when he turns to me in front of the two-story house.
“I didn’t lie. I told you they obtained their wealth later in life. It’s just a house. I’ve never lived in it.”
“I’ve never asked what your father does.”
“He was a psychiatrist and a college professor, retired now.”
His smile is nonexistent at this point.
“I…I didn’t think to tell you, well, because he’s retired.”
Unease seeps from him and I place my hand on his stone jaw turning him to face me. “He is the kindest man you will ever meet, and he will love you like I do.”
His eyes soften, but the light in them is weak.
“Come on, Hollywood, come have some French meatloaf.”
He nods as if my shitty pep talk worked and grips my hand as I lead him toward the house.
Within the first thirty seconds of opening the door, I’m almost positive my mother has seared off more of his confidence with her lava gaze and ice-cold greeting. It’s clear to both of us she’s holding a grudge due to our secret relationship.
We’re in the seventh circle of hell now in her sitting room waiting for my father to get home and completely at her mercy. It’s taking every bit of strength I have not to glare at her and poke the bear.
Lucas studies old pictures of me situated over the mantle and on the side tables as my mother brags about my past accomplishments like I’m a prize pig.
“She was an amazing pianist. I don’t know why she quit.”
“It got boring,” I say simply as the sides of Lucas’s mouth lift up. “Just like horse riding and everything else you wanted me to love.”
“Thank God for that,” Lucas adds. “No horse riding.”
We share a laugh, and my mother lifts a brow.
“What’s wrong with horse riding, Mr. Walker?”
“Lucas,” he corrects for the second time. “I’m just not a fan of animals. Well, actually I think it’s the other way around.”
“Why is that?”
“Just, well, the first time I pet a dog it bit me, I have the scar to prove it. And then I went to the zoo with my class when I was ten, and a monkey threw…waste at me.”
She shrugs. “That’s common.”
“I thought so too until it kept happening. The first time I swam in the ocean, I got welcomed by a school of jellyfish.”
“Ouch,” I say. “You never told me that. Those little faded scars on your back?”
He nods.
“Well, you can’t know everything about the man,” my mother pipes in, “you’ve only been sleeping with him for ten minutes.”
“Mom,” I scold, before narrowing my eyes. She shrugs sitting as pretty as she pleases with her teacup in hand.
I can’t resist. I poke the bear. “Actually, mother dearest, ten minutes isn’t accurate. Lucas is far more generous,” I suck my bottom lip through my teeth, “the last round went well over an hour and a half.”
Lucas mutters an “oh shit,’ as she chokes on a sip of tea.
“Hello all,” my father interjects as he comes into the room, his warmth casting off her dark cloud. Relief washes over me as I hug him tightly in greeting.
“Hey, Dad,” I turn to see Lucas standing, and don’t miss my mother’s eyes rolling down his form. I decide then it’s going to be a dine and dash. I can’t subject him to this. Once we’re seated at the table, I swear I hear the bell ring, and it isn’t the dinner bell.
“So, where are you from, Mr. Walker?”
“Maïwenn, please call me Lucas and I was raised in West Virginia.”
I lean in, letting her have this round even though I know it’s wrong.
“And your parents?”
“They’re still there, I think.”
“Oh?”
Lucas pats his mouth with the napkin. “I cut all ties when I got to California.”
She sips her wine. “I see.”
“Seriously, Mom? This line of questioning is a page straight from the script out of every meet the parent’s movie conversation ever had.”
“Then he’ll be able to easily follow,” she turns and flashes Lucas a sickening smile.
I white knuckle my fork.
“So, Mila tells me you worked for the press?” Lucas asks, taking the reins. I lean in and whisper to him so only he can hear me. “I love you. Great battle tactic, kill, kill, kill.” The corners of his mouth lift and he grabs my hand under the table. I’m pretty sure his palm is sweating.
“Yes, I worked with the press. But I got out when I realized the type of circus I was supporting.”
My father clears his throat with a sharply whispered, “Maïwenn,”