Chapter 29 #2
“It’s a fantastic ice-breaker,” Luke defended. “And it reveals a lot about a person. This one’s answer was poetry.”
Susan leaned forward with rapt attention. “Well, now you have to tell us. Don’t leave us hanging on adjectives, dear.”
“Go on, Ollie, tell them, it’s better when you explain it.”
“I chose a melon baller.”
John raised his brows. “A melon baller? That’s a new one.”
“Because they take something standard and shape it into something playful. Fun. Spherical little orbs of joy. Not everything has to be sharp or pointy to be useful. Sometimes softness serves a purpose too,” I explained.
Susan let out a soft, delighted sigh, her hand pressing to her chest as though trying to still the flutter there. “That’s lovely. What a tender way of seeing the world.”
Luke’s fingers brushed mine where they rested on the couch cushion. “Told you he’d charm your socks off.”
“You didn’t say he was this charming. You’ve been underselling him.”
“I didn’t undersell him,” Luke replied. “I merely prefer to let people witness it firsthand. Live performances always hit harder.”
John chuckled. “Well, you’d know a thing or two about charm, son.”
Luke opened his mouth to respond, but Susan, ever quick with the parental preemption, cut him off. “Don’t try to deny it, you know you have your father’s silver tongue.”
“Silver? Susan, Luke’s tongue is platinum-plated, diamond-studded, and likely insured by a consortium of poets and diplomats. You could bottle his words and sell them wholesale as a luxury aphrodisiac, backordered forever.”
She threw her head back with a laugh. John looked delighted. Luke, meanwhile, had taken an ill-timed swig of his Coke and immediately sputtered, coughing into his sleeve.
“Sorry,” he rasped between coughs. “Went down the wrong pipe. I wasn’t ready to be evaluated as an intoxicant.”
“Well, anyone who can get this one to nearly eject his drink has my immediate and enduring approval,” John said.
“In all seriousness, dear, we knew you were one of a kind without ever meeting you. We’ve never heard Luke talk about someone the way he talks about you.”
“The feeling is mutual,” I said, my gaze drifting to Luke. “He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Knowing Luke, I’m sure he hasn’t shared the specifics of how we met, but let’s just say I was in a bad relationship, like the kind of bad Luke deals with at work, and he helped to get me out.”
Susan and John’s features sobered with understanding.
“It’s because of him I’m safe and I can trust again,” I continued. “You raised a wonderful man. And I’m lucky to have him in my life.”
“Oh, Oliver,” Susan said. “I’m so deeply sorry you had to live through something so cruel. No one should ever be made to feel unsafe, unwanted, or unloved. But I am grateful you found your way to each other.”
“And it um . . . you weren’t shocked when Luke shared he’d be bringing home a man to meet you?”
“Son, the only thing that would’ve shocked us would have been if he’d told us he was bringing home a conspiracy theorist, or even more scandalous, someone who doesn’t like dogs,” John said.
Susan chuckled beside him. “Who our children fall in love with has never been about gender for us. It’s always been about character and the quality of a person’s heart.
We raised our kids to love without apology, to live truthfully and to never shrink themselves to fit anyone else’s comfort.
We know the world makes that difficult sometimes, so we did everything in our power to make sure our home never did. ”
John nodded. “Love is love. If you do it right, you fall for the soul, not the packaging. From everything we’ve seen, from the way you look at our son and from the way he lights up around you, it’s plain to see what you two have is something good.
That’s all we ever wanted for our children.
A love that saw them fully and treated them gently.
So Luke having finally found someone means the world to us. ”
“Sure, Dad, let’s pretend your approval has nothing to do with the homemade cinnamon rolls Oliver brought,” Luke teased.
“There is that too,” John said with a chuckle. “Though I’m pretending not to think about those until after dinner.”
“Speaking of,” Susan said. “If I don’t get dinner on the table soon, John here is liable to start gnawing on the furniture.”
“No threat, just fact,” John replied, hauling himself up. “I’ve had my eye on that coffee table for years. Mahogany with a hint of polish? Mmm, delicious.”
Susan patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you put your appetite to better use and work your usual magic with the mashed potatoes? They turn out better under your supervision.”
Luke and I trailed behind them as they disappeared into the kitchen.
“How are you holding up?” he asked. “Not so bad, right? Should I keep the escape plans on standby or call them off for now?”
“I’m actually okay. You can shelve the emergency exits. Your parents are lovely.”
“They’re pretty amazing, aren’t they? See, I knew you’d be fine.”
Rising onto the balls of my feet, I pressed a quick peck to his lips. “Is this your diplomatic way of telling me I told you so?”
He wrapped an arm around me, drawing me closer and stealing another kiss. This one deeper. “It’s my way of telling you to trust in the irrefutable truth that you are a kind, witty, fascinating man, and only those with shriveled, mummified husks for souls could resist you.”
“That’s a graphic vote of confidence.”
“I do aim for accuracy and impact.”
“Boys, dinner’s ready! Hope you’re hungry!” Susan called.
Luke kissed me again before we filed into the kitchen.
“Take as much you want, and whatever we don’t finish I’ll be sending home with you,” Susan said.
The meal included tender roast, buttery rolls, and fluffy mashed potatoes, all complemented by roasted vegetables. It hit me once more that this was what a family full of love looked like—home-cooked meals where everyone gathered around the table, talking as they ate.
The closest equivalent in my house had been my mom dropping a pack of ramen or a box of microwave mac and cheese on the counter with a flat, “Here’s your food, figure it out,” before disappearing to who-knows-where.
“Thank you, this looks delicious,” I said as I sat down.
John carved a thick slice of roast and deposited it onto his plate. “I’ve got to admit, Suz, you outdid yourself this time. I half hoped you’d mess up the roast so I could lord it over you for once.”
“Dream on,” Susan said. “The day I mess up the roast is the day you learn to fold a fitted sheet.”
“I’ll have you know, I once folded a fitted sheet to near-rectangular perfection. It only took me two hours, a YouTube tutorial, and a mild existential crisis.”
Susan reached over to pat his hand. “And we’re all very proud of you, dear. We’ll put your certificate of mediocrity next to the macaroni art you made with the kids and hung on the wall in ninety-four.”
“You’re the one who decided to frame that culinary crime scene and include my contribution in the family art montage. I would’ve buried it in the trash.”
“What can I say? I’m a sentimentalist.”
“That you are, my love. That you are.”
“While we’re talking about being sentimental, you know what we’re going to have to do after dinner?”
“No, Mom, not Scrabble.”
“How else are we going to integrate Oliver into the Walker family?” John asked.
“I like Scrabble,” I said.
“You say that now. But you’ve never played Scrabble with my family. You have not met the terror that is my mother. She cheats.”
“Sweetpea, strategic prowess and expansive vocabulary does not constitute cheating. Unlike some people, I don’t rely on imaginary words.”
“Hey, I still stand by the fact that mystusion should be a word.”
“Mystusion? Dare I ask what that’s supposed to mean?” I said.
“A mysterious contusion,” Luke said. “You know, those weird bruises that show up out of nowhere with zero memory of how you got them.”
“Well, I’ll give it to you. You do have an uncanny knack for inventing words that sound like they should exist.”
“So you’re familiar with Luke’s little habit,” John said.
“Not in the context of Scrabble, but yes, I’ve been privy to his linguistic creativity before and usually I admire it. But don’t worry, when it comes to Scrabble I won’t allow it.”
“Perfect! You’ll fit right in. But first I must insist on indulging in these scrumptious-looking cinnamon rolls. I’m going to need the sugar hit to survive what’s about to ensue,” John said.
“I’ll turn the oven on. I’ve learned from the best all the tricks of the trade. And the proper way to reheat cinnamon rolls is in the oven. Never the microwave. Preserves the texture and melts the frosting just right,” Luke said with a wink at me.
“And I’ll get the cappuccino machine running. Who wants a cup?” Susan asked.
“I’m in,” I said.
“Same here,” Luke said.
“Well, while you all get the after-dinner caffeine and sugary decadence prepared, I’m going to fetch the Scrabble box, and a dictionary to disprove the existence of Luke’s latest word malarkey,” John said.
“If you think about it, all words are made up. At some point, every word entered the human lexicon as nonsense before someone gave it meaning. Rather than stifling my genius, you should embrace it. I’m a linguistic pioneer,” Luke argued.
“If you’re inclined to submit your brilliant inventions to the Oxford English Dictionary, we support your aspirations. We believe in dreams here. But for the purposes of Scrabble, we can only accept currently verified words. Those are the rules. Non-negotiable.”
“One day, I’ll coin a word so magnificent, so necessary, you’ll have to allow it.”
“And this,” Susan said, “is why you never win. If you put as much energy into playing real words as you do making up new ones, you’d probably be the family champion.”
“Innovation is the mark of a true champion. You’re all holding onto outdated norms.”