Sheryl didn’t know much about barbecues, but perhaps Dr. Park was under the impression that she did. “Gorgeous,” she said.
“Can I offer you some tea?” Kristin’s mother asked, her voice high and tight.
“That would be lovely.” Sheryl shot her a smile. It was strange to, at the same time, meet two brand new people to her, and be bombarded by features that reminded her of Kristin, the woman she had gotten to know very intimately in the past few weeks.
They huddled around the barbecue, as though it was a big treat to see the man of the house grill sausages. Kristin and her father drank wine, while Kristin’s mother seemed to be greatly enjoying the tea she served. Sheryl stood in between them all, between the Parks, of which the older ones had magically produced the most divine child, a woman who made Sheryl’s head spin every time she looked at her fine features, her slightly upturned nose, that pout in her lips.
When she’d first met her ex-girlfriend Andrea’s parents, Sheryl had been convinced it would be awkward, that she wouldn’t know how to behave, because she barely remembered what it was like to be in the same room with the two people who had made you out of their love—or, at the very least, a night of passion together. But when Andrea had taken her home and introduced her to her parents, all the awkwardness had slipped away, as though it had never even been there in the first place, and Sheryl had talked and talked, making up for all the family time she had lost—albeit with another person’s parents.
It was the same that night. Sheryl struck up an easy conversation with Kristin’s father, while her mother hurried in and out of the kitchen. Mid sentence, she would catch Kristin’s eye, and notice how she stood there beaming. For both of them, in their own way, this was a big night.
“Can you keep an eye on these please, Sheryl?” Kristin’s father offered her the instrument he’d been handling the meat with. “Please excuse me for a moment.” With a graceful stride, he went inside.
“Christ,” Sheryl said. “That man is very serious about his sausages.”
“Everything rides on you not burning them,” Kristin said. “If you do, it’ll be West Side Story all over again.”
They stood there snickering, while a warm glow unfurled in Sheryl’s belly.
“They love me,” Sheryl whispered.
“So do I,” Kristin said, scooted a little closer and, just as her father came back out onto the terrace, planted a kiss on Sheryl’s cheek.
Kristin flinched as she heard him and put some distance between them. All he did was shoot them a big smile as he slapped Sheryl on the back casually, and began inspecting the meat again.
“This salad is wonderful. Which dressing did you use?” Sheryl asked Kristin’s mother.
While her mother rattled off all the ingredients—apple cider vinegar, sesame seeds, olive oil—Kristin tried to gauge the level of stress around the table. The person who seemed most relaxed was Sheryl, who had already explained in understandable language what exactly she was writing her doctorate’s dissertation about.
While her father had been in his element when manning the barbecue, expecting Sheryl to be just as besotted with the equipment as he was, his jaw was now set and he chewed in a very controlled, tense manner.
But it didn’t matter because Kristin was in the middle of an evening she had always believed would never come. She had brought her girlfriend home to meet her parents and no big dramas had transpired. Sure, there were some uncomfortable silences, which Sheryl always quickly filled, and her dad had gone a little overboard with the barbecue bonding, while her mother had played the part of zealous Korean housewife a little to the extreme as a way to hide her nerves, but it could only get better from then on.
Moreover, Kristin had the—perhaps silly—idea that she could give Sheryl a sense of family. That once her parents had gotten completely past the idea of their daughter being in a relationship with another woman, her parents’ house, the home where she’d grown up in, could become a safe, homely haven for Sheryl as well; could give her something she’d missed since the age of twelve. Because, if anything, that’s what Kristin wanted to give to Sheryl. A warm place to come home to. The sort of love she’d received from her parents: unconditional, regardless of expectations.
Kristin might have been nervous about coming out, about disappointing her parents and the dreams they might have had for her, but, deep down, she had always known that, even though it would make them uncomfortable and perhaps even sad for a while, they would still be there. As long as they lived, she would have their support, no matter who she was. A thought Kristin wouldn’t have been so stupidly grateful for if she had been sitting at that dining table with anyone else but Sheryl, whose father was still alive but, from what Sheryl had told her, didn’t care one bit who his daughter fell in love with. Even if Kristin’s parents had openly disapproved of her relationship with Sheryl, Kristin would still have gotten more than the total indifference Sheryl received from her only surviving parent.