Chapter 11

Wayne was not looking forward to this. After the big “fuck-buddy” blow-up, Sara seemed really hurt and had insisted that he come over for dinner and be introduced to her parents. She also told him this was a really bad idea and that her father might forbid her from seeing him ever again. Wayne had tried to point out that this presented a contradiction and maybe he shouldn’t meet her parents, but Sara argued that it was his fault he had to meet them in the first place. This reasoning made Wayne’s head hurt, and seeing that pursuing the issue was just going to set her off again, nodded dumbly and assented.

Sara wasn’t very specific about why her parents might hate him, and Wayne didn’t want to force the issue just yet. He had a good idea why a white girl’s father might not like him.

Sure enough, when Sara’s father, Dale, answered the door, Wayne thought he saw him flinch.

“Are you the boy my daughter invited over for dinner tonight?” he said.

“Yeah, uh, yes, sir,” Wayne stammered, remembering Sara’s advice to call him “sir.” He hated doing that, but Sara had insisted he do it. She said her daddy was still a military man at heart and he put more stock in basic formalities than just about anything else. Wayne could see Dale was just like the jocks in high school only with professional training in murder to boost his sense of superiority. His eyes narrowed as he looked Wayne up and down, inspecting him. Wayne held out his hand.

Dale stared at it like it was a smelly sock before shaking.

“If you break her heart, boy,” he said, “I’ll have you killed.”

Wayne didn’t doubt it for a minute. He nodded dumbly. It looked like Dale was about to shut the door on him anyway when Sara barged in, pushing her father out of the way and kissing Wayne on the cheek.

“Don’t kick him out Daddy, I’m warning you!” she said with a smile. She wore loose jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that didn’t do justice to her body. Her dad probably didn’t allow anything that remotely hinted at her feminine figure. If he was still “daddy,” she was still probably “baby girl.”

Before dinner they sat in the living room, talking uncomfortably while Sara’s mom finished cooking. Wayne and Sara sat chastely next to each other while Dale interrogated him. He asked Wayne first about what sports he played in college. When Wayne told him he didn’t play any sports, Dale looked bewildered. It looked like he couldn’t imagine the possibility.

The whole time, Dale kept watching Wayne like he was keeping an eye on him. He noticed that the watchfulness increased whenever Wayne leaned near any of the little angel figurines that were placed on seemingly every available surface. Did Dale think he was going to steal one? If he was a racist idiot that would explain the flinch, calling him “boy,” and the questions about sports. Sara might not even have told her dad he was black.

He looked back at Sara for reassurance and was reminded why it was all worth it. She had removed the long-sleeve shirt when he wasn’t looking, and under it she was wearing a tight-fitting light-colored t-shirt with a faded tattoo and paint-splatter pattern on it. It hugged her form much better than the other shirt, and the material was so thin he could clearly see the shadow of a much darker bra underneath it. Dale must be more permissive than he thought. Maybe she had just worn away at him over the years.

Sara’s mom called out that dinner was ready and the three of them made their way to the dining room. Wayne had never seen a family that actually ate around a dining room table. He and his parents usually just ate in the kitchen. But with the Myers’, formality was important. Dale, of course, was at the head of the table, his wife at the foot. Sara and Wayne sat across from each other at the middle.

As Sara’s mom began to serve the lasagna, Wayne noticed that Dale was staring at him again, although this time he was looking down where he sat on the chair. He was looking to see if Wayne had pocketed something! Wayne shifted uncomfortably in his chair, causing Dale to peer even more closely.

“So Wayne,” said Sara’s mom once the food was served, “tell us about yourself.”

“Now dear,” said Dale, “I’ve already talked to the boy in the living room, there’s no need to retread that ground.”

“Uh, that’s ok,” said Wayne. “I go to the college, I’m majoring in history, the Dark Ages specifically.”

Dale snorted with laughter. “Yes I suppose you would,” he said, grinning meanly.

The racist bastard! Wayne decided this was a test and tried not to react. He looked back at Sara for reassurance. She gave him a pleading smile, and...

He did a double-take, and quickly reached for his water glass to mask his surprise. The dark-colored bra which had been under her shirt was no longer visible. It had been obvious before, and now all he saw was the light coloring of the shirt. He ate a few bites of lasagna and snuck another look. Her breasts were high and proud, and the only silhouettes he saw now were the two large circles of her nipples. How had she removed her bra in the last five minutes? She had been behind him and Dale when they moved from the living room to the dining room, but it hadn’t been long at all.

“You like?” Sara asked with a giggle.

Wayne was frozen for a moment, wondering if he had misjudged the family, and they were all nudists, and Sara was just easing him in to it. He had almost started to say “they’re fantastic” when he glanced back at her face, where she was indicating a fork-full of Lasagna. She was giving him an evil grin. It was like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Oh! The food. It’s great, Mrs. Myers. Really delicious.” He looked back at Sara and couldn’t miss her nipples poking up the flimsy fabric of her shirt. He averted his eyes and prayed Dale wouldn’t notice.

“Not your best, I’d say,” said Dale. “A little salty tonight.”

There was an awkward silence.

“You know,” offered Wayne, “actually I think it’s really good. Not too salty at all.”

“Are you contradicting me, boy?” said Dale. “What would you know about good cooking?”

“Oh,” sighed Wayne sarcastically, “I suppose all I know is fried food, right? Lots of oil and salt?”

“Sounds about right,” the man said.

Wayne threw down his silverware and stood up. “I’m sorry Sara, but I don’t have to take this kind of prejudice.”

“Wayne, sit--” Sara hissed.

But Dale stood up and moved toe to toe with Wayne. “Go on, get out. It ain’t prejudice when it’s true. You people are all the same.”

“Daddy please...” Sara said, trying her father now.

“‘You people?’” spat Wayne. “Come on, ‘sir,’ what kind of people are you talking about, or can’t you say it?”

“You...” Dale was tongue-tied for a moment, then found the words. “You ... GOTHICS!”

Wayne had been so tense, he nearly fell over.

“What?” was all he could say.

“Daddy!” Sara yelled, “how could you! Wayne, calm down, he doesn’t mean it.”

“You all hang out at the mall eating greasy crap when you could be getting some exercise playing sports. And you’ve all got your ridiculous pants that threaten to knock over the missus’ figurines and scratch up our nice chairs. And studying a worthless subject like the Dark Ages because it’s so spooky. What a waste of time!”