and shook the water off his plastic raincoat. “Good to see you, hon…” he began, but his voice trailed off as he stared beyond Megan, into the kitchen.
She turned her head and stared with him. “Oh, my God,” she whispered at the sight of Pat, sitting at the kitchen table with hairy legs and hairy chest hanging out of the pink robe her parents had given her for Christmas. The picture was enhanced by the fact that he was wearing black dress socks and holding a baby.
“I can explain this,” she said, watching her father’s face turn brick red. Lord, she hoped he wasn’t wearing his revolver.
Megan’s mother started to giggle. She had her hand clapped over her mouth, but she was shaking with laughter. “I’m sorry,” she said. “We should have phoned first.”
“I don’t see what’s so damned funny,” Megan’s father roared.
“My word, Mike, the man’s wearing black socks and Megan’s robe. He looks silly.”
“He looks
“It’s all very simple,” Megan said, following her father as he stalked into the kitchen. “Pat came over for lunch, and-”
Megan’s mother took Timmy from Pat. “Megan, this is a baby.”
“It’s sort of Pat’s.”
Megan’s father scowled at Pat. “I assume this is Pat?”
Pat stood and extended his hand. “Pat Hunter. Nice to meet you, sir.”
“You always dress up in women’s clothes?”
“Um, no, but it was cold sitting on the kitchen chair-”
“Are you married to my daughter?”
Pat shook his head. “She won’t marry me.”
“That does it!” Megan’s father grabbed him by a chenille lapel and punched him in the nose.
Pat tripped over his chair and sprawled onto the kitchen floor. He tenderly touched his bloody nose. “Oh, hell.”
“Daddy!” Megan shouted. “How dare you! Criminy sakes, you can’t just go around punching people out!” She rushed to Pat’s side with a wet towel. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“I think my nose is broken.”
She glared at her father. “I hope you’re satisfied.”
“Actually, I feel a little foolish. I just hit a guy wearing a skirt.”
“It’s not a skirt. It’s a robe,” Pat said, getting to his feet. “And if it bothers you that much, I’ll take the damn thing off.”
Megan’s mother screamed and closed her eyes.
Megan whistled through her teeth and raised her arms. “Stop! Daddy, you take the suitcases upstairs to the guest bedroom. Mom, please take care of Timmy until I get back. And you,” she said to Pat, “you will get dressed, so I can drive you to the hospital to get your stupid nose X – rayed.”
She stomped off to the laundry room and returned with Pat’s clothes. “You can change in the downstairs bathroom,” she told him.
Patrick Hunter and Mike Murphy stood toe to toe for a moment in silent, furious appraisal of each other.
Megan glared at both of them. “Daddy, the suitcases,
She dumped the contents of an ice tray into a plastic bag and crushed the ice with a rolling pin. “Well, Mom,” she said, “what do you think of Pat?”
“Nice legs. Cute little nose. It’s a shame it got broken.”
Megan smiled at her mother. “It needed character.”
“Do you love him?”
Oh, boy, here we go, Megan thought, dropping the poncho over her head. “Don’t start asking questions, Mom. Don’t hire a hall for the reception. Don’t start planning a surprise shower. Don’t contemplate names for your grandchildren. This man is a pediatrician, and-”
Mrs. Murphy’s eyes lit up. “A doctor?How nice!”
Megan thunked her fist against her forehead. Try a different approach, she told herself. “I don’t think Daddy likes him.”
“Nonsense. Your father was just taken by surprise. He didn’t expect to find a naked man in your kitchen.”
Megan grabbed her car keys as Pat emerged from the bathroom. She handed him the ice bag and quickly ushered him past her mother. “Make yourself at home, Mom. Fix Daddy some lunch.”
Pat slouched in the passenger seat, pressing the ice and a towel to his bloody nose. “Fix Daddy some lunch,” he mumbled. “What does he eat, raw meat and Christians? He ever been accused of police brutality?”
“He’s really very sweet. He just got excited.”
“It’s no wonder you’re not married yet. The life expectancy of your boyfriends must be about two hours.”
Megan pushed the poncho hood off and pulled out of the driveway, thinking she should be so lucky. Her parents had a knack for turning boyfriends into fiances in an alarmingly short period of time. Unfortunately, their coercive talents stopped just short of the altar.
“My other boyfriends have never had to worry about life expectancy. They were smart enough to keep their clothes on in front of my father.”
Pat scowled and sank deeper into his seat. He didn’t like the idea of other boyfriends. He especially hated the idea of other boyfriends without clothes. He wasn’t a violent person, but if he ever met any of those other boyfriends, he’d punch them in the nose.
Suddenly he liked Megan’s father. Yessir, the man was okay. This was going to be a great Thanksgiving. His family.Her family. Megan. Timmy. “Do you think I should order a larger turkey?”
“I think you should order a smaller turkey, since I won’t be there.”
“Of course you’ll be there. You and your mother and father.”
Megan stared at him. “Are you crazy? I’m not putting you and my father in the same room.”
Pat rearranged the ice bag. “Don’t worry about it. Your father and I will get along just fine.”
That was exactly what she was worried about, Megan thought. She’d come to believe that having your parents’ approval was like the kiss of death to a romance.
Megan brushed her hair behind her ears and returned to her apple peeling. Nothing in her twenty – seven years of life as an only child had prepared her for this day. There were seven women and three children packed into the tiny cottage, all in the throes of preparing the next day’s Thanksgiving feast. Timmy sat in his crib by the fireplace, sucking his thumb with a vengeance and watching the activity. Pat’s four – year – old niece and six – year old nephew were making hand – shaped cookies out of leftover pie crust. Mrs. Hunter and Mrs. Murphy presided over a mammoth bowl of stuffing.
“A little sage,” Mrs. Murphy said, “and more sausage.”
“And apples,” Mrs. Hunter said. “Needs apples.”
Megan’s mother dropped a handful of sliced apples into the bowl. “So when do you think they should get married?”
Mrs. Hunter thoughtfully tasted a lump of raw stuffing. “A spring wedding would be nice, but they have the child…”
Both women turned and looked at Timmy.
