Dear Bridget, I Want You(83)
It was the Friday evening of the proposal. Both Bridget and I had the entire weekend off. She was getting dressed while I paced in the living room, practicing what I was going to say to her later. It surprised me how nervous I was. I wanted it to be perfect.
My cell phone rang, disrupting my thoughts.
“Hello?”
“Simon, it’s your mother.”
“Mum? It’s late there. Is everything alright?”
“Yes, son. Everything is lovely. Your father and I just landed in Boston.”
“What?”
“Don’t sound so thrilled.”
“You’re here in the States?”
“Your dad is renting a car. So, we’ll be driving up in your direction. Are you still living with that woman? I just punched the address from your Christmas card into the navigation.”
Shit. This could not be happening.
“Yes, that’s the one.”
I let out a long breath. Ever since my last trip home, my relationship with my parents had been strained, particularly with my mother. The few conversations I’d had with her were all about how I was going to regret my decision to be away from my family forever. My dad kept quiet overall, but I knew he agreed with her. I was an only child, and they wanted me to carry on the family legacy in Leeds, take over their properties. My mother was convinced that Bridget wasn’t right for me for the sheer fact that she’d been married before and had a child. And as much as I hated to admit it, I knew it was also partly because she was American. The only thing I ever kept from Bridget were my conversations with my parents. I couldn’t burden her with their nonsense. It would’ve broken her heart. The problem with that, though, was that now she wouldn’t be the least bit prepared for any kind of confrontation.
“Your father and I thought it was about time we came to check things out.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell me you were coming first so that I could’ve prepared?”
“We knew you’d discourage it. Dad had some miles that were going to expire next week, so we decided to call British Airways on a whim. And here we are. We’ll see you in about an hour.”
Bloody hell. This was going to be a nightmare.
Simon stood at the doorway as I put my earrings on. When I turned to him, I could see from the look on his face, that something was wrong.
“Simon?”
“I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans tonight, luv.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this…but my parents are on their way over.”
“What? They’re here? In the US?”
“Yes. They landed in Boston and are driving here as we speak.”
My blood was pumping.
“Oh my God.”
“I’m so sorry that we have to cancel our date. You have no idea how much.”
“Are you kidding? We can always go to WaterFire. It’s not every day your parents are here. I’ve always wanted to meet them. I just expected a little more warning.”
“Bridget, there’s something you should—”
“I have to run to Shaw’s.” There was no time to talk. I needed to food shop. “We have nothing to offer them. I can’t have your parents here with an empty fridge.”
He followed me around in my frenzy. “Why don’t we just take them out?”
“I can’t do that. These are your parents. I need to welcome them into our home, need to cook for them.”
“Bridget, we need—”
“There’s no time!” Panicking, I grabbed my purse and ran out of the bedroom. “I’ll be back.”
At the grocery store, I’d run into every problem imaginable. Ingredients I needed weren’t in stock, causing me to have to substitute. The lines were long.
Once home, I felt frazzled as I entered the kitchen to find Simon standing there with his parents.
Holy shit. His parents!
Simon’s mother was a statuesque blonde, exactly how I might have pictured her to look. He’d shown me a family picture once, but it was taken some years ago. His father’s hair was white but looked like it might have been blond as well back in the day. Simon definitely looked like his dad. Both of his parents were really tall.
Out of breath, I rushed toward them. “Mr. and Mrs. Hogue. It’s so good to finally meet you.”
As soon as the words exited my mouth, the bottom of the brown paper grocery bag I’d been holding gave way, unleashing the entire carton of eggs onto the ground, but worse—onto Simon’s mother’s feet.
Panicking, I got down on my hands and knees, literally scooping the broken eggshells and yokes up with my hands. “I’m so sorry. Oh my God.”