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irwinwe

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"So, you say you're progressing beautifully in your research, and doing well in your studies, but what about everything else?" My mom asked, "have you met a lot of interesting people?"

I smiled, and on a huff of laughter, looked down at my fingers.  "Well..." I started.

My dad studied me overtop his glass of scotch whiskey.  He was a whiskey connoisseur, and I had taken my parents to one of my favorite pubs just so he could experience a vast span of the honey-colored liquid.  He allowed the liquid to stain his tongue a while, and then he swallowed, exhaled, and spoke.  

"I'll be damned" he said with a twinkle in his eyes, "by the glow in her cheeks, I'd say she's met a man."

My eyes grew three times their normal size.  I opened my mouth to ask him how the heck he knew, but then shut it again, thinking better than to underestimate his ability to read me.  

"Have you?" my mother asked me, with her brows raised.  Then she pulled out her pointing finger and went up into a whirlwind tizzy.  "Now, you know that I told you not to start dating people over here.  Remember?  There is no way you're going to fall in love with someone from a different country.  You'll marry him and then you'll live over here and we'll lose you forever.  Absolutely not.  This is one of the reasons I didn't want you to come over here."

"Just let her speak, Jeri" my dad said to her, "her life is her life to live after all."  Then he looked at me.  "Go on, honey."

I sighed.  Great.  So here I was, doggy-paddling futilely in a pool of quandary, no way out other than to tell the truth and still, my truth would lead me out into a thunderstorm.  My dad would be on my side, but my mom would likely be the inevitable "rock" that stopped the "idealistic endeavors" that I so often sought.  I rather liked to envision her as a super-loving control freak with shackles and keys.  Good thing I could run fast.  Nevertheless, my deep connection with Kane, and my very strange relationship with Iain, were very real matters in my life, and were consuming much of my thoughts away from my research.  So I had to face the thunderstorm.   

"Well...there are these two men..." I began, trying to find a good way to start the explanation.

"Oh gosh" my mom said to herself and brought her hand to her forehead, "not one man...two...men."  Then she looked back up to me.  "What are you thinking?  Are you seeing both of them simultaneously?  Is it serious?  Why didn't you tell us this over the phone?"

"Jeri, let her speak" my dad said again, reaching for my mom's hands and smiling good-naturedly.  My mom closed her eyes and exhaled.  

"Okay" she said, slightly calmer, "who are they?"

And just as I was about to admit that I was partially in love with my professor, and just as I had braced myself for my mother's breakdown with regards to it, my life tumbled into a perfectly Shakespearean set of events.  It was from that moment forward that coincidence chose me as its unlikely beneficiary.  

Suddenly I felt two large, and very familiar, hands on my shoulders.  They squeezed lightly, and then their possessor's lips came down to my ear to whisper in such a private way that, of course, mom and dad would raise their brows, look at each other with the hmm expression on their faces, and turn back to me for explanation. 

Hellfire and damnation, I thought to myself, Iain Ross, if you know what is good for you, you will stop this instant.  But he wouldn't.  I knew he wouldn't.  Iain Ross did what he wanted, when he wanted, and he didn't give a single damn who was watching. 

"Halo, lovely" I felt him whisper.  I shuddered slightly as I felt his lips briefly graze my ear, and I just new my cheeks were beginning to blend in with the hot pink cashmere sweater I was wearing.  Then he rose again to his full height of nearly six and a half feet and dazzled my parents with his colgate-television-commericial-quality smile.  

"Iain Ross" he said as he extended his hand to my dad boldly, looking him dead on.  "And I'm assuming you're Ellen's parents?"

Iain had a strong, exuberant handshake, and my parents were visibly intrigued by him as introductions were made.  Of course, he had his charm turned-up to one of the highest notches I'd ever seen.  I stared in slight awe and shook my head as I watched him go to work.  He was reeling in my mother like a charter boat captain would reel in a deep sea grouper, easily, as though he'd done it millions of times in the past and could do it now in his sleep.  And it just so happend that he was also dressing the part of the easy charmer.  He was wearing black slacks and a sharp red button-down shirt, making him appear the epitome of GQ, exactly the type my mom envisioned to be standing opposite me on the alter in her dreams of my wedding day.  Her eyes lit up when he shook her hand.  Then she ravished me with them, as if to say, in a sudden change of heart about foreign men, I hope he's one of the men you were going to mention.

"Ellen is one of my research partners" Iain explained.  He turned to look at me then, and my face was slightly downcast, so he placed his finger under my chin and tipped it up, smiling indolently at me.  

My dad grinned at this phrase and subsequent set of subtly intimate actions, but whereas I would have normally rejoiced at that grin, I now dreaded it, because I knew exactly what he was getting ready to say.  My dad and I thought on the same level, and he was going to make a sexual innuendo out of that statement.  A quite liberal one.  I foolishly thought for a second that he would realize now was not the time.  But I was wrong.

"Research pardners?" he asked, "Or just...pardners?"

"Dad!" I said, just as both men burst out laughing.  My mom looked at me with raised eyebrows.  I exhaled with exasperation.

"Fine!" I said, finally, ready to make a declaration.  "We are not partners...well we are but not...you know.  We've just been on a few dates.  Okay?  I'm...dating him...sort of."  I wasn't with Iain.  But I assumed it would be legitimate to tell them, however, that I was dating him, as we had been on a few dates-turned-reckless-adventures, or dates-turned-fights, including the Christmas party and a few times after that. 

Iain smiled broadly at me, as if he hadn't heart the sort of part, and then took his self-assumed place beside me in the booth, the warmth of his hand when he palmed my thigh searing my flesh through my jeans.  I'd never admitted that we had been "dating" before, and he was apparently very pleased.  He was also apparently very comfortable now making his public claim on my body.  I tried to ignore his hand, but then again, he began moving his thumb back and forth over the indigo fabric, and it was like being constantly reminded of his intimate presence.  

"Oh" my mother said in her best southern drawl, brown eyes dilated, "Well, Iain, you'll have to tell us all about yourself.  How did you and Ellen meet?  What is your topic of research?  How long have you been studyin' at St. Andrews?"

"Oh and, while your at it, I've been meanin' to ask somebody if I can call my bookie to place a bet over a European football game" my dad piped up as well.

"Jack!" my mom exclaimed, appalled.  

Iain laughed, and then he humored her, and my dad, for at least an hour.  And by the time we left, and by the time he had lifted his hand from my thigh, he had humored me too, though I hated to admit it.  My parents and I left the bar with strong feelings toward Iain Ross.  Theirs were strong feelings of like.  Mine were just strong feelings.  I didn't know whether I liked him, hated him, wanted to smack him, wanted to grab him and kiss him, or just wanted him to leave and never come back.  Stupid, glorious fool of a man.  That's what Iain Ross was.  And that's why I said we were only sort of dating. 

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