Where We Begin

Chapter 22 - The New Boy I've Been Talking About

July 22nd, 2002 - Taylor

"I don't know about this." Busta's voice came muffled from inside the pool house.

"What's the worst that could happen?" I tried to sound optimistic.

In reality, I had no idea how this was going to go. The only other boy I'd ever brought home for dinner was Kit. Kit, who was a football player and an honor student. Kit, who would someday take over his father's business. Kit, who's family were lifetime members of the Mt Blue Country Club and pillars of the community.

My parent's never explicitly told me I should date boys like that, but it just seemed to be the way things worked. It was easy. My dad golfed with Mr Shaw, my mom played tennis with Mrs Shaw, and I fooled around with their son behind the pro shop. 

Somewhere over the course of my life, I decided that my type was any guy who looked like a J.Crew model, had a trust fund and wore boat shoes. My boyfriend should be someone who grew up like I did, who had a family like mine, because it would make everyone happy. Kit fit that description perfectly. But I had to learn that as great as we looked to everyone around us, I wasn't happy. Even before he cheated on me, the relationship had gone stale. I just convinced myself that was normal. 

"Well, Taylor, a lot could happen," Busta continued from behind the door. "They could laugh in my face and tell me I'm never to see you again and so I can't be your landscaper anymore and then I'll get fired and I won't have a girlfriend or a job anymore and I'll go back to rotting in my room alone." 

I cut off his rambling. "Sweetie, come on. 'Never to see me again'? You make it sound like this is some fairy tale, where I am a princess who's going to be locked away in a tower by my parents."

"Parents who want to keep their princess from kissing any frogs."

Busta opened the door. He frowned and gestured to his outfit, khakis and a pale green button down that I helped him pick out a couple days ago. His hair was combed back, away from his eyes, making the blue highlights in it barely visible. I could tell from where I sat that his tie was tied all wrong. He looked back longingly at his dirty, ripped work jeans that were balled up in the corner.

"Busta, you look so nice! Why are you acting so miserable?" I rose from my pool chair and walked over to him. 

"I'm not sure this is a great idea, doing this right after I worked here today. It got me all nervous. And I don't like these pants. I should go home and we can do this another day when I have better pants." 

I took his hand. "Relax. It's not going to be that bad. You've met them both a couple of times already by working here. They like you. They shouldn't have a problem when they find out you are the new boy I've been talking about." 

"Except they are picturing someone who would actually wear this outfit by choice," he mumbled.

"You said you liked this when we were at the store! Busta, I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable, but you asked me to help you find quote-unquote nice clothes."

"I know, I know. I thought it was what you would want though. Now I feel stupid, because this doesn't feel like me. I want to be me, but like be the best me, so that I can impress your parents. But I don't want to try so hard that I'm not me at all anymore, because then if they like me, it wouldn't really be me. It would be the me trying to be what I think they want me to be." 

He was rambling. He exhaled and collected his thoughts. "You are favorite thing in the world. I don't want to screw this up."

A smile spread across my face and my nerves settled. I rested my hands on Busta's chest and leaned in to gently kiss him.