We’d arrived at the Bailey home late last night, his parents not even knowing we were there, and now, after being introduced to them this morning—all of forty minutes ago—I had never felt more uncomfortable.
When Quinn had brought me here after we’d left the airport, I’d had a moment of sheer panic. I mean, meeting the parents was a big deal, and of course, I wanted to give a good impression.
This was the man I love—yes, love—and I wanted his parents to like me.
Any sane human being would want that.
Once we’d gotten some sleep, and I’d freshened up in the bathroom, I’d felt excited to meet his mom and dad. Happy, even. It was a huge step in our relationship.
But then, I’d met them.
And that’s where things had taken a nose dive.
If I’d calculated their welcoming attitude on a warmth scale, it would have been a frigid five degrees. Any second, I felt like I’d start seeing my breath leave my lips and icicles forming on their windows.
His mother and father appeared more interested in the television, the kitchen, hell, anything besides even looking in my direction.
The worst part of all, I had no idea where any of it was coming from.
Initially, when Quinn had first introduced me after I’d interrupted their conversation in the kitchen because his phone wouldn’t stop ringing, I thought maybe we’d caught them on a bad or busy morning. And I hadn’t judged or gotten discouraged, at first.
People had the right to have bad days sometimes. Lord knows, I’d had my share of shit days. And sometimes, even when you had the best intentions to make a good first impression, the stressors of a bad day could hinder your ability to be positive and happy.
Not to mention, it was first thing in the morning. They’d just woken up. We’d caught them off guard. Usually, it took me a full cup of coffee before I could fully engage in human interaction.
I’d understood all of those possibilities and mentally convinced myself that was probably what the initial uncomfortable meet-and-greet had been caused by.
I’d figured that once we spent a little time with them, chatted over coffee or lemonade or sweet tea or whatever it was Southerners liked to drink, everyone would loosen up, and the ice would be broken.
But the ice hadn’t broken. It’d only grown thicker, colder, and more rigid with each small-talk exchange.
And now that I was fully dressed, we sat side by side at the formal dining table, with Mrs. Bailey directly across from us. Her posture rigid, her eyes looking everywhere but directly at us, and her husband, well, he was nowhere to be found.
Prior to our sitting down at the table, Mr. Bailey had muttered something about a carburetor and oil check and disappeared to the garage. That was fifteen minutes ago.
Quinn cleared his throat. I took a sip of sweet tea—apparently, a Southerner’s drink of choice, even in the morning hours. And Mrs. Bailey tapped her fingers across the white lace tablecloth of her dining table while her eyes unceremoniously moved around the room, the house, basically, anywhere but the in direction where I sat.
A heavy silence settled over us, thicker than the tension that had already accumulated in the air, and I felt like a morgue held more conversation than this dining room. I swallowed hard against the unease that was working its way up from my belly.
“Mom,” Quinn announced in the otherwise deadly silent room, “Do you remember how much you loved the old Allied airline flight attendant uniforms?”
“Yes.” She nodded, one curt, very short nod, at that.
“Cat is a flight attendant at a newer airline, and you’ll never believe this, their uniforms are uncannily similar to those old Allied ones.”
Internally, I grimaced. I knew what he was trying to do here, but apparently, his parents wanted nothing to do with it, or me. I mean, his mother couldn’t even look at me, and his father had hightailed it for the garage not long after I’d arrived.
“That’s nice, dear,” she responded, and her cheeks strained as she forced a brittle smile to her face.
“How long have you been with RoyalAir, kitten?” Quinn asked, and his blue eyes met mine.
“Uh…a little over seven months now.”
“Mom, you’d love RoyalAir’s uniforms,” he stated, in another attempt to draw any sort of interest from his mom. “Personally, I’d never fully taken the time to appreciate flight attendant uniforms until I was sitting on a flight that ended up in Atlanta.” Quinn flashed a smirk in my direction while his hand discreetly gripped my knee under the table.
But his mother, well, she didn’t offer anything but a clear of her throat and a glance in the direction of the garage. “Beau!” she called toward the closed door. “Do you need any help in there?”
Holy hell, now she was trying to find a way to get the hell out of dodge—aka far, far away from me—too. This woman was not the kind of woman who helped in the garage. From the pearls around her neck to the perfect winter white color of her sweater, Mrs. Bailey was a woman.
“Hey, Dixie!” Mr. Bailey called back. “Mind coming in here for a second?”
“Sure thing, honey!” she responded and hopped out of her chair like her life depended on getting to the garage as quickly as humanly possible.
I bet if I’d timed her, she would’ve broken records for quickest woman in the house.
Air sawed at my lungs, the war between upset that she couldn’t stand to be in the same room with me and relief that she’d finally gone tugging the blade back and forth. I tried to find the strength to ask Quinn what in the hell was going on in a nice, neutral way. I needed to understand what was happening, but I didn’t want to insult him. Family was always a touchy subject, and questions could seem like an attack.
But I had things on my mind.
Was there anything I could do differently?
Did they feel ambushed by our showing up in the middle of the night and just appearing at their kitchen table during breakfast?
Did I smell like a garbage can, and I didn’t even realize it?
Anything to help get some peace of mind.
Before I could verbalize my thoughts, his mother’s voice filled my ears. “Hey, Quinn,” she called. “Come into the garage for a minute! Your daddy needs some help!”
He furrowed his brow, and his gaze met mine. “Uh…I’ll be right back,” he said, and I nodded.
“Okay.” I silently thanked God he hadn’t tried to drag me in there with him. I feared the instant I stepped into that garage, his parents might try to hop in their car and peel out of the driveway.
I watched Quinn walk out of the dining room, through the kitchen, and into the garage, shutting the door behind him as he went.
I decided to use that time to take a bathroom break and try to find the strength to get through the rest of this visit.
As I walked through the kitchen and took a left past the garage, I could hear the muffled sounds of Quinn’s voice, and with each step toward the bathroom, his voice grew louder, clearer.
By the time I walked inside the first-floor bathroom and closed the door behind me, I could literally hear everything they were saying inside the garage.
“What’s going on with you, Quinn?” his mother asked, concern etching her voice. “Are you feeling okay?”
He sighed. “Of course I’m feeling okay.”
“Then why did you bring her to our house?” his father chimed in, and I watched my own face react to that question in the mirror, brow furrowed, lips slightly parted.
Her? What did he even mean by that?
“What are you talking about, Dad?” Quinn questioned, and irritation creased his voice. “What do you even mean with that question?”
“You know what your father means,” his mother responded. “Obviously, this isn’t the type of girl you’d settle down with, so why would you even bother bringing her to our home to meet us? That’s not very nice to give her hope like that, Quinn.”
My eyes grew wide, and my cheeks stretched down as my bottom lip dropped farther open. Any second now, I might have to catch my jaw with my hand before it hit the bathroom sink.
“Mom, she is the exact type of girl I’d settle down with. She’s my girlfriend. That’s the whole reason I brought her here. I was excited for you to meet her. I wanted you to meet her because she’s really fucking important to me.”
Tears pricked my eyes. This entire situation was beyond uncomfortable. What should have been a nice, simple meeting of the parents had turned into this ugly, cold clusterfuck of confusion.
I felt painfully out of place, like a pepperoni that had mistakenly made its way onto a vegetarian pizza.
“Language,” his mother tittered under her breath.
“What is going on?” Quinn questioned. “Seriously, what is fucking going on with you guys? Why are you acting like this? Please, someone fucking explain to me what is happening right now.”
“Quinn Bailey,” his mother stated in disapproval. “I do not want to hear you talking to me or your father that way.”
“Well, I didn’t want you guys to act so cold and distant toward Cat, but I guess we can’t always get what we want, huh?” he retorted and then paused. “Look, I’m not trying to be disrespectful here, but your behavior is ludicrous. It doesn’t really add up. I feel like there is something you’re not telling me here…”
Instead of standing there and listening further, I turned on the faucet at full blast to drown out their voices. Dabbing cold water on my face and quietly humming the theme song to Star Wars, I did everything but let my ears hear the conversation occurring in the garage.
By the time my hands had been washed and my face dried, I stepped out of the bathroom and found Quinn standing in the kitchen.
“Ready to go, kitten?” he asked, his voice sad and quiet, but his lips somehow managing to offer a soft smile in my direction.
“Um…sure…I just need to get changed real quick,” I answered with a nod, even though, technically speaking, we were leaving a little earlier than we needed to. “Anyway, it’s probably better we get to the airport sooner rather than later so I’m not late for work and we don’t miss our flight.” My stomach clenched as the words left my mouth. I knew his sudden need to leave had nothing to do with airport arrivals.
Nor did my desire to escape. The entire visit had taken its toll on me, the suffocating tension making it harder to breathe by the second.
“Yep. I think you’re right,” he agreed far too quickly. It was like he couldn’t stand still in this house for a second longer. “How long will it take you to get ready?”
“Just a few minutes.”
I only needed to change into my uniform. My hair and makeup had already been done in the name of making a good first impression.
Which, obviously, hadn’t occurred.
I walked upstairs to his bedroom, and anxiety forced my brain to focus on simple tasks: get dressed, brush teeth, spray on perfume.
It’d only taken me a couple of minutes to switch out of my clothes and repack my small carry-on. By the time I made it back downstairs, Quinn met me near the entry with his keys in his hand.
“Hey, Mom, Dad!” he called toward the living room. “We’re going to head out!”
Both Beau and Dixie Bailey managed to meet us at the front door. His mother hugged Quinn tightly. His father shook his hand. And both just offered brittle smiles and halfhearted waves in my direction.
“It was nice meeting you,” I whispered, and even I couldn’t hide the sadness in my voice. “You have a beautiful home.”
I didn’t receive more than a nod in response.
Instantly, nausea filled my stomach.
God, this is awful.
With his hand pressed gently to my back, Quinn led me out of the front door and toward the car.
Once we were buckled in and he reversed out of his parents’ driveway, leading us down the long dirt road that led away from his childhood home, I snuck a glance at him out of my periphery.
His lips were firm. His brow furrowed. And his knuckles gripped the steering wheel tightly.
I understood his silence.
I’d accidentally overheard most of his conversation with his parents, and at one point, I’d had to stop listening out of fear, because of the choking anxiety that what they had been about to say would have been too painful for my own ears to digest.
I honestly didn’t know what to say or do in that moment.
I had no words of encouragement, no reassuring thoughts to share.
All I could do was stare out of the window and watch the trees pass by as Quinn drove us out of Boone Hills and in the direction of Birmingham’s airport.
Ten minutes into our drive, he reached out and gripped my panty-hose-covered thigh with his hand, squeezing it gently, but other than that, all stayed silent between us.
Both of us were too lost in our own thoughts to share.