“I didn’t even notice. I’m sorry,” she said, stopping suddenly to give me an anguished look. “Shoot, I’m sorry ... I seem to be saying that a lot today. Of course it’s nice. My parents wouldn’t be staying here if it weren’t the best.”
This time it was my turn to clam up. I simply took her elbow again and led us to the bar area, where we would walk the plank. I mean ... meet Murphy’s parents.
I’d been here once before for a pharmaceutical gig, but had hoped that this time would be more memorable. And it probably would be, but for all the wrong reasons. When Murphy’s mom caught sight of us and gave her combo shriek-yell, “Murphy, over here,” with her Miss America wave gone wrong, I knew so.
“Hi, Mom.” Murphy greeted her mother with a practiced air-kiss to the cheek.
“Mr. Landon,” I said, and shook hands with her father.
“Hi, Dad,” Murphy said, not bothering to give him an air-kiss.
I didn’t get to greet Mrs. Landon because she looked at me and said, “You clean up nice.” After that backhanded compliment, I had no idea what to say to the woman.
At least I’d gone home after working at Brenna’s to pick up the cake, and showered, dressing in slacks and a button-down. I didn’t bother with a tie. I gave those up years ago.
“Mom, Ben is an old friend of mine from Pressman.”
We still stood around their lounge table awkwardly, and I wasn’t sure what to do.Should I ask the ladies to take a seat?
“Why don’t you sit, son?” Murphy’s dad suggested at the mention of Pressman. Just like always, the mere mention of the elite school opened up doors.
“Is that so?” Murphy’s mom seemed surprised, but it was hard to tell. Her eyes widened but her forehead didn’t move. Botox, I’d guess.
“Yes. Murphy and I were in the same class,” I said and left it at that.
“Does your family have a long history at the school?” her dad asked, obviously wanting to peg me right away.
“No, sir. I attended on a scholarship.”
Luckily, we were interrupted by a peppy server. “Hi, can I get you something to drink?”
“My wife will have a gin and tonic, and I will have an old fashioned,” Murphy’s dad said before turning to his daughter. “Murphy?”
“Red wine,” she said, as meek as a mouse.
“House cabernet?” the server asked.
“That would be nice,” Murphy said before noticing her father’s disapproving frown.
“We could get a bottle of something better,” he said, raising a brow.
“It’s fine, Dad.”
“And for you, sir?” The server stood waiting for me, pen in hand.
“Soda water with lime.”
“Great. I’ll be right back.”
“That’s all?” Murphy’s dad asked, questioning my beverage choice.
I couldn’t help but think how differently the night would have gone had they not shown up. I’d be having a nice Scotch, with Murphy snuggled in next to me. We’d be in no rush because we’d only be going upstairs after dinner.
Giving him a tight smile, I said, “I have to drive home later.”
“It’s a few hours away,” he said. “We’ll be eating a big meal between now and then. A man never likes to drink alone.”
Here I thought being prepared to take his daughter home safely would impress the man. Instead, it was more important to him that we clink glasses.
