Shut Up And Kiss Me (gxg) ✓

43. End of the F*cking World

TODAY WAS JANUARY 27th, and possibly the end of the fucking world.

Monroe was coming over for dinner tonight. And it would either go terribly . . . or terribly.

It wasn't that I didn't have faith in Mom. She had apologized, after all. But Dad refused to acknowledge Monroe's existence, so a whole meal in which he ignored her wouldn't exactly be pleasant.

When Monroe arrived, six o'clock sharp, she brought a bouquet of orchids, petunias, and―of course―violets. I melted as I took it from her, and she kissed the corner of my mouth.

"Monroe," said Mom, faltering a bit. For a moment, I froze. What if she took back everything she had said? What if she hadn't really meant it? But then she added, "It's―um, it's good to have you."

She was trying. At least she was trying.

Dad was already seated at the table. When Monroe and I entered the kitchen, he didn't even look up. Mom bustled around, her yellow oven mitts glaringly bright in the evening dimness, and I cleared my throat.

"Dad, this is . . . Monroe," I said.

Don't be awkward. Don't be awkward. Dad coughed. He flipped to the middle of his newspaper. The headline read: SWIMMING POOL BREAK-IN. He turned the page.

I glanced at Monroe. She glanced back. There was a faint smile tugging on the corner of her mouth. At least one of us was at ease here. I was about to lose my mind.

The silence seemed too loud in between the clatter of the plates and Mom opening the oven. A wave of heat brought warmth to my cheeks, and I felt oddly like I was blushing. Monroe's hand cupped my waist, pulling me slightly into her. I didn't think anyone noticed, thank God. The touch relaxed me.

"Here, take your, um, seats," said Mom, setting down a tray of glazed lamb chops. "Honey, have you . . ." She wiped her hands nervously on her apron. "Honey?"

"Yes, Celia?"

Why was he being so petty? I couldn't believe Dad had it in him to act like a child. Ignoring my girlfriend's existence while she was right here in front of him? That was a whole new level of asshole.

Something hummed inside of me, and I was about to smack my palm flat on the table and say―I didn't know what. Something. But then Claudia skipped down the stairs. When she saw Monroe, her face lit up.

Monroe grinned. Claudia launched herself into Monroe. A hug that took them both back several steps.

"How's my favourite fourteen-year-old?" said Monroe.

"I'm wonderful," said Claudia. "Jubilant. Exuberant, now that you're here."

Mom watched the exchange with her head tilted, just a bit, a faraway look in her eyes. I couldn't tell what she was thinking―I just hoped she wasn't regretting the dinner invitation. As we took our seats, a small smile grew on her lips. "Who's first?"

Once we all had food―honey-glazed lamb and spiced edamame beans―Dad cleared his throat.

"So," he said. "Monroe."

It was . . . progress. Until he peered at her above his glasses, frowning.

"What career are you interested in?" he asked.

Monroe glanced at me before answering. "Something in the justice department, sir. A firefighter, I hope."

"She got into NYU," I added, squeezing her hand under the table. "Early acceptance. It's official."