Black Smoke

Building Blocks

"I'll have the Chicken Parmigiana, and the lady would like the  Gourmet Mushroom Risotto."

It wasn't as awkward as I thought it would be. We had walked into a table seating five. As Vanessa had stated, her parents were already seated, two figures dressed nicely awaiting our arrival. Our surroundings were something out of a Hallmark Movie, with decorations that had to have cost thousands of dollars. Was this normal for her family? The moment alone being together at this point just oozed with high expectations and standards. I nearly wanted to run out of the restaurant and escape the ongoing nightmare, but I had no choice. I was here now, and her parents had already seen what I looked like.
There was no turning back. 

"Definitely! Good choice, Sir," the waiter sang, bringing me back to reality. He then turned his attention over to Vanessa.

Her dad was completely different from what they had described him to be. For all I heard the mother was Hispanic, and if I knew any better, those were the kinds of mothers to watch out for.

"Fettuccine Alfredo," Vanessa answered.

Her dad had some wire glasses with a white long-sleeve dress shirt, black slacks, and brown dress shoes. His beard was neatly trimmed and slightly curled. He could pass for Italian if his skin wasn't so dark complected. Something told me he measured the blades of grass on his lawn every chance he got, and woke the family up on Sunday mornings to make the early mass at a nearby church. He didn't give off "religious", but my guess was he played everything by the book.

"Very wise, ma'am," the waiter continued. Melanie ordered after her, and before I knew it, his small beady eyes turned to me. "And you, Sir?" I imagined he was judging me quietly on the inside as he waited for my answer. They probably had expectations of their own as the employees of the establishment. I might as well have stuck a note to my forehead saying LOST because that's exactly how I felt being seated in a possible three hundred dollar chair.

"Lasagna," I muttered, my voice a bit shaky. I had never really been out to a place this fancy, nor did I know much having to do with Italian food. "Lasagna is fine." Safe choice.

He just nodded. No Good choice or Very wise comment for me. 

There were many things wrong with this picture. First of all, out of the entire group here, I was the most underdressed. I could see from the corner of my eye Mrs. Taylor glancing at the length of my hair, and then Mr. Taylor right after studying my frame. They were sizing me up and weren't even TRYING to hide it. My hands got fidgety under the table. I know they couldn't tell, but my toes were practically scraping at the soles of my shoes with how anxious they were making me feel.

"So, Zayden," Mrs. Taylor mentioned once the waiter had left the table. "I've heard stories. Is it true you're a fan of baseball as well?"

"What?" I asked, confused about the conversation, only to receive a hopeful glance from Vanessa.

"Oh! Um...I mean, I don't know much, but my dad and I used to watch it sometimes during dinner." A set-up. It had to have been. Right out of the gate, Vanessa was lying to her parents about me. Lies I didn't even know about! "It's not a top favorite hobby of mine though-"

"Oh? What is then?" Mr. Taylor followed right after. 

"Music," I answered quickly, hoping not to seem a bit rude. "I have a radio in my room, and I-"

"Music? What genre? Or maybe you play?" 

"Oh! A musician?" 

What was with the questionnaire? Her parents weren't hesitant at all to bombard me left and right. Were there more lies Vanessa told them? How was I supposed to follow up? Yes? No? I eyed Vanessa, feeling my ears burn up.