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She looked vaguely guilty. I raised one eyebrow. “Out with it.”
“I told them last weekend that you’d agreed to come. Just so you know.”
“What if I’d said no?” I asked.
“I would have made an excuse for you. Besides, I was pretty sure you’d say yes. Mama is an excellent cook. Those Oliver Boys always manage to wrangle a dinner invitation from her every time they’re in town.”
“Anything I should know before we get there?” I asked.
“Well, Mama and Tato don’t think it’s proper for two unmarried people of the opposite sex to live together, just so you know, so they might be a little cold to you when you get there.” She bit her lip. “Tato probably wants to warn you that if you besmirch my honor he knows many ways to kill you.”
“Besmirch your honor?” I laughed.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure my parents believe I’m a thirty-five year old virgin. And honestly, I’ve done nothing to disavow them of that, because there’s no way I’m having that conversation with them.”
“Okay, I’ll be on my best behavior then. Would it help if I pretend that I’m gay?”
Olga winced. “No, that would not really help them feel better. They’re a little old school.”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Now, what time do we need to be there tomorrow?”
Olga
Michael insisted on driving us to my parents’ house. He had a late model Mercedes that ran so quietly you hardly knew the engine was on, with leather seats that were soft as butter.
“Nice ride,” I said, making a mental note not to ever drive him anywhere in my twelve year old Camry. I liked my little car, but it was a piece of crap next to this fancy car.
Once we got to Ukrainian Village, I directed Michael to the rowhouse where I’d grown up. By a stroke of luck, someone was pulling out of a parking spot right in front of my parents’ place, and Michael slid right in, parallel parking like a pro.
Like a good little suck-up, Michael had brought a bottle of wine, as well as flowers for my mother.
Mama opened the door the instant I knocked, telling me that she’d been watching for us through the window.
“Olga!” she exclaimed, pulling me into a tight hug like she’d last seen me years ago instead of last Sunday when she came with me and my sister to get pedicures.
“Mama, this is my friend, Michael.”
I added a little emphasis on the word ‘friend’ to drive home the point that I’d been making for several weeks now: that Michael and I were just roommates. Although if the situation between us was different…
“Hello Mrs. Pavlenko, it’s been a long time,” Michael greeted her with a charming smile. “You probably don’t remember me, but I’m Michael Kobylarczyk. I went to school at St. Stanislaus with Olga when we were younger.”
Mama’s gaze bounced between us, recognition dawning.
“Wait,” she said in her accented voice. “This is boy you have crush on when you were a little girl?”
“Yep, this is him,” I said brightly. “Can we come in now, Mama?”
My mother stepped back, then her expression brightened as Michael handed her the bouquet of flowers he brought. It was a huge arrangement with a variety of wildflowers, exactly the kind of thing my mother loved.
“Why, thank you!” she beamed.
My father came to join us, and I noticed that he was walking a little more slowly with every passing year. That didn’t keep him from sizing Michael up like he might be a secret operative for the Russians.
“Tato,” I said, using the Ukrainian word for father, “this is my friend and roommate Michael. Mikey, this is my father.”
“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Michael said politely as he handed my father the bottle of wine. “I brought you some wine.”
My father continued to look at him suspiciously. From behind Michael’s shoulder I gave my father a warning look that made him soften his gaze.
