Page 100 of Personal Foul
I give her hand a squeeze. “Of course. I’d love to meet your mom.”
When we get inside, we’re greeted by a slim woman about Charity’s height. Her highlighted blonde hair falls in a sleek bob to her shoulders. She steps forward, offering me her hand. “Hi, I’m Angela, Charity’s mom. So nice to meet you, Dylan. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Shaking her hand, I glance at Charity out of the corner of my eye. “All good things I hope.” It’s the kind of ridiculous charming thing my dad would say without really meaning anything by it. But in this case, I genuinely hope she’s telling her mom good things about me. We both know there’s plenty of bad to tell too. But based on the way her mom is welcoming me and smiling at me, I’m assuming she left out the worst parts of our story.
We can’t stay long, since we both have to get changed and ready for the engagement party, so most of our conversation consists of pleasantries and the standard questions adults ask college students, and she looks suitably impressed when I tell her that I’m planning on going to law school after graduation.
Charity is the one keeping track of the time, though. And all too soon she regretfully says, “Unfortunately it’s time for us to go.”
Her mom gives her a sad look and stands, holding out her arms for a hug. Charity closes her eyes as they embrace. “I’m so glad you were able to make time to come see me, baby girl.”
“Me too, Mom. Let me know if you get a chance to come see me. I’d love for you to visit.”
We say our goodbyes, and Charity and I head out to my car hand in hand. She tells me about her visit with her mom as we drive to my house, filling me in on her parents’ separation and her mom’s new job.
“That sounds generally positive, though,” I say as we climb out of my car.
Charity’s face is thoughtful as she climbs out as well, answering me as we walk to the front door. “Yes. The job is definitely a positive. I think it makes her feel like she has some control of her life again. She’s making plans for the future. It’s just hard to see her making plans that don’t include my dad.”
“I get that. Can you blame her, though?”
Charity winces. But she shakes her head. “No. I can’t. We all need to start making plans and moving forward. Mom seems like she’s pretty sure that Dad will be charged. The fact that he’s keeping his distance from all of us appears to give credence to that fact. Which means there’s a high possibility that he’ll go to jail. I have a feeling that if that happens, they’ll be getting divorced. She didn’t come right out and say so. Right now, she says she’s not sure. But I think that’s what she’s waiting for to make her decision.”
I pull Charity against me for a hug, needing to show my support for her in some way. Her mom’s decision making seems logical and smart to me. But I get that it’s hard for Charity to see that happening. All I can think of is at least it didn’t happen while she was a kid.
Obviously it’s difficult no matter what. But imagine how much worse it would be if your dad went to jail when you were eight. Or even fifteen. And while she’s not fully independent as a college student, at least she has more options available to her then she would if she were a minor.
Plus, now she has me.
* * *
The engagement party is every bit as boring as I feared it would be. The only saving grace is Charity.
A string quartet plays in one corner, while far more old people circulate, drinking and gossiping and eating canapés, than is reasonable to expect at the engagement party of two people in their twenties.
I’m sure most people’s families attend such events, and the bulk of the older generations are made up of relatives and perhaps a few close family friends. But you’d think that the majority of the guest list would be friends of the bride-and-groom-to-be. That’s definitely not the case here.
Victoria and Cameron certainly invited some of their friends as well as their bosses and coworkers. But the bulk of the guest list is made up of my parents’ connections.
Charity stays glued to my side all night. Which is exactly where I want her. This way, my mom can’t try to introduce me to other women while I am here with a date. And not just a date, but a girlfriend.
There’s a stark contrast between Charity’s mom’s welcome of me, if only for twenty minutes, compared with my parents’ reception of Charity. It’s shocking, to say the least.
It’s been years since I’ve met the parents of a girl I am dating. Not since high school, where it’s unavoidable. And maybe things would’ve been different had Charity’s dad been there. Usually it’s the dads who are full of bluster and bravado.
But Charity’s mom was warm, actually seeming happy to meet me.
Whereas my parents have been cold to Charity. Colder than I’ve seen them be to anyone in the past. Not even Cameron got as chilly of a reception. Instead, he was raked over the coals. He faced a full-scale inquisition, the worst combination of a congressional inquiry and an attorney’s cross-examination.
Honestly, I’m not sure which is worse. Maybe they’re both equally bad, just in different ways. I can’t tell if this is some kind of test of Charity, like they’re trying to see how she’ll hold up under this kind of pressure. Because if she can’t handle them being distant and borderline rude, how will she handle the politics of being part of my family?
Mom and Dad eventually warmed up to Cameron. They now greet him with warm smiles and hugs like they do with Victoria and me. Will Charity be around long enough for the same transformation to take place?
I kinda hope so. The more time we spend together, the less I want to put an expiration date on our relationship. I went into this expecting that we couldn’t last. That we couldn’t even make it this far. For so many reasons.
But here we are. She’s survived almost twenty-four hours with my parents. Granted, she spent a good chunk of that time asleep or with her own mother, but she’s performed beautifully at the party tonight, smiling and chatting with everyone she’s introduced to like the perfect socialite.
After about an hour and a half, she lays her head on my arm, and leans in close. “My feet are killing me, and I’ve had to pee for the last thirty minutes. I’m going to go find a bathroom.”
