"No, Daddy, I'm not sick. I just have some vacation time I need to use." She caught my eye and made a face that suggested she was bending the truth for parental peace of mind. "Actually, I was hoping to bring someone home with me. Someone I'd like you and Mom to meet."
The pause that followed was longer, and I could practically feel the sudden attention on the other end of the line. Before loud muffled words could be heard with what sounded like excitement.
"Yes, someone special," Vivienne said, her cheeks flushing slightly. "His name is Julian, and he's... well, he's my boyfriend."
I felt my chest tighten with something that might have been pride. Hearing her claim me so simply, so directly, still sent a thrill through me.
"I know it's sudden," Vivienne continued, her voice taking on the patient tone of someone who'd had this conversation before. "But I really care about him, and I'd love for you both to meet him."
Another pause, then Vivienne's expression shifted to something I couldn't quite read.
"Of course he's real, Mom," she said, apparently having been handed off to her mother. "Why would I make up a boyfriend?"
I felt my eyebrows rise. There was something in Vivienne's tone—defensive, almost hurt—that suggested this wasn't the first time her parents had questioned her romantic life.
"Yes, he's actually coming with me," Vivienne said firmly. "No, I'm not just saying that to get you off my back about settling down."
I watched Vivienne's face carefully, noting the way her jaw tightened, the slight flush of embarrassment that colored her cheeks. Her parents clearly had opinions about her single status, and apparently didn't quite believe she was serious about bringing someone home.
"We'll be down Thursday morning and stay through the weekend," Vivienne said. "And Mom? Please don't make this weird. I really like him, and I want you both to like him too."
More conversation, then Vivienne's expression softened slightly.
"I love you too. Tell Daddy I said goodbye. We'll see you Thursday."
She hung up and immediately dropped her head into her hands with a groan.
"That bad?" I asked gently.
"They're excited," Vivienne said, looking up at me with a rueful smile. "But they're also... skeptical. I haven't brought anyone home since college, and I think they've convinced themselves I'm destined to be the spinster daughter who lives alone with cats."
I felt a surge of protectiveness at the hint of hurt in her voice. "Why skeptical?"
"Because they think I make things up to get them to stop worrying about my love life," Vivienne admitted. "Which, to be fair, I may have done once or twice in the past."
"Made up boyfriends?" I asked, amused despite the circumstances.
"Made up dates," Vivienne corrected. "Nothing elaborate, just... casual mentions of going out with someone when they got too persistent about my social calendar. I never thought they'd remember those conversations well enough to doubt me when I finally had the real thing."
I reached across the table to take her hand, noting how it trembled slightly in my grasp. "Vivienne."
"I know how it sounds," she said quickly. "Thirty-year-old woman whose parents don't believe she has a boyfriend. It's pathetic."
"It's not pathetic," I said firmly. "It's sweet that they care about your happiness, even if they express it in ways that make you feel pressured. And they'll believe it when they meet me."
"Will they?" Vivienne asked, vulnerability creeping into her voice. "Julian, they're not like the people in your world. They're going to ask you direct questions about your intentions, your job, your family. They're going to want to know if you're serious about me."
"Good," I said simply. "I am serious about you."
Vivienne stared at me for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. "You really don't mind the interrogation?"
"I welcome it," I said, meaning it completely. "They love you, they want to protect you. I respect that. I want to prove to them that you matter to me."
I had never wanted to meet someone's parents before. In my previous relationships, families were complications to be avoided, sources of potential drama or unwanted opinions. But the idea of meeting the people who'd raised Vivienne, who'd shaped her into the woman I was falling for—that felt like a privilege, not a burden.
"What should I know about them?" I asked. "Besides the fact that they think it’s too good to be true that you’re dating someone."
Vivienne's smile was soft and fond. "My dad, Tom, is practical, straightforward, values hard work and honesty above everything else. He'll want to know what you do for a living and whether you can provide for me."
