Page 50 of Something in Between

“You really think this is the right decision?” asks Dad.

“Yes.” I won’t budge on this. I’m tired of being treated like a child. It’s bad enough I can’t drive so I have to cadge rides all the time, and Royce is nice enough to offer to drive all the way out here to pick me up just to turn around and drive right back home. It’s a long way from the Valley to the Westside—people in LA would even joke that we have a long-distance relationship.

“Besides, technically, I’ve already been on two dates with him in D.C.,” I say.

Dad raises his eyes again and shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Mom just shrugs, like she’s tired of this conversation “It’s up to you,” she says again.

My parents don’t say anything more, so it’s settled. On Saturday, Royce and I are hanging out. It’s a small step, but a huge victory where my social life is concerned.

* * *

Of course, when Saturday rolls around and Royce comes to pick me up, neither of my parents are at home. Mom is out cleaning a house for cash, a connection through a friend. Dad pulled a weekend shift. I tell Royce I’m sorry they’re not here to say hello.

“It’s cool,” Royce says as we’re driving over the canyon.

I couldn’t wait to see him again, and we had to pull over right after we left my house so that we could say hello properly. Here I go again, doing things I never thought I would, like making out in cars. But it’s just so much fun kissing him. I don’t feel nervous at all around him, like I thought I would be with my first boyfriend. I’m just happy and excited.

He has one hand on the steering wheel and holds my hand with the other. Watching him drive his silver-gray Range Rover Sport, I think he seems much older than seventeen. He drives fast, changing lanes, maneuvering between cars like the native Angeleno he is.

“I like to drive fast,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I see that,” I say, amused.

Royce laughs. “By the way, Dad’s still in Washington. You’ll meet my mom and little sister though. Mason is back at SC.”

I wasn’t really fond of Mason when I met him in the Ritz-Carlton lobby but I keep my mouth shut. I’m glad he’s back at college for now. Mason is his brother, and in Filipino families we don’t talk about the relatives we don’t like until we’re part of the family. When you’re married, you can throw them under the bus every which way. But only after you’re married.

There’s even a Filipino saying that to court the daughter, you have to court the mother too. I wonder what Royce would say about that, so I ask him.

“Oh, I’ve got this! Your mom is going to love me, just wait.”

“Confident, are you?”

He grins. “If she’s anything like her daughter, she’s in love with me already.”

I laugh but I don’t deny it.

* * *

We pull up to the house and get out of Royce’s car. The gravel driveway leads to a freshly manicured lawn with tasteful shrubs and white flowers. There are magnificent white pillars holding up a balcony over the front door, and two big white chimneys standing proudly over the gray slate roof. It’s stately and traditional—everything I would have imagined a congressman’s house would be.

Though I try not to show Royce, I’m a little intimidated to meet Mrs. Blakely. It’s not because they have more money or a bigger house than my family. Okay, so maybe that’s part of it. But it’s also because rich people are often so sure of themselves that it’s hard to feel as confident in their presence.

Royce’s mother probably went to a school that taught her how to do everything correctly. She’s beautiful, I know, and I’m sure she’s smart and well-read and most likely even knows how to flawlessly fold a fitted sheet. Not even Mom does that—she just sort of bundles them up and stuffs them inside the hall closet.

A little girl who looks to be about eleven years old rushes by on a scooter. She nearly runs over Royce’s foot.

“What the heck are you doing, Olivia?” he says.

“Trying to run over your foot.”

I can’t decide whether to be appalled or to laugh at her honesty. It seems like something Danny would say. She has to be Royce’s little sister.

“I can see that,” Royce says as his sister heads away from us down the driveway. “Are you not aware that your scooter would actually hurt my foot? I feel pain, you know. Even though I’m your older brother, I do feel pain.”

Olivia spins around on her scooter. She giggles the kind of laugh that means she knows what she’s doing. I never understood why younger siblings take satisfaction in the pain of their older brothers and sisters. Looks like we have something in common.

“My brothers are like that too,” I say.

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