“Hello, I’m Easton.” Easton put out his hand to shake my parents’.
My dad pulled out of his confusion first, giving Easton and me his disapproving glare, which if I was being honest was his normal face when he was with me.
My dad, ever the misogynist, shook Easton’s hand. “Hello, I’m Rachel’s dad, Tim, and this is my wife, Sheryl.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Easton said, layering on the charm.
I wanted to laugh at the look my mom was giving him, but having Easton meet my parents was just giving them more ammo for their disappointment rants.
“I was just going to get ready to take my parents to breakfast.” I elbowed Easton without even a grunt from him, but my elbow didn’t appreciate the move.
“Go get dressed and I’ll entertain them and we can all go,” Easton said, kissing the top of my head.
“Don’t you have an important meeting you need to get to this morning?” I enlarged my eyes, wanting him to see that he should bow out.
“Nah, nothing is more important than breakfast. And besides, I’d love to get to know your parents.”
I hate this man. At least he’s making it easier to break things off with him.
After a few more attempts trying to get Easton to see what a horrible idea going to breakfast would be, my dad finally lost his patience with me.
“Rachel, the man said he wanted to go to breakfast with us. You need to stop being so argumentative.”
“I swear we taught her better,” my mom chided, needing to put her dig in to make sure my dad wasn’t ahead in the hurt Rachel department.
“I like her just the way she is. Only boring people want docile women.”
Realizing there was no getting out of breakfast, I went to my room to get ready. I put on a pair of jeans and a JackholeS T-shirt, throwing my hair up in a bun. I put some eyeshadow on, thankful for my eyelash girl, and swiped some lip gloss on after brushing my teeth. I took a deep breath and pushed into my tennis shoes.
“Oh, honey, we would have waited longer if you wanted to do your hair and makeup,” my mom, who was also wearing jeans and a T-shirt with little makeup on, chided.
Hypocrite.
“I think you look beautiful,” Easton said, kissing me on the nose.
“Well, hopefully she doesn’t age like her mom,” my dad said.
My parents also like to be mean to each other. I always told myself it was their way of showing love.
Yes, I’m delusional.
“Or your mother,” my mom shot back.
“Okay, just follow us,” I said when I ushered them out to their car.
Easton handed me the keys to his car, and I was afraid my dad’s head was going to explode. Women were passengers and second-class citizens according to my dad, and my mom, too.
“I don’t know where we’re going,” Easton explained, jumping into the passenger seat.
I climbed in and took a deep breath, and then another, my hands shaking from the encounter.
“If my dad wasn’t out there, I would make you drive. I’m too upset to be behind the wheel of a moving vehicle.”
“You’ll be perfect, Trouble.” Easton’s hand landed on my thigh, and even though I didn’t want it to be, the pressure was comforting. “Besides, I figured driving would get your mind off of what is about to happen.”
He was right. I pulled out of the driveway and purposely drove slowly, knowing my dad hated slow drivers. I made sure I stopped at stop signs and counted to three, obeying the traffic laws so well I would have passed a driver’s test.
“Is this how you drive every day?” I asked, wanting to lighten the mood.