That makestwoparents I must endure tonight—two too many.
My dad is as kind and hospitable as my mom, don’t get me wrong, but their energy is night and day. Where my mom laughs easier at jokes, my deadpan dad takes these long, painful moments to determine whether or not something deserves his laughter, and if the joke flies over his head or doesn’t immediately land, he questions it to death until there’s nothing left to laugh at.
Also, he’s a believer that aliens exist.
Apparently so is Austin.
Thus begins an entire dinner of two grown men geeking out.
“I mean, how can they not?” asks my dad with these childlike sparkles in his eyes I haven’t seen since he saw me play a dragon in my fifth grade play. Calm down, I had two lines, and my scaly skin was made out of a bed sheet with green paper plates taped to it. No one needs to revisit that cringey memory.
“Right?” Austin’s eyes are similarly lit up. “Sayin’ they don’t exist is like takin’ a teaspoon of ocean water, seein’ no sharks in it, and declarin’ sharks don’t exist! C’mon, now.”
My dad nudges my mom. “He gets it.” She and I are staring at each other across the table like neither of us know these men.
A substantial amount of time later when we all finish eating (and after far too much talking about stars, black holes, and NASA) my dad takes Austin off to show him his telescope—he has three—leaving me and Mom in the kitchen cleaning up. “They certainly hit it off,” says my mom for the third time, laughing to herself. “I don’t think your dad’s ever taken to one of your friends that fast.”
Friends.
The word goes in one ear, bothers me for half a second, then flies out the other. I glance over my shoulder at the upstairs landing, wondering what else they’re talking about, if they really are just interested in stargazing and technology, or if it’s a secret ambush mission of my father’s to figure out Austin one-on-one. I can’t even imagine how Austin will answer if my dad interrogates him on what he does for a living, how he can afford traveling all over the place, how we met—all the same questions I dreaded him asking during dinner. I should write a thank you card to the aliens of the universe for occupying them from appetizer to dessert.
“Sweetie?”
I come out of it—“Sorry.”—and return to situating our plates in the dishwasher.
“So this … Austin …” She’s already finished at the sink, toying now with an oven mitt for whatever reason, choosing her words slowly. “You two have gotten closer?”
“Yeah.” The answer comes out so fast, I feel the sudden need to elaborate. “I mean, we just hit it off back at the concert, and he and I have a lot in common, and …” I glance at the upstairs landing again. “Dad’s gonna torture him with that telescope all night. I … should probably go check on him.”
“They’re fine. Why don’t you let themcontinuehitting it off?” She tosses the oven mitt onto the counter, then leans against it, gazing at me thoughtfully. “Austin’s easy to talk to, huh?”
“Yeah,” I answer distractedly, my eyes still upstairs.
“Tell me more about him. You both bonded over music? At a concert? I still can’t picture it,” she adds with a light chuckle. “I’m still trying to imagine you bouncing around in a mosh pit.”
I snort. “Not really a ‘mosh pit’ situation. Opening act, maybe, but a lot of their music is too whiny for a mosh pit. It’s metal-lite, goth-adjacent rock with both a softerandharder edge …? I dunno. Miranda is obsessed with them. Or their guitarist, at least.”
“Miranda?”
“Someone else I met at the same concert as Austin. She’s kind of cuckoo bananas. Cusses a lot. I gave her my spare ticket.”
“You had a spare—?”
“It’s a long story. I didn’t even want to go. I’m … awfully glad I did, though. Austin and I … we just … sort of … happened.” I catch myself smiling—then forget who I’m talking to—and let out a sigh. “I really should go save him. Dad has a way. Y’know how it is.” And before my mom can protest again, I’m out of the kitchen heading up the stairs to rescue Austin.
He didn’t need rescuing.
They’re literally laughing at something when I find them, like the two are best friends already with a secret handshake and a members-only tree house they’re about to climb into together.
Who the hell did I invite into my life?
“I like your parents,” he tells me later as we chill on a pair of loungers by the guest wing swimming pool, out of sight. The stars are out. Moon, too, almost full. Our first day together is already on its way out. “Think they’re warmin’ up to me.”
“For now,” I mumble, curled onto my side, just a throw of my arm away from cuddling him. I’m tempted to do it anyway, Mom and Dad be damned. “You’re just lucky my dad’s as much of a nerd for astrology as you are.”
“Astronomy,” he softly corrects me—I blink—then says, “and I can’t help lovin’ on those stars. When I’m out on the road, they’re my only companions. Those little guys up there remind me how teeny-tiny I am in this big-ass universe. Makes my problems look a lot smaller, too.”
I just want to be on the same lounger by his side, kissing him.