Blitz’s parents live in a modest house just outside Alamo Heights. When he pulls his red Ferrari into the drive, a middle-aged couple comes out on the porch, which is still decked with Christmas lights since they just got back in town.
I’ve never done this before, met anyone’s parents. I’ve barely met anyone at all since I was fifteen, just a few people from our tiny church and the dance instructors at Dreamcatcher Academy. I arrange the skirt of my new dress and fuss over the collar of my coat. Blitz comes around to open my door and peeks his head in.
“Remember, if they howl the cry of my pack, howl with them or they will attack you as an enemy.”
“Blitz!”
He steps back, laughing, as I get out of the car.
He pulls me into his arms once I’m out and whispers close to my ear, “Just remember, my dad is pretty rough around the edges. Hopefully Mom will make up for him.”
My fingers clutch his sweater as I try to steady my nerves. “I’ll be fine,” I tell him.
Blitz’s mother looks friendly as we approach. She wears black dress pants and a shimmery tunic. Her hair is deep black and twisted in a simple bun. She’s not flashy, just small earrings and only a bit of makeup.
His father seems to have a natural scowl, his big eyebrows turned down. He wears khaki pants and a deep blue short-sleeved button-down shirt that I know from Blitz is called a guayabera. He’s oblivious to the chill. He seems considerably older than the mom, his gray hair thin and combed over.
The house itself is simple, sandy brick with slender white columns on the porch, a single-car garage at one end.
Blitz takes my hand as we reach the steps. “Mamá, Papá, this is Livia. I think you saw her on the show a few weeks ago. Livia, this is David and Renata.”
His father snorts, but his mother holds out her arms. “What a brave young girl you are,” she says, stepping forward to pull me into an embrace. “You must have been terrified going in front of all those people! Benjamin tells me you are a ballerina.”
The father snorts again.
“Yes,” I say as she releases me. “Well, I dance ballet. I’m still a student.”
This makes the father raise his eyebrows. “Are you in high school?”
“No, Papá, I did not rob any cradle,” Blitz says. He seems annoyed by his father’s suggestion. “She is at a dance academy.”
“Let’s go inside,” his mother says. “Before this foolish old man in his short sleeves freezes right to death.”
“This cold is nothing,” his father says. “You are all just too soft.”
Wow. This is going to be interesting. I’m starting to see what Blitz is talking about with his father. I take a few deep breaths, prepared for a tough evening with him.
We head inside the house. It’s warm, and I take off my coat immediately before I break out in a sweat from the anxiety. Blitz takes it from me.
“I’ll get some tea,” Renata says and disappears down the hall.
David stretches out in a big brown chair like he’s going to act any way he wants, no matter the company. Blitz pulls me next to him on a flowered sofa.
There’s a fire burning in a small brick hearth near us. “How was Colorado?” Blitz asks.
“Snowy,” David says. “Your mother drags me there every damn year.” He picks up a large glass of iced tea from the table by his chair and takes a drink. “I live in San Antonio to stay away from all that mess.”
I have no idea what to say. I concentrate on Blitz’s hand. He’s taken mine and bends each finger one at a time as if he, too, is trying to manage his discomfort.
David has just picked up the TV remote when Renata comes back in with a silver tray of mugs.
“David, we have company!” she says.
He makes a big point of sighing and dropping the remote back on the table.
I glance over at Blitz. He is more or less relaxed, the only hint of annoyance in the tightness of his jaw. I wonder if meeting parents is always this difficult or if Blitz’s father is just a hard case. Then I imagine Blitz meeting my father, and figure, yes, it’s probably always this rough.
I take a mug from Renata and thank her for it, the first words I’ve said since we sat down.
“I saw the finale, of course,” Renata says as she settles on a tall cushioned chair. “I’m glad Blitz didn’t end up with that Giselle woman.”
“I liked her,” David says. “That girl had spunk.”
I grip my mug with tense fingers.
“Of course you liked her,” Blitz says. “She was a tramp.”
“Benjamin!” his mother says. “Be respectful of ladies.”
“That tramp was no lady,” his father says.
My head is spinning. The family banter tells me a lot about who influenced Blitz the most. I think he was right when he said every nasty thing that got him in trouble on the show came from his father.
“Tell me how you two met,” Renata says. “Was it at your dance school?”
Blitz nudges me. “You tell it, Livia.”
My hands are shaking around the mug, so I set it down. “Well, I was dancing and there aren’t a lot of male instructors there.”
David harrumphs. “See, I told you real men don’t go to dance school.”
“David,” Renata admonishes.
I lace my fingers together, remembering I had enough courage to walk on a live television broadcast, so I could surely tell a grumpy father a story.
“So I was surprised to see Blitz, of course,” I say. “I didn’t know who he was.”
“Really?” Renata asks. “I thought everybody knew Blitz.”
“I don’t watch a lot of television,” I say. “I’d never seen the show.”
“Interesting,” Renata says. “Are you more of a reader?”
“I spent most of my time studying for the SAT,” I say.
“Are you going to college?” she asks.
“Soon. I still have to take the essay portion.” I’m not sure if I should keep talking about this or go back to the story. I hesitate, looking over at Blitz.
“Tell her how you taught me to arabesque,” Blitz says.
“Blitz doesn’t know a lot of ballet,” I say. “So I taught him a few things. The arabesque. Grand jeté.”
“And the five ballet positions,” Blitz adds.
“So you got to know each other during these lessons?” Renata asks. “How romantic.” She takes a sip from her mug. “So how did Livia end up as a surprise guest on your show?”
“The man who built the academy where I attend took me on a plane to California,” I say. I’m not sure how much to say. I can’t tell her Blitz was planning to sabotage himself. “He is a producer on the show and felt it would make for really good ratings.”
Blitz draws me closer to him. “She’s being nice. I was about to screw up everything and she saved me.”
Renata looks at him curiously, and is about to ask more when a timer goes off in another room. “That’s the casserole!” she says, hopping up. “Dinner will be ready soon.”
She’s going to leave us alone with Blitz’s father again. David already has his eyes back on the TV remote.
I make a move, jumping to my feet. “I’d like to help,” I say.
“Oh, I’m fine,” Renata says.
“I’d love to learn from you,” I say.
She hesitates. “Well, okay.”
“Good,” David says. “Let the women get the meal.” He clicks on the television.
I glance back at Blitz as his mother and I head down the hall. He’s shaking his head and gives me a wink.