"Really? They are going to like you, Sarah Beth. We have gone over this enough..."
"I know... but what if you really are wrong?!"
"Sarah Beth..."
"Fine. Okay... I guess I'm just nervous."
"Just remember what I told you."
"Don't stick the fork in the toaster to get the toast out?"
"What else?"
"Don't put it in the outlet either?"
"I never said that. What did I say?"
"They look for the best in people. But-"
"Ah!"
"But Ashley-"
"No!"
"Ash! I-"
Suddenly, there was a ringing that let us know that my parents had finally arrived. We had spent all morning setting everything in place. I had to help Sarah Beth overcome her nervousness before they got here.
The door opened, and a pair of arms were thrown around me. Mum's.
"My baby! I'm so glad to see you! Oh, I've missed you!"
"I've missed you too, Mum." She let go and I saw my father, who gave me a firm, strong hug. It was not as strong as Mum's, however.
"Hey, Dad." I smiled.
"Hello, son. Happy Christmas."
"Oh, Ashley!" I heard Mum cry loudly. "Is this Sarah Beth?"
"Oh, yes, I-"
"Oh, of course it is! What was I thinking?" Mum shook the hand of Sarah Beth and hugger her. I had never seen Sarah Beth stiffer. She was as unmoving as a board, obviously too terrified to speak lest she make a bad impression.
"Hello?" Mum said again. "Ashley, what have you done to the poor girl?"
"I'm fine." Sarah Beth spoke so quickly that one could blink for a longer time. She smiled, but faltered nervously.
"She's just nervous." I explained.
"Oh... well, there's no need for that! I'll just have your father get the gumbo from the car."
"Oh? Oh, yes." Dad stammered.
Mum set the table in a flash, and Dad went to retrieve the pot of gumbo from their car. Sarah Beth pulled me to her.
"ASHLEY... WHAT IS GUMBO?"
"Food."
"BUT WHAT KIND?"
"A bit of a stew. It's something all it's own."
"With... stuff mixed in?"
"Yes."
" 'Elp me climb out the window. No, wait... your Dad will see me."
"Don't be ridiculous."
---
We ate later, and finished our appetizers that Mum made. Mum poured us some gumbo, and Sarah Beth took in its smell. She settled down a bit.
"It smells like fish."
"Shrimp," Mum said. "Difference, there is. And vegetables, too, you know."
"Is it... sa-"
"Savory, yes." I stopped her from uttering the word "safe."
"Er, yes." She tried not to say anything else, fearing that her accent would arouse question.
She ate a bit of gumbo, and her eyes actually grew wider. "So good!" She took another bite, and then another and another, forcing Mum to refill her bowl before long.
"So, Sarah Beth..." Mum began her usual "get-to-know-you" thing. "Where did you two meet each other?"
"Well..." Sarah Beth sounded different, and she spoke extremely slowly.. "Oye met heem at-uh the Old-uh Been."
I looked at the ceiling, asking God what was happening to my girlfriend. She pronounced her h's as if she had a cough, and she almost sneezed her other consonants.
"Do you've a cold, dear?" Mum looked concerned.
"Nowe, Oye'm purrfect-uh-ly foyn."
All were silent.
"Ees sowm-uh-thing-uh rawng, Ma-dam?"
"Sarah Beth, why are you talking like that?"
"Oh sweeeeetie! What-uh-evurr dooo yoooouuu meeeeeen? Oye awl-uh-wayes speeek leye-kuh deeeees..."
"Mum, she's faking her accent."
"What?" She laughed, making Sarah Beth grimace. "Honey, you don't have to do that, making yourself sound proper! Even I do not speak proper British English, even though my time here has tweaked me."
Sarah Beth gave a look of sheepish ignorance, her jaw slack. "You can change ya accen'?
"Well, more like your accent changes." My dad said. "Ashley's mum is from Louisiana."
"In America?" Sarah Beth lightened up, and I couldn't help but smile at her resilience. "Have you seen a Broadway show before, Mrs. Carter?"
"I would love to, but that's the Big Apple, for me, it was the Big Easy."
"Oh..."
---
The dinner wrapped up nicely. Mum wanted to hear a song on the keyboard from Sarah Beth, but she was still too shy to oblige. Anyway, Mum and Dad left on good terms, and Sarah Beth wanted to talk with me afterward.
"Ash, we need to talk."
"Never liked that phrase." I joked.
"Not that... it's... Mr. Dinkleberry."
"What about him?"
"I think he is discriminating against me..." She was very straightforward.
"How?"
"I try to talk to him, and he tells me to go back to the kitchen."
"We don't have a-"
"Exactly."
"Have you talked to anyone else about this?"
"Your mum. She told me to talk to you, and to keep in touch with them."
"That's good." I nodded. "I need to talk to him. What he's doing is immoral and something needs to be done about-"
Suddenly, her lips stopped me mid-sentence. We parted, and she half-smiled.
"Let's not worry about that tonight. Happy Christmas."
"Happy Christmas."
