8. Dinner with My Girlfriend's Dad Gets Interrupted by Another Man

I made the mistake of telling my mom I was going suit shopping that Sunday. “For prom? You can just rent the tux, Julian. It’s a smarter investment. And we’ve got months to find a good deal. There’s that thrift store our church donates to with the clothing drives. I’m sure they could find something in your size--”

“I don’t want some funky smelling suit from the 70’s,” I wearily cut her off with far less patience than usual. “And this is not for prom. Heather wants me to meet her dad, so we’re having dinner. But it’s at a country club, so… Black tie dress code.”

“Oh. How nice. I’m glad you’re taking this seriously, but it is your first real relationship, so you’ve no need to rush or be pressured into any--”

“Mom!”

“Your mother’s right, son,” my dad pipes in, reading the Sunday paper in the den. “I’m glad you’re meeting the girl’s father. She seems like she comes from a good background. This could be good for your future.”

“Look, we are not getting married. It is just dinner.”

Dad looks up from the paper, staring me down flatly. “Tone.”

I swallow. “Sorry sir.”

“Anyway, it’s ridiculous to spend money on a brand new suit. You can just borrow one of mine.”

Like that’s going to work. I am half a foot shorter than my dad. Mom says I might still hit my growth spurt, but I kind of doubt it at this point. 5’8” is not short for a man anyhow. I can still walk beside Heather when she’s wearing her heels and look like her respectable date and not her kid brother... Brad once said I look like if Heather had a kid brother. It depresses me that I cannot stop thinking of the comment.

Mom insists I’ll still look respectable and dashing in one of dad’s old suits though. “And this way you can spend that money you’ve been saving up at the grocery store on that car you wanted. And on college. If Heather is a nice girl, she will appreciate a thrifty spender. It will be good for your future kids and their college fund.”

I groan, not having the energy to enforce, for the third time that day, that we are not getting married. This is a high school relationship (though most people in mom’s church do get married right at 18, even to this day. That whole no birth control and no sex outside of marriage thing… We are a very small family by Catholic standards).

This probably once was a really expensive suit mom digs out from the back of their shared closet. The knees are a little worn though, and sure enough, it is bunching around my ankles, looking comically oversized. The black color is also fading to brown in some areas. “Mom, I cannot wear this.”

“Come on, you look adorable.” Hardly the look I am going for when meeting my girlfriend’s rich as sin father for the first time. “I can hem the pants, take in the back a little. Then it is going to fit you perfect.” She pats me on the cheek. “Just give me an hour.”

She sets right to work before I can protest, and I get a call from Heather right as I’m about to head out, hearing that, shockingly, I will not need to take the bus to this country club of hers. Her dad is sending me a car.

“This one’s a keeper, son,” my father enforces, eyeing the chauffeur-driven sedan pulling up to our driveway. “Pin her down quick.”

“Rodger!” Mom smacks him with a tea towel, and I head on outside before the argument begins in earnest.

This country club is right by a freaking film studio, the impeccably maintained green populated by the occasional very famous, very heavily guarded actor. There is no way I would have gotten through those electronically locked gates without this car Heather’s dad ordered for me, not unless I was arriving together with that family.

The chauffeur drops me off right at the doors of the dining area, and I tug self-consciously at my borrowed suit. The hemming on the pant legs is really pretty obvious, and I’m still wearing my scuffed-up sneakers, since I don’t own any dress shoes. I fiddle with my hair for a second, using the reflection from the streak-free glass doors. Then I take a deep breath and head right inside. The vaulted ceilings are lined with glossy, wooden fixtures that would look great in an oil painting, the tables set with silverware and crystal goblets, sparkling in the dim mood lighting.

I’m so busy gawking like a farm boy that I don’t even notice Heather until she is right on top of me, coming in the doors at my back. She takes my arm, and I jump. “Scare you? And here I thought you were waiting for me.”

“Oh. Hey. You look… great.” What an insufficient word, but I couldn’t think of any better adjective. That clingy black dress is really something though, leaving little to the imagination even with the neckline right up to the collar. Add on top of that diamond earrings, perfectly coiffed hair, and a fresh manicure, and Heather could be a Hollywood starlet herself.

“And you look… nice.” She can’t quite keep the flat cynicism from her tone, eyeing my oversized get up of wearing material with a cracking smile. “Your dad’s, I’m guessing?” she whispers.

“It was stupid. I should have gone suit shopping. This one doesn’t even fit--”

“No, it’s… charming.” She catches my hands to stop them picking at the sleeves, leading me over to the table where her dad and-- I thought she said her mother was in Europe?

“Dad, this is Julian.”

“What a handsome young man!” the woman at Mr. Morris’ side gushes, holding out her hand. Am I supposed to shake it or kiss it? She’s holding it up weirdly, but I settle for a shake. Then Heather’s father grips my right with a far firmer squeeze.

“You show up in that suit and you’re still about to steal away my date!” He laughs, but that smile of his is more than a little unsettling. “I better look out.”

“Dad,” Heather sighs, not at all amused.

“No, in all seriousness, it is nice to finally meet you, Julian.” He motions for me to sit. “I don’t usually get to meet Heather’s boyfriends.”

“Yet I always get to meet your current mistress,” Heather grates. “Sonya is it?” So it’s not her mother, just the woman her dad is seeing. Cool. “And here I thought this was going to be a dinner of just my father meeting my boyfriend, not showing off his new arm candy.”

Sonya takes the insult with perfect decorum, kissing Mr. Morris’s cheek. “I wasn’t planning to stay long anyhow, dear. I’m off to the spa. Enjoy your dinner. It was lovely meeting you, Julian.”

I give an awkward nod, sinking down into my seat.

“Heather, you cannot be talking that way to your future stepmother.”

Heather holds up her hands. “You want to marry a gold-digger, that is none of my business. I’ll be moving out in the fall. But you need to stop bringing her to our every scheduled time together. Tonight was supposed to be about--”

“Yes, I know.”

She takes my hand. “You’re the one who insisted on meeting him. You could have just said hi at the door like a regular parent when he picks me up for prom next month.”

“Well if you’re going to be having him over all the time, even spending the night without permission, I deserve to know a little more about him.”

My cheeks are flooding with color, wondering why Heather would have mentioned to her father that I spent the night in her room.

“Saw you running out the back that morning,” Mr. Morris fills in dryly. This dinner is not off to a good start.

Heather rolls her eyes. “I told you, all we did was sleep. It’s not like when I had Brad staying over three nights a week, not that you seemed to care about that.”

“I didn’t know he… Look, his father is a very important client. What ever happened between the two of you anyway?”

Heather catches sight of my uncomfortable expression and quickly changes the subject. “It’s not something I want to talk about now, or maybe ever. Not with you. Julian is an actually good guy. That’s all you need to know, alright?”

“It’s something I intend to find out, certainly,” he counters, eyes drilling into me. “How long did you say the two of you have been dating?”

“Dad,” Heather hisses, but I’ve no idea why she’s so angry at the question.

“Just wanted an exact time frame, a clearer image of…. Nevermind. Let’s just focus on having a nice, civil dinner, right Julian?”

“Uh, right.”

“Heather tells me you’re an artist.”

“I… yeah.”

“Just moved here from out east? New Hampshire was it?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you going to school in the fall?”

“I… haven’t really thought about it yet. Figured I might take a year off first, just focus on my painting to like, build a portfolio. Then maybe… Paris. Art College of Paris.”

“Ambitious. Your family have the money for that kind of tuition?”

“Uh…” The third degree continues for what feels like forever. He will keep going like this forever, until I crack. Heather squeezes at my hand occasionally and interrupts to brag on my behalf, but that just makes her father all the more dismissive toward me.

“A real man can speak for himself, honey.”

He orders two glasses of champagne – one for me and one for him, and Heather once again rolls her eyes. “Dad, seriously, stop messing with him.”

“What? You’ve never had a drink before, Julian?” Never hundred dollar champagne, and based on Heather’s expression, this is clearly a test of some kind, so I push away the glass.

“No thanks. I’ll just… stick to water.”

Mr. Morris smiles. “Smart man. Either that or another liar, just playing along, pretending to be the good guy. I thought Bradley was a nice young man, and just look how that turned out.”

“Dad,” Heather hisses.

The conversation focuses back on me, and the third-degree continues over our main course of steak and lobster. I’ve hardly touched the dish, not wanting any awkward pauses while I chew, or to accidentally start talking with food in my mouth.

Then the strangest thing happens. The maitre d’ comes over to our table and announces, “Phone call for you, sir.” He’s not talking to Mr. Morris. He’s staring right at me, and Heather and her father both look to me with eyebrows arched.

“You are Julian, yes?” the server presses.

“Yeah.” But who would be calling me at the country club? It’s gotta be some mistake, right? My parents would not embarrass me like that, not unless something serious happened… I rush over to the phone at the front desk.

I recognize that voice long before he says his name. The second my name rolled off of his tongue, I felt frazzled and shocked and breathless.