Page 7 of Tangled with the Professor

Then my father comes booming into the foyer. “Where’s this young man my daughter’s bringing home?”

His jocular tone is cringey but at least he sounds happy. As soon as he claps eyes on Mark though, his smile vanishes and his teasing eyes go hard and cold. Mark starts to reach his hand out to shake but drops it to his side and his own gaze has frozen into a tight mask. Both men stare at each other for a moment before my mother nudges Dad. He clears his throat and I hurry to introduce them before all hell breaks loose.

“Um, Dad, this is Mark…”

He cuts his eyes to me, with a look so full of disdain I almost recoil. Then he finally, begrudgingly reaches out to shake Mark’s hand. Their hands barely grip before falling back to their sides and the most uncomfortable silence envelops the foyer.

This isn’t right. It’s somehow worse than I imagined. How the hell is it worse than torches and pitchforks? We awkwardly head toward the family room with my mom herding my dad ahead of her. Mark’s face is set in hard lines, his brow furrowed and his eyes still like ice.

Okay, I figured my parents might have a bad reaction. Not this bad, but still. But why is Mark so stony? Before I can pull him aside to tell him things will get better, or get my mom alone to ask her why Dad’s barely containing himself from freaking out, we’re swarmed by the rest of my family.

There are more hugs and everyone is outwardly jovial, but I can tell they’re side-eyeing Mark as if he’s done something wrong. Come on, now. So he’s a little older than me, what’s their issue?

“Dad,” I say, moving to his side at the bar. “Come and meet Mark properly, please.”

His face goes red and his body turns rigid with anger. With a final look of fury aimed at Mark, Dad storms from the room. My mom sighs and follows him.

Dread takes over as I wonder what they’re talking about and what will happen next. One thing I’m sure of is that this Christmas is not going to be anywhere near perfect.

Chapter 5

Mark

After an interminable amount of awkwardness, Isabelle got pulled away to the kitchen with one of her aunts and her mother returned to show me to my room.

It’s not exactly a bedroom. I’m not really sure what it’s supposed to be. There’s an air hockey table pushed into the corner, a television sitting on top of a cabinet with shelves overflowing with old movies and video games. A few random bits of workout equipment take up another corner and there’s a couch against the wall that’s just long enough for me to stretch out on. Barely.

It’s not as if I’ve never slept on the couch in my office and I’m honestly shocked they’ve afforded me this much dignity. Given the history between Isabelle’s father and me, I’m surprised I haven’t been tossed out onto the curb at this point.

I settle in on the somewhat lumpy couch and put my head in my hands, dragging my memory of the first time I ever laid eyes on Bruce Knight. Because of my expertise in the field, I’m often called as a witness for environmental lawsuits. It doesn’t take too much of my time to do the necessary reports and if it’s something I believe in, I’ll take on the job. It’s usually just explaining in layman's terms what particular industrial byproducts do when they come in contact with local flora and fauna. If it’s come to a court case, it’s usually never good.

I just present my findings, only ever sharing the truth. The problem is that most companies that are being sued don’t like that. Including Bruce, who was formerly general manager of the now defunct Marquis Plastics. Defunct because it was sued into oblivion by the county for releasing toxic chemicals into the nearby water supply. Whether it was accidental or purposeful wasn’t my problem. All I could do was present the damage done to the lake, and consequently, the plastics company was shut down.

Isabelle’s father had been humiliated by the company he’d given his life to put up as a scapegoat for the shitty factory practices he’d allegedly tried to warn them about. He was the sacrificial lamb and I’m sure his career must have suffered.

Despite the haphazard set up of this particular room I’m in, the house is big, comfortable, and in a great neighborhood so he seems to have bounced back after that ordeal, unless Mrs. Knight had to step up and become the main breadwinner. Either way, it doesn’t matter how well they’re doing now. Bruce recognized me and clearly despises me for being part of his corporate downfall.

That alone would be enough to have him taking a swing at me. But I also arrived on the arm of his only daughter and the man’s expected to be nice to me for the next few days. I can’t say I blame him for getting red faced and storming out. I’d be pissed, too.

There’s no way Isabelle knows I was part of the lawsuit that must have turned her life upside down all those years ago. And she still somehow knew her parents wouldn’t approve of me. Her nerves leading up to this moment were completely justified. My chest clenches, aching for her. I’m at a loss and don’t know how to fix this. All I know is I have to try, to get the lost look out of my girl’s eyes and put a smile back on her face.

As much as I wouldn’t mind laying low until I have to face the hostiles again, I head out to look for Isabelle so we can talk. I find my way back to the stairs where she’s just starting to come up. She looks a bit startled to see me, then forces a tense smile.

“Dinner’s just about ready. I was coming to find you.”

“Are you sure I’m allowed to eat?” I ask, trying to joke around even though it’s a valid question. Her forced smile collapses and I reach to brush her hair back and squeeze her shoulder bracingly. “Sorry, bad joke at a time like this. Are you okay?”

She twists on her heels and pulls me down the stairs, evading the question as she tells me again that dinner is about to start. I notice she changed her clothes and is now wearing a pretty green dress. I spent the last hour wondering what I got myself into and haven’t changed, tugging on my t-shirt and flannel that I traveled up here in. Hopefully this isn’t some formal affair and my casual attire doesn’t add more fuel to the flame, making them think I’m actively disrespecting them.

It turns out that everyone is dressed normally and I wonder if Isabelle put on the dress to try to appease her angry parents. Because they’re still very clearly simmering and the meal is one of the most awkward encounters of my life. It’s not just her parents and brother, but an aunt and uncle, a couple cousins, and what seem to be some family friends. I’m too concerned with Isabelle to keep track of everyone.

“So, what is it you do?” asks the aunt, staring down her nose at me with a fork full of roast beef halfway to her mouth.

She begins to chew as I grasp for an answer and Isabelle is giving me horrified looks across the table, silently reminding me not to tell too much.

I have a very good feeling that her aunt knows very well what I do and I’m not sure why she’s hell bent on bringingattention to it. Maybe to give Isabelle’s father an opening to go on the defensive.

“I work for the university,” I say, turning to Isabelle’s brother to ask him something, anything, to get the aunt off my back.

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