The elevator doors open. I’m reeling. Did we just enter into an actual, adult, committed relationship? He holds my hand as we walk down the street. I can’t stop smiling.
He glances at me. “Cat got your tongue, El?”
“I’m happy, is all.”
“Happy,” he muses, like it’s an emotion he’s not familiar with.
“There is something I should probably warn you about, though.”
“Oh, shit, is your dad a huge motherfucker? Is he going to talk to me about safe sex or some shit like that?”
I laugh. “You’re bigger than him and no, he won’t talk about sex. But you should know they really liked Corey.”
“Great. They love your ex. So what you’re saying is I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell to impress them.”
He wants to impress them? This night is already going better than I expected.
“I didn’t say that. I just wanted you to know. Maybe don’t cuss a lot around them. You know, tone down the rock star.”
“You don’t think they’ll like me the way I am?”
“They will eventually. You’re an acquired taste, Liam. I don’t want them to get the wrong impression.”
“Fine. I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“There they are.” I point ahead.
Mom pulls me into her arms. “Sweetie!”
Then Dad gives me a hug. I hug him extra tight and long, feeling bad for what Mom did to him.
When I finally let go, I make introductions. “Mom, Dad, this is Liam. Liam, my parents, Ann and Peter.”
They shake hands.
“Our table is ready,” Dad says.
We are seated and place our drink orders.
“Liam, what’s your last name?” Mom asks.
Liam looks at me, surprised I hadn’t told them. “Campbell.”
Dad glances between us. “You don’t say?”
Mom chuckles. “Have you checked to make sure you aren’t related?”
“We’re not. I’m a Campbell by adoption,” Liam says.
“What are your parents’ names?” Dad asks him. “Maybe we know them.”
Liam tenses. “Colleen and … Don.”
“Hmm,” Dad says. “Can’t say that I do.”
I don’t like where this is going. I pick up the menu. “What’s good here?”
As my parents go over the entrées and tell me what they like, Liam squeezes my knee. I put my hand under the table and give his a pat. He traps mine and holds it.
“The broiled scallops sound good,” I say. I turn to Liam. “What about you?”
“I’m going for the sirloin.”
“Ah, a fellow carnivore,” Dad says. “A boy after my own heart.”
Mom scolds him. “Liam’s hardly a boy. What are you, twenty-five?”
“Twenty-four, ma’am.”
I raise my brows at him. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him be so formal. I can tell he has no idea what to say or how to act. I feel bad for agreeing to this.
“Pish, stop with the ma’am,” Mom says. “Call me Ann.”
After the waitress takes our order, Dad quizzes me about the books I’m illustrating. Then he turns to Liam. Here we go.
“Ella tells us you’re in a rock band.”
“Yes, sir. I play guitar.”
Sir? I give him a sideways glance. He mouths, “What?”
“And this band is the reason my daughter followed you to Florida? What’s it called, Reckless something or other?”
“Daddy, you promised.”
“I’m just making conversation, pumpkin.”
“She didn’t follow me,” Liam says. “She came because I invited her. We weren’t, um, together or anything. But she inspired me.”
“Liam writes music for Reckless Alibi. Not the lyrics but the melodies.”
Dad’s eyebrows shoot up. “A composer?”
Liam nods.
“Impressive,” Dad says.
I squeeze Liam’s hand.
Dad tops off his glass of wine. “Where do you see yourself in the long term, Liam?”
“Still with Reckless Alibi.”
“Kind of a pipe dream, don’t you think? Wanting to be in a rock band in your thirties and forties? What kind of life can that be? Do you expect your wife to support you?”
“Daddy,” I warn.
“It’s okay,” Liam says to me. He looks my dad straight in the eye. “The average record sells just over 11,000 copies. The average record from an indie label, like ours, sells less than 2,000. Reckless Alibi’s first album has sold more than 50,000 copies in under a year. We’ve got two others and are about to cut our fourth. My bank account is fat, and I don’t expect that to change anytime soon. We’re only at the beginning of being famous. So I plan to be in a rock band until the day I die.” He glances at me to see my surprise. Then he turns back to my dad. “Sir.”
Dad stares him down. There is a lot of tension in the air. Finally, his palm meets the table. “Okay, I stand corrected.”