Only because it might help me find Dean. Why else would I care? “Got it.”
The door swings open and I hold up the flowers I purchased, pasting on my best nonthreatening, ginger-who-wears-glasses smile as I assess the group. The first person I see is Helen’s aunt Linda—Linda Doherty (resident of Chicago for fourteen years, no prior arrests), a heavyset woman in her fifties whose blonde is running to gray. She looks me up and down with an unimpressed lip press, then moves aside so I can see?—
Pam and Ken Flanagan, both late fifties. Just like with Helen, I’ve done some research on Dean’s parents. I know they have good credit, regularly attend mass at their local church, are registered to vote, and have no criminal record, along with other miscellaneous tidbits. How these two managed to produce a kid like Dean Flanagan, I’ll never understand.
Ken is balding but has darker hair and a darker complexion, suggesting where Dean may have gotten his coloring from. Pam looks more like Helen, only older, and with a much more sour face—or maybe that’s only just for me. She and Linda exchange mutinous looks with each other, though Ken is all smiles. “Baby girl!” he croons, beaming at Helen like she hung the moon.
“Hi, Daddy. Mom. Aunt Linda.” Helen hugs each in turn before reaching back for me. “This is Thad.”
By the way she says it, I know she’s prepped them for meeting me, and from the looks on their faces, I can see they’re having a hard time wrapping their heads around it. Ken is the most friendly of the three, which is good—in my experience, dads are usually the hardest ones to crack. But I immediately start to second-guess myself on that front when I see the identical looks on Pam’s and Linda’s faces. Linda I’m less concerned about, since she’s just the aunt; but if I thought Pam might be my inside track to finding Dean, I am now seriously reconsidering. The look she gives me is outright hostile—and she doesn’t even know I’m after her son yet.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Thad,” Ken says, nudging his wife with his elbow.
Pam’s face does not change much, though she does a weird sort of closed-mouth smile and speaks through her teeth. “Please, come in.”
“Make yourself at home,” Linda offers, but not before checking Pam’s reaction first to make sure she’s supposed to say it begrudgingly.
O-kay. I exchange a quick glance with Helen as we follow her aunt and parents over the threshold, and to my surprise, Helen takes my arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Because I’m supposed to be her boyfriend. Right.
“Don’t take it personally,” she murmurs. “It’s not you. It’s me.”
Helen mentioned she’s never brought home a guy before, but I guess I assumed her parents would react more like mine. My mom would be ecstatic about any step that might bring me closer to giving her grandchildren. And my dad?—
Well, back when we were still speaking, he would have probably spent the whole night sweet-talking Helen and trying to touch her leg under the table. That seems like unlikely behavior coming from Pam, so all things considered, tonight probably won’t go as bad as it could.
“We thought we’d bring a bit of Boston with us—I hope you like lobster rolls, Thad,” Ken calls over his shoulder as he leads us to the dining room. I notice he is half holding Pam up, like she is in danger from losing her footing. Is she really that upset about Helen, her thirty-one-year-old daughter, bringing somebody to dinner?
Ken waits until we’re fully in the room. “Why doesn’t everyone have a seat? You too, Linda—we appreciate you hosting us, so you just relax. Pam, can you get everyone drinks?”
He and Pam have a wordless exchange for a long, uncomfortable moment before Pam reluctantly turns to face me. “Drink?”
“I’m easy,” I tell her, smiling in what I hope is a friendly, ingratiating, don’t-hate-me-for-dating-your-daughter way. “Whatever you got.”
Pam gives me a none-too-impressed look. “So you’re a drinker.”
Holy shit. Helen steps in closer, protecting me from her mother. It would almost be funny, if her mother didn’t scare the bejesus out of me. “He’ll have a cider, and so will I. Thanks, Mom.”
As Pam disappears into the kitchen, Helen pulls me over to the table, where we sit. Linda has taken Ken at his word and is watchingMasterpiece Theatrein the living room at an incredibly loud volume, but I make sure both parents are safely in the kitchen before leaning in toward her. “What the hell is wrong with your mom? Why does she look like she’s planning to poison my drink?”
“I told you, it’s not you.” Helen ducks her head in toward me conspiratorially. “I think my mom is still convinced that I’ll eventually become a sister again. You would obviously get in the way of that, if you were really my boyfriend. Hence, the irrational hatred.”
The thought has never crossed my mind, that Helen might take her vows again. I speak before I can catch myself. “That would be a waste.” At her questioning look, I shift, realizing for the first time just how close we’re sitting, the fullness of her lips and her big, too-blue eyes. I swallow, feeling compelled into honesty despite myself. “You becoming a nun again. Never getting a real, nice guy to bring home to your parents who isn’t a bounty hunter with no empathy.”
Her lips tug into a small smile. “Don’t worry. I’m not going back. So there’s still plenty of time to find that guy.”
I feel a surge of irrational dislike for this nonexistent future boyfriend. He’ll probably be some dickwad like Shane who looks impressive on paper but is actually the world’s biggest douche canoe. I bet Pam Flanagan would like me if I were a private detective.
Feeling grumpy now at the thought, I’m in no mood for Pam’s attitude when she returns with the drinks, holding out my cider like she’ll get cooties if our hands so much as brush. It’s not a good idea, I know, but I decide to play things up.
“Thanks so much, Mrs. Flanagan.” I take the drink with one hand while I wrap my other arm around Helen and pull her close. “I’m so thrilled to be meeting you. Helen’s told me all about you.”
Pam zeroes in on where I’m touching Helen, then glares back at me. Oh well, at least it’s all out in the open now. This is war. “That’s strange. She’s told us absolutely nothing about you, until a few days ago.”
I laugh, like this is all in good fun, mostly because I know it will piss old Pam off even more. “That makes sense, yeah. It was love at first sight for me, but it took some convincing to persuade Helen to give me a chance—didn’t it, hon?”
Glancing over, I startle a bit as I realize just how close I’ve drawn Helen to me. Our faces are just centimeters apart, and up close her eyes are even more spectacularly blue, her face soft and sweet and guileless. I can’t believe I ever thought this girl was a femme fatale.
Then again, that’s how they get you, isn’t it? With their beautiful, angelic faces and their big doe eyes?
