Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“I don’t think you need to worry about whether our parents like you. I think your biggest worry is that they’ll like you too much.” It was the first new piece of advice on the subject I’d gotten from Scott, and it perked my ears right up.
“Oh?” It made sense; Charlotte seemed to run from anything remotely resembling positive reinforcement.
“Come on. You know my sister,” was all he had to say. Because I did know her, and I was coming to know her even more every day. I was prepared for the fact that she would become a totally different person while her parents were visiting, but I’d been more worried about how a bad impression would influence her than a good one.
“You’re right,” I said, my guts knotting up. “Fuck, if they like me, she’s going to bolt.”
“Maybe not.” The maybe was concerning.
“That’s very helpful, thank you.”
Scott sighed in frustration. “Look. I know what you want. You want me to predict the future for you. Obviously, I can’t do that. What I can tell you is, my parents aren’t going to hate you. They’re thrilled to see my sister in a serious relationship and a job. As far as I can tell, Charlotte likes both of those things, too. You’re putting way too much on this visit. And if you’re nervous... well, big fucking deal, dude. You think this is stressful? What was Charlotte feeling when you took her up to Connecticut?”
Point.
“If anything, she was in a higher-pressure situation then than you are now. Maybe keep that in mind while you run in circles about how nervous you are,” he finished.
“That was... deeply shaming,” I admitted.
“It was supposed to be. I’ll be there on Friday night, well after the curtain goes up, and we’ll have bro time. Until then, chill the fuck out, okay?” There was that tough love that I needed.
“You’re right. Thanks,” I said, a little sheepishly. “Safe travels.”
We hung up and I paced the bedroom. I wanted to win the Holmeses over. There had to be a way to signal that I was a normal, healthy guy for their daughter to be with, despite the part where I was a billionaire who lived in what Charlotte described as “a supervillain’s weekend lair.”
My gut rumbled again. Maybe it wasn’t nerves. Maybe it was the scallops Charlotte and I had made for ourselves.
That was it! I could surprise them with a home cooked meal, without any of Charlotte’s help. That would be a charming, normal thing for a regular boyfriend to do. I wouldn’t go with scallops, but the internet was full of recipes, and I’d learned enough from Charlotte that I could pull off something simple.
I was going to pass the parent test so hard, I would become legend.
I just wouldn’t do it with scallops.
* * * *
I was halfway through the middle of cooking The Dinner when Charlotte texted me announcing their arrival. I’d sent her to the airport with my driver to collect her parents because it would buy me time for the surprise, but to my dismay, the recipe I’d picked had turned out to be a little more complicated than what Charlotte had taught me.
I needed one of those meal services that had suddenly started advertising to me on social media.
There didn’t seem to be any danger of burning at the moment, so I hurried to the foyer, catching them as they entered.
“Hey,” I said, weakly raising my hand. “Welcome.”
Charlotte’s parents were the type of people you would handpick to represent upper-middle class white boomers. Bill had a broad, perfect-toothed smile and the freckles of a chronic golfer—unfortunately the exact type of older man who rang my daddy bell. Holly dressed a shade too chic to be described as casual and had too few lines on her face to be aging naturally. Not that I was in a position to judge; my premature crow’s feet hadn’t miraculously vanished on their own.
“How was your flight?” I asked, shaking Bill’s hand firmly.
The last time I’d spoken to Holly and Bill, it had been when I’d first called to check in on Scott after the wedding debacle. I’d still been in the hospital and on heavy drugs, but I distinctly remembered apologizing profusely for the fact that my last words had almost been about fucking their daughter.
Her dad squeezed my hand a little too tight.
“It wasn’t too bad,” Holly said, and she went in for what, according to everything I knew about them, was an uncharacteristic hug.
Behind her, Charlotte mouthed, “Xanax.”
“Wouldn’t it have been nice if you’d been able to fly in his private jet?” Charlotte asked, blinking innocently at me.
I opened my mouth to defend myself, but Bill swooped in and rescued me. “She told us that you don’t have a jet because of the environmental concerns. Don’t cave into her demands. She can be doggedly persuasive.”