Drinks 'n Dares

Chapter Seventeen - Meeting The Parents...Dear God Help Me (Part 2)

Chapter Seventeen – Meeting The Parents...Dear God Help Me (Part 2)

Claire's POV

Needless to say, Jon was right. As usual. His first dinner together with all of family was interesting to say the least. Actually, interesting was putting it mildly. The moment Rachel arrived home with Gran and Aunty Betty in tow, our house became a mad house. Gran was all over Jon, remarking over how big and strong he was (at which point Brett was miming being sick) and how good he and I looked together. For Aunty Betty, who unlike Gran hadn't met him before, it was an even greater delight. Hugs and kisses flew like confetti at a wedding. Arms were squeezed and there was much mock-secretive whispering as they huddled close to regale Jon yet another tale of some embarrassing thing I'd done as a child. To tell the truth I was starting to agree with Brett. Rachel however, after we'd hugged and caught up, told me that she thought the whole thing was adorable. She, at least, was highly amused. And she soon told me that she thought Jon was 'smokin' hot.' "That one's a keeper." She winked. I was pretty sure I saw my dad rolling his eyes. But hey, considering what her mum was like, Rachel was extremely normal. A little dramatic sometimes but she was also my only female ally who was my age; a refreshing contrast among a sea of males.

Eventually the whirlwind of relatives retreated to the kitchen and Jon was left in peace. Rachel got cracking with the salad, I helped mum with the meal, Aunty Betty helped herself to the wine ("Very important to test the glug," she told me. "You have to make sure you're serving quality.") and Gran floated round the edges telling everyone what to do and generally doing nothing. She was rather helpful however, when we were trying to convert pounds into kilograms to measure out something or other. The family cats lurked around the edges eager for anything we might be clumsy enough to drop. They were mindful however to stay out from under out feet. One person though, wasn't so clever. Partway through Jon came into the kitchen asking if he could be of any assistance. Watching him try to retain his dignity as he was shooed out by my mother, grandmother and aunt was a sight that made it difficult for Rachel and I to restrain ourselves from giggling. No doubt he found it terribly sexist; the men watching rugby while the women worked in the kitchen. But that was just how it was in my house. It was what I was used to.

"Now why in the world would we need a man to tell us how to run the kitchen?" Aunty Betty laughed. Mum pinched her on the arm and ignored her indignant yelp.

"Thank you Jon, for your offer, but we have five of us in here already. I think we'll manage just fine." My mother smiled.

Jon faltered. He was obviously running out of steam in his men-should-be-allowed-to-cook-too speech. The whole thing was made even funnier by the fact that Gran currently had her back to him and was trying to push him out of the kitchen by force. He hadn't moved an inch.

"Face it Jon." Rachel said with a silky laugh. "In this house the women rule the kitchen and the men get out of the way."

His indignant reply was cut off by unearthly shrieking. He must have jumped about a foot in the air, something that would have sent Rachel and me into hysterics, if it weren't for Gran's more immediate reaction. She jumped about, cursing like a very conservative and well-spoken sailor and clutching at her ankle. The cause of her pain was clear. In all her rumpus to move Jon out of the kitchen she'd stepped on the tail of a cat and had received a slashing for her clumsiness. It was hard to say which of the two was more surprised.

"What the-?"

Aunty Betty, who was leaning against the bench watching Gran hop around with calm disinterest, said, "Jon, meet Tom and Jerry." She pointed to the two cats. The black and white cat that was still hissing at Gran from its place by the refrigerator she introduced as Tom. "Jerry's the little one." She poked a finger in his direction. He was hard to miss; the little brown cat was weaving its way around Jon's ankles and purring loud enough that if my cat Gatto was here he would have been put to shame.