by Wade, Ellie
“Fabio is no more,” she responds, handing me a glass of sangria before leaning back in her patio chair.
“What? What do you mean? I’m quite sure that, when you talked about him, the L word was involved,” I say.
Georgia waves her hand in dismissal. “I got the L words mixed up. I might have accidentally used love when I meant lust or loser. Turned out that Fabio was a three-timing Latino slut. He had a girlfriend on three different continents. Prick.”
“No! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Eh, I just found out this week. I figured I’d tell you in person. It’s not a big deal.” She shrugs.
“But you really liked him. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m over it,” she says nonchalantly. “He was fun for the summer, but it would have never lasted anyway.”
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing that I’ll never meet him.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I wouldn’t have been able to call him by his name without laughing.” I snicker.
“It is a pretty lame name.” She giggles. “A lame name for a lame-ass loser. It’s for the best. He had a tiny penis anyway.”
I snort, almost spitting the sangria out of my mouth at the same time. “Oh my God, George,” I say through laughter. “I thought things were great in that department?”
“They were decent. I mean, you know, it’s not the size of the ship but the motion of the ocean anyway. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to mention it now. It was really small.” She cringes.
The two of us laugh loudly, and I sneak a look toward Loïc to find him shaking his head with a grin.
Georgia addresses him, “Nothing you have to worry about. Londy tells me that everything is amazing for you both.” She gives him a playful wink.
“Stop!” I protest with a smile. “You need to work on your topics-of-conversation boundaries.”
“What? It’s nothing that Loïc doesn’t already know.” She grins in her classic innocent yet mischievous way.
“That’s not the point. Seriously.” I chuckle. “So, anyway, your last year going well?”
“Yeah, it is.” She nods.
Loïc ventures into the conversation. “So, London says you’re in the environmental science program?”
“Yeah, I’m not quite sure what I’m going to do with the degree once I have it, but I’m hoping that I can do something that will have a positive impact on the environment. Maybe work for an agency or as a lobbyist.”
“That’s cool.” Loïc nods.
“Thanks,” Georgia says.
Conversation is halted by the sound of Georgia’s intercom.
“Ooh, they’re here! I’ll go buzz them in!” she says brightly. She places her glass of sangria down on the table and heads inside.
“How are you doing?” I ask Loïc, placing my hand on his knee.
“I’m fine, babe.” He smiles.
“You ready to meet the parents?”
“Sure.”
“They’re going to love you.” I squeeze his knee.
“So you keep telling me,” he replies, his lips turn up into a smirk.
“How could they not?” I lean in and place my lips against his.
Kissing Loïc calms me in a way I can’t explain. His touch envelops me with something peaceful, an unwavering love. The moment his sexy mouth connects with mine, I realize that I might be a little more nervous than I thought, and I gladly pull strength from our connection.
The truth is, I want my parents to love Loïc. I need them to see how wonderful he is. I’ve never been one to truly crave my parents’ validation, but I’ve never loved anyone or anything in the way I love Loïc. Of course, I don’t need their approval for me to continue loving Loïc, but I have this crazy desire for them to love him simply because he deserves it.
I hesitantly pull my mouth away with a sigh. We stand, and I take Loïc’s hand in mine. I lead him back into the apartment where we find Georgia and my parents embracing.
My dad releases my sister and pulls me into his arms.
“Hey, Daddy,” I say, hugging him back. After hugs and kisses from my mom, I introduce Loïc. “This is my boyfriend, Loïc. Loïc, this is my mom and dad.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Wright,” he says as he extends his hand to shake my father’s.
“Oh, call me Michael. Nice to meet you, son,” my father says.
My mom pulls Loïc in for a hug. “Please call me Christine.”
“Let’s go sit outside, Mom. Georgia made the most delicious sangria.”
“Oh, that sounds fabulous,” my mom responds.
We all make our way out to the balcony.
As I walk with my mom, I hear my father talking to Loïc behind us.
“So, Christine tells me that you’re in the military?”
“Yes, sir,” Loïc answers.
“Army?” my dad asks.
“Currently, I’m with the Nineteenth Special Forces Group, a division of the National Guard with the Army Special Forces.”
“The Green Berets?” Dad questions with a hint of awe in his voice.
“Yes, sir.”
“How does that work? Did you start out in Special Forces?” Dad inquires.
“No, I was in the Army first, active duty, for six years, ever since I was eighteen. My buddy’s from Michigan, and he wanted to settle down in one spot for a while, so we joined the National Guard that has a base in Ypsilanti, near his family. We’re in the B Unit of the Special Forces Guard out of Ohio where we have drill one weekend a month and a two-week annual training to keep up with our specialized skills. Then, every few years, our unit is up for deployment. On deployment, we’re with the airborne unit. Otherwise, we’re stationed at the same base in Michigan where, for our day jobs, we’re mechanics.”
“Ah, I see. So, you must have had to go through some additional training for the Special Forces?”
My father sounds impressed, and I’m happy. I thought that Loïc’s line of work might have been intimidating for my dad, who is more of a numbers, problem-solving, business-minded type of guy. He could never do what Loïc does, but who knows? Loïc probably wouldn’t be comfortable with doing what my dad does on a daily basis either. I’m just glad that my dad sounds genuinely interested.
“Yes, sir. Quite a bit. While I was in active duty for six years, I took classes remotely and got my bachelor’s degree, so I could become an officer. Then, I had a twelve-week Special Forces training. Plus, we train every month,” Loïc answers.
“Well, we sure do appreciate your service, son.”
“Thank you, sir.”
We all sit out on the balcony.
My mom addresses Loïc, “So, tell us how you and London met.”
“Mom, I already told you,” I protest.
She waves me off. “I know, but I want to hear Loïc’s version.”
Everyone looks at Loïc.
He rubs the short stubble on his chin. “Well, I first saw her at a charity car wash thing she was doing for her sorority.”
“Was it love at first sight?” Georgia asks.
“Did you notice her right away?” my mom chimes in.
“You guys!” I whine.
But my protests go ignored.
“I don’t think it was love at first sight, but I definitely noticed her.” Loïc pauses for a moment and lets out a small chuckle. “Though it would have been hard not to since she was making it her mission to get my attention.”
I whip my head to the side to give Loïc a glare, but he pretends not to notice.
“I bet she was.” Georgia nods. “I bet her boobs were practically falling out of her bikini top.”
Loïc doesn’t respond, but smiles shyly and exchanges a knowing look with Georgia.
“It was probably like a photo shoot straight out of a titty magazine,” Georgia continues, not caring at all that this conversation is taking place in front of my parents. “London has always been able to turn anyone’s attention toward
her.”
“Excuse me,” I huff. “Um, I’m right here, and in my defense, he was wearing his military fatigues and looked darn fine. What was I supposed to do? And he didn’t appear to notice me at all actually.” I roll my eyes.
“I might not have shown that I noticed her, but I did. I just didn’t want to give her the wrong impression because I wasn’t looking for a relationship at the time,” Loïc continues.
“So, what changed your mind?” my mom asks.
“Well, we kept running into each other, and I don’t know…there is just something about her. She’s unlike any girl I’ve ever known. Eventually, I couldn’t fight the attraction we had, and I decided to give her a chance.”
“And?” my mom asks again, like an excited teenage girl.
Loïc places his hand on my leg. “And it’s going really well, better than I ever thought possible.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” my mom says. “You’re leaving next week?” Her tone changes to one of concern.
Loïc’s eyes drop for a second before he meets my mom’s expectant stare. “Yeah, I am…next Friday. I’m deploying to Afghanistan.”
“That sucks,” Georgia gives her two cents.
“Yeah, it’s going to be hard to leave London, but it’s my job.”
“It’s fine,” I say cheerfully. “It’s just a year. It will give me time to crank out a bunch of great articles and hopefully get a more prestigious journalism job. We’ll be able to write letters and emails and talk on the phone pretty regularly. It will go by fast. It will be fine,” I say, trying to reassure everyone, including myself.
“It will be.” Loïc squeezes my leg.
“So, writing’s going well?” my dad asks, switching the topic of conversation from Loïc to me.
“Really well, Dad. The online Ann Arbor news site has been featuring several of my articles every week. They seem to really like them.”
“That’s great, sweetie.”
“Yeah, it is. I’m going to wait for a bit and keep writing for them. At some point, when I build up my portfolio enough, I want to apply to bigger papers. I want to write stories that matter, you know? I’m not going to be stuck writing about the local school district’s school board president race or the university’s new steps to be even more green on campus. I mean, it’s okay for now, but I want to do more.”
“You will. It takes time,” my dad offers.
“Yeah, I know,” I agree.
I’m so happy right now, sitting among the people I love more than anything in this world. If Paige were here, my level of excitement would be uncontainable. How can one person be so lucky in the joy department? For all my imperfections as a person, I must have done something right. I love my life.
We chat for a couple of hours about everything—my sister’s class load, my dad’s current work projects, Loïc’s military history, upcoming articles I’m going to write, and my mom’s adventures with acroyoga.
“I’m still not getting it, Mom,” Georgia says. “So, it’s like yoga but with somersaults and cartwheels and stuff?”
Mom shakes her head. “No, you’re thinking gymnastics. It’s yoga because it requires a lot of core strength and flexibility, but then little tricks are added in.” She looks to us and obviously registers our blank faces. “Okay, so remember there is a base and a flyer. The base is usually a man but can be a strong woman. It just depends on how big the flyer is. So, I’m a flyer. That means my base—which is usually my instructor, Rob—lies on his back with his feet in the air, and then using his extended arms and legs, he pushes me up into the air. Remember when you were little, I used to hold you up with my legs in the airplane move? Well, that’s one of the moves, except my arms aren’t out like a plane; they’re back against my sides. It’s called the bird. The bird is the first basic move you learn, and I can transition to other more complicated moves from the bird position, like a pop. A pop is where Rob pushes me into the air with his hands and feet from the bird position. I tuck my legs up and land in a seated position on his feet.”
“Mom, you’re going to break a hip,” Georgia jokes.
Mom playfully smacks her on the leg. “You’d better watch it, baby girl.”
I address my dad, “So, Dad, you don’t mind Mom wrestling around with this dude, Rob, every day, having his hands and feet all up in her junk?” I grin.
“It’s not like that, London,” Mom scolds.
Dad chuckles. “No, I don’t. It’s great exercise, and she loves it. Plus, I’m pretty sure Rob’s gay.”
Georgia huffs out a laugh. “Doesn’t matter. Mom’s a knockout. She could turn him straight for a day.”
“Excuse me, girls, it’s irrelevant whether or not Rob is gay. I would never cheat on your father, and you know that.” Mom carries a hint of hurt in her voice.
“I know, Mom. We’re just joking.” I shoot her a grin. “What other amazing stunts do you and Rob do?”
“Uh, Christine,” my dad addresses my mom before she starts to tell us about another acro move, “it’s about one.”
They exchange glances, and I see realization dawn in my mother’s eyes.
“Oh, right!” she exclaims.
“What? Are you hungry? We can order in,” Georgia offers.
“No, it’s not that. There’s this benefit tonight at the Canto Center for Visual Arts on campus. Your father has some colleagues he needs to chat with. You’re all welcome to come. In fact, I would love it if all of you could join us. But I’m assuming you didn’t bring formalwear?” she asks me.
I shake my head. “No, Mom, we didn’t know anything about this benefit.”
“Dad, I thought this was going to be a no-work weekend?” Georgia asks him.
My dad holds up his hands, facing his palms toward us. “It is, it is. This is a social event. I didn’t know about it until yesterday. So, I’m sorry that I didn’t give you more notice.” He seems to notice Georgia’s slight glare. “It’s a good cause, Georgia, for charity.” He asks my mom, “What are the proceeds going toward again, dear? Cancer research, animal shelters, rainforest preservation?”
“Um, I believe it’s for ALS research. You know, Lou Gehrig’s disease. Plus, I’m telling you now so that we have time to go shopping for a dress and go to a salon. It will be fun. Come with us?” she asks hopefully.
Regardless of whether or not my father’s work prompted this outing is immaterial to me. I love getting all fancy for benefits.
“I’m in!” I say cheerfully. “You know I’m not going to turn down a shopping day!”
“Ugh, fine. I suppose it sounds fun,” Georgia says begrudgingly.
“Looking at the shape of your nails, you’re definitely due for a mani.” I open my eyes wide in an exaggerated attempt at looking shocked.
“Whatever.” Georgia chuckles.
“Great. Then, it’s settled. Loïc, I just need your sizes, and I’ll have my tux guy bring over a few options for you when he drops off my tux this afternoon.”
“Um, okay,” Loïc answers my dad, appearing to be slightly out of his comfort zone.
“While you ladies go dress shopping, I have some work to attend to. Is that okay with you, Georgia, love?” Dad asks with a grin.
“I suppose,” Georgia huffs for effect.
“Will you be okay with fending for yourself this afternoon?” I ask Loïc. “You could hang by the pool?”
“I have the second season of Daredevil on my DVR, if you’re interested,” Georgia offers.
“Oh, really?” Loïc looks to Georgia. “I’ve actually been wanting to see that, but I haven’t had time.”
“Yeah, Fabio Fuckface wanted me to save it for him. We watched the first season on Netflix over the summer, and we were going to watch season two when he came up.” She rolls her eyes.
“Language, Georgia,” Mom says.
“Oh, Mom, all the classy chicks say fuck now. It’s considered proper. You should try it.”
Mom laughs. “I highly doubt that.”
“Say it, Mom!” Georgia urges.
“No, I’m not going to.”
“Say it. All the cool kids are doing it. Aren’t you all trapeze yoga chill now?” Georgia quirks an eyebrow.
“It’s acroyoga. And, honey, I’ve been around a lot longer than you, so your peer pressure has no effect on me.”
“Say it! Say it! Say it! Say it!” Georgia and I chant repeatedly, clapping our hands.
My mom shakes her head in laughter.
Mom raises her hands in surrender, and we stop cheering. “All right, all right. Goodness. Fuck, girls, let’s go. We have some fucking shopping to do.”
I cover my mouth with my hands as I laugh loudly. Georgia looks at my mom like she has recently grown a second head.
“Um, on second thought, please don’t ever say fuck in my presence again, Mom. That’s just”—she shakes her head in disgust—“not okay. Not. Okay.”
“Why the fuck not, George? I’m a fucking chill yoga mom.”
Georgia stands abruptly. “Stop it! Just stop it! Not okay!” She plugs her ears, singing, “La-la, la-la, la-la, la-la,” on her way off of the balcony.
My mom and I break out in a fit of giggles.
Finally, Mom says in almost a whisper, “Be careful what you ask for.”
“Yeah, it’s okay, Mom. You’re plenty cool enough. No need for you to drop the F-bomb. Really.”
“All right, if you say so. I just want to make my girls happy,” she states in an overly joyful voice. She stands, grabs the pitcher and glasses from the table, and walks inside.
My dad stands and follows.
“You can come along while we shop, if you want. I feel bad about dragging you all the way to Cali just to leave you alone to watch TV,” I say to Loïc.
“No, thanks, babe. I’m good here.”
“What? You don’t want to go shopping?” I ask sarcastically.
“Don’t forget that I know what it’s like to go shopping with you. I don’t even want to imagine what it’s like to go with three Wright women.” He raises an eyebrow and shakes his head.
I can’t help but laugh because I’m sure it would be a nightmare for any man. “I don’t blame you.” Closing the distance between us, I pull his mouth into a kiss. “I love you,” I say, our mouths a breath apart. “Thank you for coming out here with me. I’m sure the whole meet-the-family thing isn’t easy for you, but it makes me happy. So, thank you.”