I’ve conducted a lot of difficult negotiations over dinner. I’ve argued with people. I’ve had people threaten me. I’ve watched the fate of millions of dollars hang by a thread. All over dinner. So why am I so Goddamned nervous this time?

“Hey, you okay?” Ronnie looks across as me as I pull into the curb. At this point I’d quite rather die than let her know how I’m feeling, so I lay on a Herculean effort to look as cool as possible. “Sure thing; I’m looking forward to it.”

Heading up the neat little path toward the door, I shift the vase of flowers in my hands, and wish silently I had something to wipe my hands on. It’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about. Just smile and nod.

We stand in front of the door, and Ronnie presses the doorbell. Nothing happens for a moment, and then a loud Brrinng! sounds. My hands jerk involuntarily, and the vase slips from my grasp. Time goes into slow-motion, and it heads awfully, inexorably, toward the slate steps beneath my feet.

This date is like the lobby scene in the Matrix. And I’m one of the policemen. Uh-oh.

I make a grab for the vase, and catch it about six inches off the ground. Ronnie looks at me wide-eyed. I know for a fact she’s about to burst into laughter, but I’m mercifully saved by the click of the door opening. I straighten up, readjusting my features carefully.

“Hello, Momma.”

“Well, well. So nice to see you.” A voice from around my chest makes me look down, still clutching the vase between thumb and forefinger. Ronnie’s mother is tiny, impeccably made-up, and bright-eyed, like a miniature bird of prey. “You must be Tomas, huh?” Her accent is clipped, and careful, enunciating consonants like they need to be cleared from the house as fast as possible.

With care, I adjust the vase in my left hand, extend my right, and bend down to kiss her on the cheek. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Haas.”

“And you, Tomas. My, you are a tall good-looking fellow aren’t you? Ronnie, you have a very good eye for men, at least.”

Ronnie hisses. “Momma! Shush!” I keep my eyes carefully in front of me and try to avoid making any expression of any form whatsoever. I hear a cackle of laughter from her mother.

“You know men never mind being complimented by ladies, Ronnie. They hardly ever get it from us, so when they do, they’re always grateful.” She rounds on me. “Isn’t that right, Tomas?”

Uh-oh. I realize with mounting dread that I’m supposed to say something here, and decide to play for time. “Well…” Thankfully, this turns out to be all Ronnie’s mother requires as confirmation that I’m on her side in this debate.

“You see? He agrees with me, he’s just too polite to say anything.” She nods emphatically and rubs her hands together. “Another good sign; a man who knows when to keep his mouth shut. Very good. Come in, huh?”

I look helplessly at Ronnie. She rolls her eyes and mouths you agreed to this, buster at me, before taking my hand. “Please, Momma, let’s go inside. It’s cold out here.”

The short hallway has photos on every wall, and they’re all of Ronnie. As a little girl, playing with what looks like computer parts. Wearing a prom dress, holding a—computer keyboard? In her graduation gown, arms around her friends. Her mother sees me looking at the photos, and pokes my side.

“Isn’t she gorgeous? I always knew she was going to grow up so tall and beautiful like she has.”

Now this is a subject I’m safer on. “She’s very beautiful, Mrs. Haas.” Ronnie’s grip on my hand tightens ever so slightly, but, desperate to say something, I press on. “In fact, I remember the first time I saw Ronnie. I—argh!” At this point, I get a pointed toe quietly jabbed into my calf. I look around accusingly, but she’s looking in the other direction, and I decide to quit while I’m ahead. “Anyway, uh. Yes. Very beautiful.”

Ronnie’s mother leads us into the kitchen, where a man bends over the stove, stirring the pots. At our entrance, he turns and smiles.

“You must be Tom.” He extends a hand, wizened, but his grip is strong and his voice is deep and firm. “Pieter Haas. Good to meet you.”

“Tom Macaulay. It’s a pleasure, Mr. Haas.”

He laughs, a warm, unfeigned sound and I find myself liking him immediately. “Please, Tom. Pieter will do. The only person who calls me Mr. Haas is my doctor.”

“Sure thing, Pieter. It’s great to be here, it really is.” I look around the kitchen. “You have a lovely home; we were just commenting on the pictures of Ronnie in the hallway.” I tense, waiting for hostile incoming stiletto heels, but none arrive; Ronnie appears to be distracted, whispering to her mother.

“Well, you understand, Tom; when you have a child, she becomes everything to you. It’s hard not to live all your life through them.”

I nod. “I see what you mean. You’re very lucky; Ronnie has exceptional abilities, and at the firm she’s already getting quite a reputation.”

Pieter beams. “Of course. I knew she would. Come and sit down.”

In the parlor, he catches me looking at the soccer trophies on the mantel. “You like football, huh?”

I nod. “I used to play in college for a bunch of years, in fact.”

His eyes light up. “I knew it! We must talk about US major league soccer, as you call it. Do you think the standard will ever be comparable to the teams in Europe?”

“Well,” I begin, carefully, “remember that soccer has to compete with a lot of other sports in the USA; basketball, baseball, hockey, football. The success of US soccer teams internationally is pretty surprising despite the amount of money they have as it is.” As I talk, I look up and see Ronnie, framed in the doorway. Her hair is tied back, she’s pushed up the sleeves of her dress, and she’s holding a kitchen knife. She looks back and me, and smiles.

* * *

After dinner, we’re walking back down the narrow path towards my car, in the gathering darkness. Ronnie’s hand finds mine, and she walks close to me.

“Thank you.”

I squeeze her hand. “Of course. Your parents are lovely people. It wasn’t a chore at all.”

“They like you a lot.”

I shrug. “I’m pretty sure I could tell if they didn’t, that’s for sure.”

“Ha. You’ve got that right.” Ronnie stops, and we’re standing together on the curb, next to my car. Her eyes are fixed on me, and I’m very aware of how close she is. I want to kiss her, very much.

“Are we doing the right thing, Tom?”

I take a deep breath. “Yeah, I think we’re doing the right thing. I’ve never met anyone like you, Ronnie. I’ll do whatever I have to do, to make you believe that.”

She smiles again. “I believe you. Also,” a tilt of the head, “as much as I want to kiss you right now, you should be aware that my mother is watching us from the window.”

Dammit.