Page 47 of Tackle

“Yes, that’s how they met.”

“Okay, I think I’m ready.” He got out of the car and went around to Emerson’s side, opening the door.

She took his hand and climbed out. “You’ll see. Once you meet them, you’ll wonder what the heck you were so worried about.”

Nice sentiment, but doubtful.

As soon as Oz stepped through the door, he was hit by the smell of roasting turkey and attacked by two yapping Poms.

“Mom? Da?” Emerson shouted over the noise. “Hush, you two,” she said while quickly shutting the front door. Not that the dogs tried to escape, too busy investigating the tops of Oz’s shoes.

“We’re in the kitchen,” came a shouted reply.

Emerson took him by the hand and they made their way past the living room and into the kitchen. Oz stepped lightly, worried one of the little guys would get under his foot as they circled his legs.

Emerson’s mom was at the sink, washing her hands, her dad looked as though he’d just stood from his chair, reading glasses on the tip of his nose, a newspaper lying open on the table.

“Mom, Da, I’d like you to meet, Oz.”

Jill grabbed a paper towel, wiping her hands, and Mike tossed his glasses on the table. They were both smiling.

“Oz, it’s lovely to finally meet you.” Jill came over and gave him a hug.

He awkwardly patted her back. “Nice to meet you too.”

She went to Emerson next, wrapping her up. Emerson looked nothing like her mother who had brown, curly hair and a tanned complexion.

She was the spitting image of her father, however. Mike came at him, hand outstretched. His black hair was short and graying at the temples but he was tall—only a few inches shorter than Oz—and in great shape.

“Oz, my boy, good to have you here. Emerson has told us so much about you.” His voice still held a trace of Irish lilt.

Oz took his hand. “Thank you, she’s told me a lot about you both as well.”

Mike leaned over and kissed Emerson on the cheek. “You look beautiful, honey.”

“Thanks, Da.” Emerson looked around. “Are we the first ones here?”

“I think Will’s in the garage. Either that or out back, smoking.”

Emerson wrinkled her nose. “I thought he quit.”

“So did we,” Jill said, while peeling carrots over the bin. “But he smelled like an ashtray when he came in so we think he fell off the wagon.”

“We’ll go find him and say hi. Holler if you need any help.”

Jill waved a hand. “Just waiting on the turkey. Everything else is pretty much done."

Emerson walked him through the house to a door that opened to reveal the garage that had been converted into a family room. A TV hung on the wall, turned to the day’s football game, a jukebox stood in the corner, and in the center of the room was a pool table where Will, Oz assumed, was shooting balls.

He turned when he heard the door open. “Hey, Sis, happy Thanksgiving.”

“Same to you.” She went over and gave him a hug.

They broke apart and Will came over, hand extended. “Oz Olson. I can’t believe I’m meeting you.”

Oz shook his hand.

“And I can’t believe you’re dating my little sister.”

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