “I figured I would go talk to her. It wouldn’t pay much, but it would be something worthwhile to do. And maybe I can use my experience to do some good.”

  Regan blinked, moved by Mel’s idea. The experience she spoke of could easily be interpreted as her police background, but Regan knew better. Oh, baby. The thought of Mel interacting with a group of kids brought a sudden smile to Regan’s face. I bet you’d be amazing at that.

  Her father opened his mouth to say something else, but one look from Regan stopped his words and his jaw snapped shut with an audible click. He sat for a moment, staring at the two of them in contemplative silence, then turned a sincere smile on Mel. “I wish you the best of luck in whatever you do. And I respect your desire to help others. That’s a very fine quality for a person to have.”

  Regan was stunned silent. I know she’s not his daughter or anything, but he took away my tuition for refusing to change my major, yet she gets praised for her fine qualities after announcing that she wants to be an artist? She wasn’t sure if she was stifling a laugh or a sob at the thought.

  When Hank came back this time, it was with four tossed salads, a basket of bread, and a more subdued attitude. “Here you go,” he murmured, setting the bread in the center of the table.

  I guess Mel’s dismissal cooled him down a bit.

  Hank’s eyes found Mel’s face again, then his gaze dropped somewhere in the vicinity of her chest. “Tossed salad with Thousand Island?” he asked, staring at Mel.

  Regan’s father cleared his throat. “That’s me.”

  Hank set the salad in front of him without glancing away from Mel. “And the rest are ranch,” he said, setting three plates in front of Carla, Regan, and Mel in turn. He made no real effort not to let his eyes keep returning to Mel.

  Regan sighed in disgust. All right, that’s it. She reached over and grabbed Mel’s hand, bringing their enjoined fingers to rest on the tabletop. Mel seemed startled for a moment before she relaxed and rewarded Regan with a wide grin.

  “Honey,” Regan said, and glanced up at Hank as she uttered the endearment. “They have the best ranch dressing here. I haven’t been able to find anything back in Michigan that even comes close.”

  Mel squeezed Regan’s hand. “Well, then, I look forward to it.”

  Both Regan and Mel completely ignored Hank as he left the table, choosing instead to meet the startled looks from her parents across from them. For a moment there was awkward silence, and then Regan’s father cleared his throat. Regan wasn’t finding it any easier to move past the moment than her parents.

  Mel released Regan’s hand with a final squeeze and picked up her fork to dig into her salad. “I’ve learned that Regan is a very able guide to the best of all different kinds of food,” she said, and speared a piece of tomato. “She’s already introduced me to the best breadsticks in the Detroit suburbs.”

  Brendan chuckled after only a slight hesitation, and nodded his head in agreement. “I know I’ve heard about the best cheeseburger, the best mashed potatoes, and the best pumpkin pie.”

  “I still make sure to get the best bagel every morning before work,” Carla said, glancing over at Regan with a smile in her eyes.

  Everyone shared a good-natured laugh at Regan’s expense, then fell silent as they began to enjoy their salads. Regan chewed on a slice of cucumber, watching her parents with interest.

  I think they like her. She moved her eyes between her mother and father, trying to read their body language. I mean…they’re being predictable enough, for the most part, but Mel really seems to be winning them over. I know Dad likes her. I think Mom does, too. They’re trying so hard and they almost seem…pleased. She shifted in her seat as she began to grow a little uncomfortable with the continued silence at the table.

  Mel seemed to sense her unease and picked up the conversation once more. “So Regan tells me that you’re an assistant principal at a high school, Brendan. Speaking of difficult jobs not suited for everyone.”

  Regan breathed a sigh of relief when her dad smiled at the invitation and launched into a light discussion of the trials and tribulations of working in the public school system. He and Mel were deep into a serious conversation about the importance of extra-curricular activities for teenagers, with Regan and her mother interjecting occasional comments, when their meals finally arrived.

  “Here you are,” Hank said, sparing only a quick nervous glance at Mel as he set a plate of lasagna in front of Regan’s father and a bowl of pasta primavera in front of her mother. “And two spaghettis.” He laid out a plate in front of Regan and another in front of Mel, and gave Regan a respectful nod.

  Wow, Regan mused. She smiled at Hank, and then met Mel’s pleased look from beside her. Being assertive has real benefits. She managed a quick glance over at her parents as she picked up her fork and knife. And it’s probably good for them to see, too.

  Mel swallowed a bite of her spaghetti, then turned her attention over to Regan’s mother. “Regan mentioned that you’re an accountant. I’ve gotta admit, my financial accounting elective nearly killed me in college. I’m impressed by anyone who can juggle numbers like that.”

  Carla laughed and fixed Mel with a bright smile. Regan could only sit in awe as her mother picked up the conversation by talking about her job, and then her garden, and then the vacation she and Regan’s father were planning to take in two months.

  Why the hell was she so nervous about this? Regan wondered as she chewed and watched Mel’s easy interaction with her parents. She’s goddamn Eddie Haskell. They’re eating her up.

  “So, tell us more about this vacation you’ve been taking, Regan,” Carla said after some time. “What have you seen? Have you done anything interesting?”

&nbs
p; Regan shared a brief sidelong glance with Mel, a half-second during which she could see Mel reviewing the same journey in her head. This will obviously need to be edited for retelling to my parents.

  Mel started off with some highlights from their camping trip in St. Louis, after which Regan picked up and spoke about the drive through the Painted Desert and Monument Valley. They traded the narrative back and forth with unthinking ease, bantering and disagreeing on certain details, and before Regan knew it her plate was empty and her parents were sitting across from them with relaxed, amused smiles on their faces.

  When Hank came back to deliver their bill, Regan’s father held up his hand to protest the debit card she tried to slide over to him. “We’ve got it, honey.”

  Despite Mel’s hesitation, Regan knew when to give in to her father. “This was really nice, Mom and Dad. Thanks for taking us out.” With a grin, she realized just how well the entire meal had gone. Mel fit in almost like she completed their family just as much as she completed Regan.

  “So Mel, are you interested in seeing some of Regan’s embarrassing childhood photos and memorabilia? We’ve got a whole stack back at the house and the burning desire to show it off.” Her father was giving Mel a conspiratorial smirk that let Regan know that she was in real trouble.

  Horrified, she shot a quick look at Mel, who gave her a sly grin in return and said, “That sounds absolutely perfect.”

  “Oh, no,” Regan said. “We don’t need to bore Mel—”

  “Sure we do.” Mel gave Regan a teasing poke in the side.

  Regan fixed her parents with an imploring gaze. “Nothing too incriminating, okay? Please?”

  “Does that mean we can’t show her that picture of you when you stuffed your little bikini top and posed for us when you were ten years old?” Regan’s mom shocked her with the question, and then with the wicked grin that accompanied it.