Rosie Labrun is a lot of things: a college student on the cusp of graduation; an intern for the Portland Pirates, a romance novel connoisseur; and the most recent addition to her resume...the girlfriend of a professional athlete.
She won't let it d...
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When Erik asked me to come to Toronto with him for the holidays, I thought that his family would be providing the food. Yet, here I am on Christmas Eve, feeling more like the turkey that's about to be devoured, than the roast beef on the table.
I've been preheated, prepared; told all about his family by the King (Erik) himself. I've been seasoned and stuffed; not by Erik - though, I'd be lying if I said he hasn't stuffed me a few dozen times. No, I'm talking about Cassidy; and Link; and everyone else that's been trying to make me feel comfortable since I walked through the front door.
I've waited. Sat in the oven getting hotter and hotter until I felt like I was about to burst; or burn to death; or preferably, both. And now, here I am - sitting in the middle of the table and looking at the roast beef as I wonder when we're going to switch spots.
The answer, ladies and gentleman, is exactly five minutes and thirty-two seconds into dinner. "So, how did you two meet?" Erik's mom asks, curious eyes gleaming across the table at me. I'm sure she thinks that we met on Tinder, Bumble, one of those low-hanging fruit dating apps.
We swiped and swiped and had one-night stands (which I wouldn't mention to her) and eventually, I met the love of my life, the King. And after a coffee date and walk around a block, we realized we were just meant for each other. Now we're going to live in the suburbs and have 2.5 kids and a mortgage I can't pay.
"Uh." I stammer, sounding a lot more confident in my head in my explanations than I ever have when I speak aloud. If only there was a way to mirror the confidence my boyfriend has; or the ability he has to charmingly, change the subject. If only it were something that was contagious; I would have it rubbed all over, by now. "Online."
Erik starts coughing - no, choking on his wine. It's fancy and overpriced and was probably delivered here straight from Italy by someone's grandma. Who smiled and nodded as they handed it over to one of their many servants that travel around this mansion called a house.
"Are you okay?" I ask him, looking over with concern as his coughs fill up the room. I'm trying to determine if this is his way of creating a diversion; or if he just got worried I was going to tell his parents the story of how we actually met. The truth behind our "love story".
But I've never really known what to do in this kind of situation - whether to slap his back a few times or give him the hymnic maneuver. I hope he doesn't die, because that would mean having to face this dinner alone. Oh. And I guess I would also miss him.
"I'm fine." He responds after a solid minute of coughing. His face is red, mirroring the shade that my cheeks feel - or should I start calling myself a pig. I think their skin is usually a mixture between red and pink; so, maybe it would be fitting? "Mom. Can we hold off on the questions till after dinner?" He asks her, making it seem as though the lack of interrogating was a stipulation in him agreeing to come here.
But like with all contracts, there's always fine print.
"What? I'm just trying to get to know Rosie, here." She tells him, giving him the innocent smile of a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar. Or maybe I'm just imagining her vengeance because my own mother has far too much of it; or maybe it's because I know she was recently slamming bodies with his former coach.
