Sofia gently placed her knife and fork down before giving my dad a warm smile. "Yes, I teach elementary-grade kids."
"Hmm, how lovely." That came from my mom.
I curled my hand tighter against Sofia's chair. I recognized the insincere tone in her voice.
"She's an amazing teacher, too."
Sofia fixed me with one of her gorgeous smiles, thanking me silently for the compliment.
"You've taken one of her children's classes?"
A breathed deeply. "Mom -"
"I also host adult workshops where artists can learn new techniques and unleash their creativity. Simon attended one of my classes." She sent me a sly smile. "He's also very good." Thankfully she left out the part where I posed for her class. Mom would be horrified.
"I also volunteer at your sister's summer class and offer freelance tutoring focusing on special needs students - building their motor skills and confidence."
My mom's face colored and pinched in shame. "Oh. Well. That sounds lovely, dear."
"You're still drawing, son?" My dad leaned forward, his brow raised in surprise
"Yeah, just for fun. Being with Sof here reignited my love for it. I'm a little rusty, but like I said," I squeezed Sofia's shoulder, "I have an excellent teacher."
She beamed up at me. "You're an amazing artist," she assured me, and my heart swelled at her praise.
"You know, I remember when Si was keen on pursuing art as a career."
And then my heart sank like a lead balloon. I didn't expect my parents to remember that.
"Yeah, he told me. He would've been fantastic."
My dad flapped his hand in the air. "Well... it's not a stable career choice. You're fortunate that you're satisfied in your career, but an art degree? Where else could it lead?"
I itched to jump in and defend the underhanded insult. My dad probably didn't realize he was doing it, but I was mortified that he suggested Sofia's degree was relatively useless.
"Well, I have a Bachelor of Fine Arts and a Masters in Education. There are many career paths to take with that. I have friends who are graphic designers, an art therapist, a glass blower, a jewelry designer," she rolled her hand. "The list goes on."
Sofia placed a hand on mine and squeezed. "I know Si wanted to do something in animation," she continued, "That's a competitive market for sure. A lot of people don't make it into that particular niche. But," she turned to stare at me, her eyes conveying a litany of emotions. "Simon started from the bottom as a financial advisor. He was relentless at finding clients, at networking, and building his portfolio. Now, he's the youngest senior advisor at a pretty prestigious firm."
She turned to give my dad a delicate smile, an attempt to soften the slight sting of her words, not wanting to offend but also showing me that she had my back. My love for her grew in that moment.
"Once Simon puts his mind to something, nothing will stand in the way of him achieving it."
There was a brief silence. Dad was staring at Sofia, flabbergasted by her elegant chastising of him. In response, I lifted Sofia's hand and placed a grateful kiss on the back. My dad didn't mean anything bad by his words, he was coming from a place of worry. But I wish he'd shown me the same faith he showed Barron when he informed them he was going into the restaurant business.
Mom was the first to break the tense silence. She smiled at me with eyes that looked suspiciously bright. "You're right, Sofia." She fixed my girl with her first genuinely warm smile of the night. The same smile she would give me when I took her out for lunch on her birthday or gifted her with a bouquet for Mother's Day. "Our boy is tenacious. He gets it from his father."
After that, the rigid cloud that hung over our meal finally lifted. The atmosphere shifted from formal to casual, just like a typical dinner night with my folks. They asked questions of Sofia, real questions that you expected someone to ask when they genuinely wanted to get to know you.
They even teased me with the promise of showing Sofia baby pictures, which of course, delighted her to no end. I didn't care; hell, I was a cute kid. All chubby and shit. I'd seen Sofia as a baby; her mom had a cache of them scattered throughout the house, hung up around the living room walls. She was a beauty of a little thing. I wasn't ashamed to admit that my first thought was about our future babies and how gorgeous they would be.
Once dinner was over, Sofia insisted on helping my mom clean up. That earned major brownie points with her, and she flashed me a wide smile behind Sofia's back. I felt a wave of relief that I had my mom's full approval. Not that I doubted she would like Sofia, nor would I care if my parents objected. I knew Sof's heart. It was everything good and pure in this world, and I wanted to be part of it.
Later dad and I sat in the living room drinking beers and watching a rerun of an Eagles game. Mom and Sofia disappeared upstairs. Apparently, my mom had a few paintings she wanted Sofia's opinion on.
As dad and I chatted about the game, he suddenly turned to me with a troubled expression.
"Son, I'm sorry if you felt like your mom and I didn't support your choices."
