Normally, I go for soft pink or peach on my eyes, but Maddy opts for a pale-green eye shadow and an eggplant liner, which, even though it’s something I never would have chosen, really do highlight my soft blue eyes.
Adjusting the hem of my deep-purple shirt once more, and skimming my hands down the top of my dark- wash jeans, I ask “Are you sure this looks okay?”
Holding my shoulders tightly in her hands and squeezing gently, she says, “Melanie, you look beautiful. But, more importantly, you
“Maddy!” I gasp and slap her playfully on the arm. “You really think that?” I add in a more curious tone.
“Think what, Mel?”
Instinctively, I reach for a strand of hair and twirl it around my finger. It’s a nervous habit. “Do you really think he thinks I’m pretty, I mean?” My voice is suddenly shy and timid.
“Of course I do, Melanie.” Her soft green eyes are wide, but serious. Smiling brightly at me, she adds, “And I also think that he likes you because you’re funny and smart and kind and fun to be around. Now go to his game and have some fun. Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”
“I would love for you to go, but since it’s some kind of special Parent’s Weekend or something like that, he was only given two tickets. He actually had to bum one off of his teammate to get me in.” I shrug my shoulders trying to make it seem like no big deal that Maddy can’t go with me, but the reality is that I wish I had some kind of support. But instead, I reassure Maddy. “I’ll be okay. Like you said, they’ll love me.” I pucker my lips playfully and pop my hip in some kind of fashionista meets drag queen stance.
“Oh my God! Whatever you do, don’t do that. Like ever again!” Maddy laughs hysterically at my antics before pulling me into a tight hug. “But seriously, Mel. You’ll be great. Just be yourself. I mean, you’re
As I walk down the hallway, I hear Maddy say, “Have fun!” in a rather cheery, sing-song voice.
Uh huh, fun. Sure. Meeting my boyfriend’s parents for the first time while he’s all hot and sweaty playing in his final soccer game – sure, that sounds like a ton of fun.
The dorm is not all that far from the soccer field. But everything in Ithaca is uphill. You know that old saying about “when I was a kid, I walked to school uphill both ways?” Well, I’m pretty sure that originated in Ithaca.
As I approach the entrance, I hand the ticket collector my ticket and walk through the gate. Bryan told me to sit in section ten, and that his mom would be wearing his jersey with the number 17 on the front. While part of my brain actually considers sitting anywhere
It doesn’t take me long to spot Bryan’s parents. They’re in the first row of the section, which is sparsely filled at this point. Taking a deep breath, I walk toward them and hope for the best. When I get to the end of the metal bleachers, Bryan’s mom stands and extends her hand to mine.
“You must be Melanie.” Her huge smile is so genuine that I instinctively think of my own mom and how much I miss her. I should definitely call her.
“Hi, Mrs. Mahoney. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” Shaking her hand, I smile happily and she returns the look. Unfortunately, I don’t get the same reception from Mr. Mahoney.
He’s all too busy to stop tapping away at his BlackBerry lost in what must be an important message. When Mrs. Mahoney nudges his arm, he looks up from his phone, assesses me and then returns to whatever he was just typing.
“You’ll have to excuse him, Melanie. Dan has been working a huge business deal these last few months and,” she cups her hand around the corner of her mouth as if doing so will keep him from hearing what she’s saying, “well, he’s just been a bit distracted, that’s all.”
“I am not distracted, Jane.” Mr. Mahoney smiles, but there’s something off-putting in his eyes. Whatever it is, he recovers quickly from it, and extends his hand in front of him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Melanie.” His lips quirk up into what I can only describe as an odd smile toward Mrs. Mahoney.
Okay, I’m not sure what to make of him, but it’s not like I can just come out and ask Bryan, “So, what’s up with your dad?”
Besides, it’s not like I have much experience with dads in the first place. Maybe they’re all just that weird.
Ignoring the weird vibe I’m getting from him, I choose to focus on the soft kindness twinkling in Mrs. Mahoney’s eyes. Setting my bag down next to my feet at the end of the aisle, I extend my hand to him, and say “It’s more than a pleasure to finally meet both of you, Mr. and Mrs. Mahoney.” I know I sound way too formal. But there’s something in the way that initial introduction went down that just rubbed me the wrong way.
“Oh, please, Melanie. None of that ‘Mr. and Mrs.’ call us Dan and Jane.” She sits in her seat and pats the bench to her side. I slide in next to her and cross my legs to keep them from bouncing wildly in nervousness.
The rest of the game passes in casual conversation. Jane asks me the standard stuff: What’s my major? Where do I live? What are my parents like?
My answers are standard as well. I’m still undecided and I live in the dorms. There isn’t much to tell. And, rather than get into that my dad is dead and that my mom never remarried and how that makes me feel guilty as hell, I just tell her that “my parents are great.” I know I can’t be sure about that as far as my dad is concerned, but if the memory that my mom holds of him is any indication, “great” is actually selling him short.
Dan doesn’t say much of anything throughout the game. Occasionally, he looks up from his phone to watch his son get pummeled into the ground. He never happens to see a hard-won goal, or brain-jarring head-butt.
By the end of the game, my throat is sore from the constant cheering and my hands are chapped from the non-stop clapping. Jane has been right alongside me the entire time. We’ve had a lot of fun talking and cheering for Bryan. I just wish I knew what the hell was up with his dad. I guess whatever business deal he’s working on must be really important because he even had to leave the stands a few times to take a few calls. Jane doesn’t seem to mind though, so I let it go.
Watching Bryan score the winning goal is the shining moment of the day. As he turns the corner of the field, he expectantly looks up to the bleachers. I only hope that pride I feel for him shines through on my face. I’m in awe of his talents. Besides, watching his muscles strain under the clingy soccer jersey hasn’t been all too hard on my eyes for the last ninety minutes.
After the game is over, there’s a brief trophy presentation and the team lines up for their last picture. Even though Ithaca is only a Division III school for sports, the athletic competition is still fierce. So is the bond that’s created between teammates. All of the guys are smiling and clapping each other on the back – congratulating everyone on a great season.
All of the parents stand in a line, snapping their own photos as well. As usual, I stand in the background and try to go unnoticed.
When the crowd clears, I make my way over to Bryan and his parents. But, rather than cheery smiles and happy conversation, I walk into a tension-laden atmosphere filled with jilted words.
“Fine. Leave then.” Bryan’s curt words are laced with hurt.
“Oh, honey. We don’t
Dan stalks back over to Bryan and Jane as he slides his phone back into the front pocket of his khaki pants. “Sorry, son. But I have to get back. This can’t wait until Monday.” Dan may be saying that he’s sorry, but his face conveys anything but an apology.
“Let’s go now, Jane. I was able to move the flight, but we have to be at the airport in an hour.” Dan is pulling Jane off the field as Bryan and I stumble behind them.
“What happened, Bryan? I thought they were staying.”
“Yeah, well, I guess other things are more important,” he mutters as we approach his parents’ car. When I
