Page 1 of 3rd Tango
1
Charlie
Sunday dinners are something I always look forward to with my parents. Until today.
Dad’s heading out for a fishing trip with his friends, so Mom switched it to Saturday lunch and topped it off by insisting Meg and I bring our boyfriends.
I’m honestly not sure I want JJ to meet them. Yet.
Our relationship is just starting to deepen, and well, my parents can be a handful.
The summer is in full-swing, the temperature pushing the low nineties. D.C. is swamped in humidity and sunshine. “There are three subjects you do not want to bring up or engage in,” I tell JJ Carrington III and Jerome Metcalfe. I hold up a finger. “One, politics.”
In the backseat, Meg expands on this to Jerome. “Dad gets hot under the collar about the state of the economy, healthcare, and just about everything else related to Washington.”
“Two,” I hold up another and spear Jerome with a look in the rearview as I take the offramp from the highway, heading southwest. “Legalized marijuana.”
Meg’s boyfriend deals in the stuff, along with being a brilliant artist, and talks as casually about it as I would breakfast.
Once more Meg chimes in. “Mom is for it, Dad isn’t. Funny too, since they grew up during the sixties. Charlie and I are pretty sure they experimented with pot at least a few times.”
In the passenger seat, JJ laughs softly under his breath. He looks and smells good enough to eat, and I smile when he glances at me with his beautiful blue-gray eyes. My dad will love him—he’s an alpha male, a U.S. District Attorney, and treats me like a queen. His recovery after being shot at my place several months ago has gone well, and I thank the universe for him every day. It was my fault he nearly died. I’ll never take him—or any of my family—for granted again.
“And three,” I continue, “do not bring up anything about serial killers or the neighbors.”
Both men give me odd looks. My sister fills them in about this as well. “Mom’s sure the man across the street is not just eccentric, but a serial killer and she spent the majority of our youth trying to prove it.”
Meg and I run a private investigation service, and it’s only been a few months since our run-in with a legitimate serial killer, so it’s been a frequent topic of conversation. Today, the last thing I want to talk about is work, though things are good right now. However, it’s unavoidable as either Mom or Dad will surely bring it up. After our last two prominent cases in the public eye, we came out looking competent and successful, although it was rocky on the most recent. Business is up enough that I’m considering hiring another junior investigator to help. Expansion is something Meg and I have been discussing off and on for a while now.
“Whoa,” Jerome says, his honey-blond hair is in a low bun and he has removed the earring. He’s clean shaven and wearing a nice polo shirt and khaki pants—somewhat of an upgrade from his usual artistic, pot-dealing self. “That must have been freaky.”
Meg leans her shoulder against his, and I see the love in her eyes. “Mom was an investigative reporter until she gave it up to stay home with us. Dad was gone a lot, being career Army. Her brain needed something besides dirty diapers and endless rounds of Chutes and Ladders. The guy was always a touch suspicious acting, but she does have an overactive imagination, to say the least.”
We arrive, and after I park and get out of the car, JJ takes my hand as we stroll to the door. “Stop worrying,” he says. “It’s just lunch.”
He doesn’t realize he’s about to walk into a gauntlet of my father’s endless questions and my mother’s need to find something wrong with him and Jerome.
I envy Meg—she doesn’t seem nervous at all. She and Jerome laugh and talk as they climb the steps of the back porch. JJ stops me at the bottom and bends to kiss my forehead. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”
“I’m not worried about you. It’s them I’m worried about.”
He puts an arm around me and we climb the stairs together.
Mom greets us and ushers us into the kitchen, her and Dad shaking hands with Jerome and JJ, Mom hugging Meg and kissing my cheek.
Light conversation follows as we seat our boyfriends at the dining room table and Dad takes his spot at the head of it. Meg and I already worked this out. I stay there to referee the conversation, while she helps Mom bring in the food.
Everything goes well, the dishes are passed around, both guests making complimentary comments about the house and the different items Mom made. It is an impressive spread. She never seemed interested in cooking when Meg and I were young, and many of our meals consisted of Cheerios and mac and cheese. In recent years, she’s become quite a foodie. Everything in front of us is homemade, some of it organic, and most requiring more than three ingredients—something Mom never tackled before.
There’s general conversation regarding the weather and heat—we haven’t had rain in weeks, and everyone is weary of all the sunshine and humidity.
JJ asks about the family homestead and Dad fills him in, proud of his father and grandfather, the two generations who lived here before him. He also throws in a little zinger about how he hopes Meg or I might move in when he and Mom are gone. I suppress an eye roll as this subject seems to come up more and more as they age. As if they’re both going to up and disappear on us at the same time.
Meg and I exchange a glance across the table, her slight brow lift my cue to redirect the conversation. “How’s your golf game, Dad?”
I know very well how it is—he pretty much stinks—but he likes to talk about it and the details regarding his latest outing with a group of fellow retired, veteran friends.
This is a safe, although slightly boring, topic, that allows the rest of us to eat. He moves onto his upcoming trip, and yep, I relish the fact that everyone I love is safe, and the biggest thing we all have to discuss is lures, fishing poles, and trips.
