Page 158 of Hooking Up
I'm not here to angst about my baggage.
I'm here to support him. To help him confront his parents.
I'm focusing on that.
I follow him into the dining room, to the massive oak table.
He pulls out my seat for me, a perfect gentleman.
I take it, cross my legs, smooth my skirt, hang my jacket off the back.
Walker takes a seat next to me. He nods to his mom. Then to his dad, sitting next to her. "Dad, this is Iris."
His dad nods. "Robert. It's lovely to meet you. I'd offer you a drink, but we're keeping the house dry."
The frown falls off Walker's face. It's news. Good news.
"Oh, that's fine. I don't drink." I press my lips into a smile. "It smells wonderful." Like lemon and cardamom. Which is weird, given the spotless kitchen.
"I wish I could take credit." Walker's mom presses her lips into a smile. "But it's takeout."
"You want me to bring it out?" Walker asks.
"Thanks, baby." His mom smiles.
Walker shoots me a hopeful look as he pushes himself out of his chair. He moves into the kitchen.
His parents' attention turns to me.
His mom takes a long sip from her water glass. She looks at it wistfully, like she wishes it was wine. "How did you two meet?"
Uh… I can't exactly say I brought him back to my place to nail him. "A friend's party."
"I'm always telling my younger coworkers that socializing is the best way to meet someone. I know all the kids are on Tinder and OkCupid these days, but it's not the same as an actual conversation." She takes another sip.
"It's not. I, uh…" Thought he was hot and likely good in bed. "Your son is incredibly charming."
"He takes after his mother." His father nods.
She beams.
It must be true. His dad seems more behind the scenes. His mom is quiet, but there's something magnetic about her eyes. The same eyes as Walker. And as his sister.
"What do you do, sweetheart?" she asks.
"I'm a PhD candidate." I fold my hands in my lap. "In psychology."
"Oh." She turns to the door, right as Walker enters with a set of plates. "You didn't tell me you were dating a smart woman."
"You didn't ask. You only asked if she was pretty." He sets plates in front of each of us, moves back into the kitchen, returns with silverware.
"She is." She looks to me. "He gushed about how gorgeous you are."
My cheeks flush. "Thank you."
Walker's eyes meet his mother's. "Bree isn't here?"
"She's at a meeting." There's a tone to her voice. AnI don't want to hear your opinion about that. She turns to me. "I hate to talk shop at dinner, but, sweetheart, what are your thoughts about the twelve-step program?"
