17. Colin
COLIN
P arents' Weekend at Mid-Florida University is basically designed to give college students panic attacks.
My girlfriend. I'm still getting used to saying that.
Tyler's already left to meet his parents for brunch, but not before giving me what he called a "pep talk" that mostly consisted of "don't be weird, and definitely don't let your dad say anything embarrassing to Savannah."
Great advice. Very helpful.
My phone buzzes with a text from Savannah.
Savannah:
How are you feeling?
Me:
Terrified. You?
Savannah:
Also terrified. But excited terrified?
Me:
Yeah, excited terrified sounds right.
Me:
What if they don't like you?
Savannah:
What if they do like me and then I have to live up to their expectations forever?
Me:
That's a very specific fear.
Savannah:
I have very specific anxieties.
Me:
One of your many charming qualities.
Savannah:
Flattery will get you everywhere.
Me:
Good to know.
I'm smiling at my phone when the front door opens and my parents walk in. Mom's wearing her best "meeting the girlfriend" outfit, and Dad looks like he's trying to decide whether to be supportive or protective.
"There's our superstar," Mom says, pulling me into a hug that's slightly too tight.
"Hey, Mom."
"You look good. Are you eating enough?"
"I'm eating plenty."
"And sleeping enough?"
"Yes, Mom."
"And this girlfriend of yours," Dad says, cutting straight to the point. "We're meeting her today?"
"Her name is Savannah, and yes, you're meeting her."
"Looking forward to it," Mom says, but I can tell she's nervous too.
"She's really great," I say. "You're going to love her."
"I'm sure we will," Dad says, but there's something in his tone that makes me wonder if he's already decided not to.
We're walking across campus toward the arena where Savannah's working this morning when I realize I should probably prepare them for the fact that she's not just my girlfriend—she's also the student trainer.
"So, um, just so you know," I say, "Savannah works with the hockey team."
"Works with them how?" Dad asks.
"She's a student trainer. Sports medicine stuff."
"Is that how you met her?"
"Not exactly. We've known each other since we were kids. Her dad coached me when I was younger."
"Coach Mac's daughter?" Mom says. "Oh, I remember her! She used to do homework in the stands during practice."
"That's her."
"She was always so quiet and studious," Mom continues. "I wondered what happened to her."
"Well, now she's my girlfriend and she's studying to be a physical therapist."
"That's wonderful," Mom says.
Dad doesn't say anything, which could be good or bad.
We get to the arena, and I can see Savannah in the medical room through the glass window. She's organizing equipment with Sarah, and she looks professional and competent and absolutely beautiful.
"There she is," I say, probably with too much pride in my voice.
"She's pretty," Mom observes.
"She's very pretty," I agree.
"And smart?" Dad asks.
"Very smart. Pre-med track, getting all A's."
"Good," Dad says, and I can tell he approves of the academic achievement part.
I knock on the door, and Savannah looks up with a smile that makes my chest feel tight.
"Hey," she says, opening the door.
"Hey yourself. Mom, Dad, this is Savannah. Savannah, these are my parents, Tom and Linda Grant."
"It's so nice to meet you properly," Mom says, shaking Savannah's hand. "Colin talks about you constantly."
"Mom," I protest, but Savannah just laughs.
"It's nice to meet you too, Mrs. Grant. And Mr. Grant."
"Please, call me Linda. And this is Tom."
Dad steps forward and shakes Savannah's hand, and I hold my breath waiting to see what he's going to say.
"Savannah," he says. "I remember you from when you were little. You've grown up."
"Thank you, sir."
"Your father still coaching?"
"Yes, sir. Still with the youth program."
"Good man, your father. Knows hockey."
"He does. He speaks very highly of you."
Dad looks pleased with this, which is a good sign.
"So you're studying sports medicine?" Mom asks.
"Pre-physical therapy with a focus on sports medicine. I love working with athletes."
"That's perfect for someone who grew up around hockey," Mom says.
"That's what I thought. Plus, it's nice to feel like I can help people stay healthy and perform their best."
"Are you planning to work with hockey players after graduation?" Dad asks.
"I'd love to. Hockey is what I know best."
"There's a real need for qualified people who understand the sport," Dad says, and I can tell he's warming up to her.
We talk for a few more minutes, and I watch my parents fall under Savannah's spell the same way I did. She's smart and articulate and genuinely interested in what they have to say.
"We should let you get back to work," Mom says finally. "But we'd love to take you to dinner tonight. If you're free."
"I'd love that," Savannah says. "Thank you for including me."
"Of course, sweetheart. You're part of the family now."
I nearly choke on my own spit. Part of the family? We've been dating for like two weeks.
"Mom," I say, but Savannah looks pleased rather than freaked out.
"Thank you," she says. "That means a lot."
After we leave the arena, my parents are quiet for a moment.
"Well?" I ask.
"She's lovely," Mom says. "Really lovely."
"And smart," Dad adds. "I can see why you like her."
"You can?"
"She's not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Someone more... distracting."
"Distracting how?"
"Like someone who might pull your focus away from important things. But she seems to understand hockey, understand your goals."
"She does understand my goals. She supports them."
"That's good. That's important."
"So you like her?"
"We like her very much," Mom says. "She's obviously crazy about you."
"You think so?"
"The way she looks at you? Oh yes. That girl is smitten."
"Good. Because I'm pretty smitten with her too."
"That's obvious," Dad says, but he's smiling when he says it.
That evening, we meet Savannah at a nice restaurant downtown. She's changed out of her trainer gear into a dress that makes her look older and more sophisticated, but she still seems nervous.
"You look beautiful," I tell her as we're sitting down.
"Thank you. I wasn't sure what to wear to meet-the-parents dinner."
"You're perfect," Mom says. "Absolutely perfect."
Dinner goes better than I could have hoped. My parents ask Savannah about her classes, her family, her plans for the future. She answers everything thoughtfully and asks them questions in return.
"So Colin tells us you've been helping him with his studies," Dad says over dessert.
"I tutor him in Biology sometimes. He's actually very smart—he just needs concepts explained in a way that makes sense to him."
"Has his studying been interfering with hockey?" Dad asks, and I tense up.
"Not at all," Savannah says quickly. "If anything, I think doing well academically has made him more confident on the ice."
"How so?"
"When you're succeeding in multiple areas, it builds overall confidence. Plus, understanding sports science actually helps with athletic performance."
Dad nods thoughtfully. "That makes sense."
"Colin's been playing his best hockey since we started studying together," Savannah continues. "I think balance is important."
"Balance," Dad repeats, like he's testing the word.
"Everything in moderation, including moderation," Savannah says with a smile.
Dad actually laughs. "I like that."
I look at Savannah with amazement. She just got my dad to laugh about balance and moderation—concepts he's spent the last year telling me are distractions.
"What?" she asks, noticing my expression.
"Nothing. You're just amazing."
"I like this one," Dad tells Mom, loud enough for the whole table to hear.
"So do I," Mom agrees. "Keep her around, Colin."
"I plan to," I say, reaching for Savannah's hand under the table.
After dinner, we walk back toward campus. My parents are staying at a hotel nearby, and Savannah and I are walking slowly, trying to make the evening last longer.
"That went well," she says.
"That went amazingly. My dad actually likes you."
"You sound surprised."
"I am surprised. My dad doesn't like anyone who might interfere with hockey."
"Maybe he's starting to realize that not everything has to interfere with hockey."
"Maybe. Or maybe you're just that charming."
"Probably that."
"Definitely that."
We've reached her dorm, and I realize I don't want this night to end.
"Savannah?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being perfect with my parents. For making them like you. For making me look good."
"You make yourself look good."
"Not always."
"Always to me."
"Even when I'm being an idiot?"
"Especially when you're being an idiot. It's endearing."
"My idiocy is endearing?"
"Your honesty about your idiocy is endearing."
"I'll take it."
She stands on her tiptoes and kisses me, soft and sweet and perfect.
"Good night, boyfriend," she says.
"Good night, girlfriend."
As I'm walking back to my dorm, I realize this was the best Parents' Weekend I could have imagined. Not because everything went perfectly, but because it felt real. Messy and nervous and authentic.
And because watching my parents fall for Savannah the same way I did makes me think that maybe, just maybe, I'm making some pretty good choices after all.
Even if I don't always know what I'm doing.
Especially because I don't always know what I'm doing.