Page 96 of Obey

I’ve barely started growling when Mr. Barclay pipes up. “Jagger, are you growling at the apple of my eye, my one and only daughter?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

She’s got my cheeks in a death grip, like when your grandmother comes to visit and she hasn’t seen you since last Christmas.

“I can’t imagine he wanted to throw you out of a moving plane, honey.” Mrs. Barclay slices into a juicy chicken tender and squirts Mr. Barclay with chicken juice. He rolls his eyes as hedabs his shirt with a napkin like this is par for the course for the two of them.

I swallow my mouthful of food. “No, I absolutely did. She was relentless. I got her whole life story in the first four minutes of her landing in my lap.”

Both parents jump, slow blinking, their silverware paused in flight.

“Notactuallyin your lap, right?” Mrs. Barclay looks back and forth between us right as my baby girl erupts into laughter.

She spends the next hour recounting how we met and everything—outside of the fucking and fucking-adjacent things. While Mr. Bar—Kevin—and I clean up the dishes, Talia and her mom sit on the couch and chat. Talia’s so animated, her words coming out so quickly as she tells her mom her idea to write dirty books.

I expect her mom to hit the roof, and while there’s a momentary silence and she bristles, to her credit she doesn’t do anything that I can see or hear, to dissuade her. Thank fuck, because I’m starting to like her dad. Turns out, he’s a car guy. He might be a white collar guy by day, but he loves taking apart engines and tinkering under the hood of cars in his spare time.

Dad’s gonna fucking love this guy. He’s a golfer too. The two of them will be out doing, well, whatever golfers do with their balls and holes every weekend, shortly after we get them in the same room together.

Huh.

My wife was the last woman I brought home to meet my folks. It’s easier not to let them get attached when I don’t get attached myself.

Mom is gonna flip her shit when she hears I have a girlfriend. I’d better leave it for a couple weeks before I subject Half-Pint to Mom. She’ll have planned our entire wedding, picked outgrandkids names, and bought the empty house on my street before I could even get out Talia’s fuckin’ name.

If there was ever a more excitable person than Talia, it’s my mother. I can only handle her in small doses, so our weekly meal—which I wangled my way out of for the past couple weeks because of my trip, my heartbreak, and this week because of the weather—is about it.

That said, Talia loves people, she could totally be my shield, or blocker, or beard, whatever the fuck it’s called when someone runs interference for you. Talia would not only do that, but she’d love it. Like, love. She and Mom would talk for days and forget the rest of the world is even there—mark my words.

After we clean up, Talia pulls out a selection of ice cream and board games. Her dad lights up like Christmas came early, and though I expect her mother—Julie—to object, she simply sets up the table and takes her seat.

There’s definite love around the table, it’s nice to see they’re finally in a space where Talia feels like she’s being listened to for a change. You can tell from the way she actually has a neck and her shoulders aren’t glued to her ears that she’s much more at ease than she was.

It’s probably not going to be problem-free. People don’t simply change overnight, but the more I watch my warrior-strong Half-Pint kick her parent’s butts at Monopoly, and then Scrabble, and then The Game of Life, the more I realize they’re going to be okay.

I have no idea what her brother Isaac is like, but from the good natured ribbing between her and her parents, there’s a levity that seems to have been missing with Harry the douchebag in the picture. Perhaps the idea she’s strong enough to walk away from them for real gave them the kick in the ass they needed to realize they could lose her if they didn’t meet her where she was.

Around nine, I give her a kiss right in front of her parents and excuse myself to go home. My ass is barely in the car when something drives me to make a call.

“Jagger? What’s wrong?” The worry weighing down Mom’s voice is touching.

“Nothing, Mom. I just wanted to chat.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with my son?”

I know she doesn’t mean it as a jab, she’s laughing now, her voice lighter and airy, but her words press into my skin.

“It’s still me, Mom. I felt like calling.” I swallow, readying myself for the deafening squeal of excitement that’s about to befall me. “I met someone.”

I don’t like the fact we seem to be getting into the habit of being interrupted by our parents. We’re slated to have dinner with Mom and Dad next week, so when someone knocks at the door, and I peer out between the blinds to find Mom’s car in my driveway the following morning, I’m not exactly thrilled.

I love my parents, but Half-Pint needs her rest after last night, and we had a plan. I don’t want to overwhelm her with new people. She takes strangers in her stride, and I’ve seen with my own eyes that her energy feeds off others. But Mom’s excitement coupled with Talia’s exhaustion from a night of playing at the club could make her even more exhausted, or worse, send her into drop.

Despite the irritation, I need to shut up the knocking before they wake?—

“Jagger? What’s wrong? Who’s at the door?”

Fuck.

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