Page 70 of Bi-Partisan

I chuckle again and kick off my shoes onto the mat by the front door. I watch as Adrian follows suit, then hold out my hand for him.

He lets out a sharp exhale and forces his shoulders to relax. Then he slips his hand into mine. “I’m okay,” he murmurs, answering the question I hadn’t asked aloud.

I nod, then we follow my mom toward the kitchen. Bluegrass music plays faintly from the smart home speaker on the kitchen island, where my mom is arranging fruit on a platter. My dad stands at the stove, flipping bacon on a massive cast iron skillet.

“Hey Dad.”

“Give me a second to finish flipping this bacon, and I’ll come give you a hug. Mimosas are on the island,” he says over his shoulder.

“Okay.” I drop Adrian’s hand and reach for the pitcher and glasses on the counter because I am technically on vacation, so why not? I pour myself a drink, then glance over my shoulder at Adrian. “You want one, darlin’?”

“Uh, sure,” he says. “Thanks.”

I pour him a glass and hand it to him just as my dad turns away from the stove.

He rounds the island and gives me a hug. “Hey, kiddo.”

When we part, I turn and gesture at Adrian. “This is Adrian.”

“Paul,” my dad says as he sticks out his hand.

Adrian takes it and shakes. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too. Jamie hasn’t been able to stop talking about you.”

“Dad,” I say in warning as I watch Adrian’s cheeks go a little pink.

My dad holds his hands up defensively. “What? You haven’t.”

“Ignore him, please,” I murmur. “So, Mom, is there a story to go with the blue hair?” I ask, trying to take the attention off Adrian.

She heaves a heavy sigh. “It wasn’t supposed to be blue.”

“What color was it supposed to be?” Adrian asks, stealing the question right out of my mouth.

“Purple—and before you ask, no, I don’t know what happened, and neither does my hair dresser,” she replies.

“Well, it looks cool,” I say before taking a sip of my mimosa.

“That’s what I told her,” my dad says as he turns his attention back to the bacon.

“So, what are y’all getting up to over the next few days?” my mom asks.

“Well, I’m taking Adrian around the capitol building today, and tomorrow we’re going to the flea market. We might do the natural science museum on Sunday,” I rattle off. “Oh, at some point, we’re getting barbecue because he’s never had Carolina barbecue before, which is a travesty.”

“What?” my parents say dramatically and in unison.

“I probably did when we were stationed here, I just don’t remember it,” Adrian says defensively.

“I’m just teasing you, darlin’,” I say, sliding my arm around his waist as I press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Well, you’re in for a treat,” my dad says over his shoulder. “North Carolina has the best pulled pork in the country.”

Adrian is tense for a moment, but then he relaxes and drapes his arm around my shoulder. “That’s what Jamie says.”

After that, we slip into easy conversation about the merits of Carolina barbecue versus the rest of the country and the list of sights I should try to take Adrian to while he’s here. Thankfully, my parents don’t bombard him with questions like his did with me—probably because I have, in fact, talked about him a fair bit. By the time we’re done with breakfast and it’s time for us to leave, his anxiety seems to have almost completely dissipated, which I can’t help being completely giddy about. My parents also seem to adore him exactly like I predicted, which also has me on cloud nine.

“Don’t forget to get the name of that crochet blog from your friend,” my mom tells him as we’re saying our goodbyes on our front porch.

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