Abby and Nick looked at each other across the table. Abby smiled wanly in apology. Nick flashed her a grin that said it was okay, he didn’t mind. He turned to answer Abby’s mother.
Abby chanced a side-long glance at her father. He was listening intently to Nick’s answer, but Abby thought she detected a wink in her direction. She picked up another forkful of stuffing. She knew what the reaction would be if she said, “Everyone shut up and eat, I want to get away from this table.” But she wanted to say it anyway. She stole a glance at her watch. They were nearly done. It was almost over.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Abby had picked Nick up at the airport with no fuss. His flight was on time and she was waiting for him in the arrivals area. She stood against a pillar and watched him come through the sliding doors. He looked around expectantly. His glance went right past her and then came back. Her heart fluttered as the smile lit up his face. Her fears subsided. It was going to be all right!
“Hey, Abby!” he said, walking toward her. He was carrying a dufflebag-style suitcase in one hand and a suitbag in the other. Over his shoulder was a carry-on bag.
“Dear Nick,” she replied and they both laughed.
“You look nice,” he said. “Those colors suit you.”
“Yes, I know,” replied Abby and they both laughed again. Nick thought about putting down the suitcases and giving her a hug, but before he could, Abby nodded up the concourse and turned away. Nick hitched the carry-on bag up further on his shoulder and fell into step beside her.
“Did you bring enough stuff?” she asked.
“Aw shit, I…I mean…I wasn’t sure what to pack…I couldn’t decide. I ended up just throwing in something for every occasion.”
“Does this mean the French nobleman’s suit is in there somewhere?”
“Nah…no, it isn’t. I returned it. Almost kept it, though. It showed off my legs so well.”
“You nut,” she replied and pointed toward the parking garage.
The drive home was a pleasant kernel of her life that she would hold in her heart forever. They didn’t skip a beat in conversation. There were no awkward silences. It was like a week’s worth of email all at once. He told her all about the house and she told him about the school and the hospital. He brought her up-to-date on the Boys and passed on their greetings to her. She pointed out occasional points of interest along the route.
“What should I call your folks?” asked Nick, as Abby turned into her street.
Abby thought about it. “Well, you could call them Mr. and Mrs. Fremont and then they will say ‘call us John and Sharon’.”
“Should I do that?”
“You can call my father ‘John’ if you like, but don’t call my mother ‘Sharon’, even if she asks you to.”
“What should I call her?”
“The Wicked Witch of Illinois? That’s what’s on her driver’s licence.”
“I’m serious, Abby,” said Nick, although his tone of voice belied his words. “I’m not good off the cuff.”
“Okay,” said Abby, “call her Mrs. Fremont when you meet her, and then don’t call her anything. If you are speaking directly to her, don’t use a name and if you’re speaking about her, like to my dad or something, call her ‘Abby’s mother’. And by the way, they call me Abigail.”
“Should I do that too?”
“Not unless you want to suffer grievous bodily harm.”
They pulled into the driveway. Abby drove along to the garage. She pulled the car inside and they sat in silence for a moment. “Maybe we need a code word,” she said and then looked at him. “You know, so if you just can’t stand it for one more second, you can use the code word and I’ll rescue you.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. I’ll ask for some water or I’ll faint…” Abby shrugged.
“Or throw some food on the drapes?” suggested Nick with a laugh. Abby laughed and shook her head. “Stop worrying,” said Nick. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad. I’ve met parents before.”
“Not these parents,” said Abby with a sigh, opening the car door.
They got Nick’s luggage out and left the garage. Abby insisted on taking the carry-on. “We could use my AIM name for a code word,” said Nick, “but I’m not sure how to fit CheesyWax into a conversation.”
“Well then, why don’t we just go with ‘Get me the hell out of here’,” said Abby.
“You know,” said Nick, “I think you’ve overestimated the situation. I mean, come on, your parents have to be just as nervous about meeting me.”
“Why?” asked Abby.
Nick tipped his head back and put his nose in the air. “Because,” he said in a haughty voice, “I’m a star.” And he bowed to her formally. A peal of laughter rippled out of Abby and up the sidewalk, coming to an abrupt halt as it reached the front door, where John and Sharon Fremont stood waiting.
Abby led Nick past them into the foyer. She motioned for him to set down his bags. “Mother, Daddy,” she said, turning to face her parents, “I would like you to meet my friend, Nick Carter. Nick, these are my parents, John and Sharon Fremont.”
The senior Fremonts both responded with ‘pleased to meet you, Nick’ and Nick replied with a very astute off-the-cuff ‘Sir, Ma’am’, as he shook hands with each of them.
“Abigail, why don’t you show Nick to his room. I’m sure he’ll want to freshen up after his flight.” Sharon looked at her watch. “It’s after five. We’ll have cocktails when you come back down. Come along and see about ice, John.”
Abby showed Nick his room and pointed out the bathroom. “Those are my rooms down there,” she said. “I’ll wait in my sitting room for you. It’s the third doorway. Come there when you’re ready.”
“Should I dress up?” asked Nick.
“We’re all wearing what we’ve got on now,” said Abby.
“Okay,” said Nick, nodding. “I can do that.”
And he did it perfectly, Abby had to admit. The Lady Fremonts were both dressed in slacks and sweaters. John was wearing khaki pants and an Oxford-cloth shirt…sort of Abercrombie & Fitch weekend wear. When Nick knocked on Abby’s door, he was wearing grey flannel pants and a white shirt. He had a navy sweater vest over top of the shirt that had three narrow stripes of different colors of blue across the chest.
“Do I look okay?” he asked.
“What prep school tree did you fall out of?” laughed Abby, once she could breathe again. He looked gorgeous.
“Come on, help a guy out, will this do?”
“It’s perfect,” said Abby. “And you look great, by the way. Good job.” She traced a line in the air from his head to his toes.
“Thanks! So do you.” He wondered if he should hug her, but a sound from the bottom of the stairs made them both turn.
“Okay, Rock Star, you’re on,” said Abby and went past him down the stairs.
The grilling began immediately upon their arrival in the living room. John served his wife some kind of amber liquid on the rocks and gave Abby a glass of white wine. He offered Nick a beer, saying that he was having one too. Abby knew that her father rarely drank beer and was just putting Nick at ease and she blessed him for it.
“So, Nick, what line of work are you in again?” asked John, and they all laughed heartily.
“I do a little of this and that in the music field,” said Nick with a smile.
“You like your work?” asked John sincerely.
“Yes, Sir, I love it.”
“Good. Lucky man.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Call me John,” said Abby’s father and then he turned to his wife. Your turn.
Sharon Fremont picked up the ball and ran with it, showing polite interest in Nick’s childhood, his travels and his lack of education.
“Abigail has a degree in social work from Northwestern,” she finished, turning to her husband.
“I know,” said Nick, in a voice that said he was immensely proud of the fact. “It’s wonderful that she works with children…at the school and the hospital.” He beamed across at Abby. All heads turned in her direction.
Abby blushed and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth. John and Sharon exchanged a glance.
“You like children, do you, Nick?” asked John, and away they went again.
The onslaught continued through dinner. It was all extremely proper and polite and cut through Nick’s life like a hot knife through butter.
“We eat the same dishes every Thanksgiving,” remarked Sharon. “It’s been a family tradition for generations. Does your mother always cook the same things for your family?”
Abby marveled at her mother. In one blast, she had managed to make it sound like the Fremonts had invented the concept of a turkey dinner and that the Carters were newly-dropped on the planet. And she had relegated Nick’s mother to the role of cook.
Nick smiled, “My mother isn’t much of a cook. She tries, but it’s certainly nothing like this.” Nick swept his hand in appreciation of the food on the table, not one carrot stick of which had been prepared by Sharon Fremont. Abby was sure she heard a small snort from her father’s direction.
It was like watching some kind of weird tennis match, with the ball bouncing back and forth amongst three people, not just two. Sharon to Nick to Sharon to John to Nick to John… Nick handled himself beautifully, only faltering when the subject of AJ’s addiction came up. A pained expression crossed his face and he muttered softly to his plate, “It was a hard time.” Abby glared at her mother who adroitly changed the subject.
Finally, Nick looked across the table at Abby. He’d had enough, she could tell. They were finished dinner and waiting for Sharon to suggest dessert. Abby winked at Nick and slid her fingers under the edge of her plate. Then she narrowed her eyes at the drapes, as if selecting the appropriate target. Nick snickered and Abby giggled. John and Sharon looked at each other and smiled.
The three Fremonts began talking at once. Sharon started to offer dessert; John cut her off to say he thought he’d like his later; Abby said she wanted to go for a walk to wear off dinner. Then they all looked at Nick. He never took his eyes off Abby and said with a smile that a walk would be nice.
