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Between you and me? I kind of think he wants to be sober so he doesn’t accidentally say some rude shit my mother probably needs to hear.

Almost the second he leaves, the mushrooms arrive.

My parents help themselves first yet when I go to reach for one Mom snips, “So, your new boyfriend doesn’t like mushrooms.”

“Or,” Dad interjects before I can, “he’s doing the well trained thing where he allows everyone else at the table to go ahead of him.”

“Chris never-”

“I am not Chris, ma’am.”

The statement startles her and damn near causes me to drop the mushroom off the side of my plate.

And here I thought I was going to have to be the one to say it.

“You’re right,” she quickly caves on an innocent surrender of the hands. “You’re absolutely right. I have got to let that go. I need to get to knowyou.”

This feels like a setup.

A setup that’s going to end with us not eating steak and having to stop for dinner a Gloria’s Grande Burger on the way home.

“Why don’t you tell us all about yourself? Where’d you grow up?” What do you do for a living? The rushing of words comes to an abrupt halt. “Oh! Oh! Better yet, why don’t you start with how you two met? I know all about the one involving Chris wooing Jaye with concert tickets to Fall Out Boy and Green Day and Flu Fighters-”

“FooFighters,” I correct again at a muted level.

“They’re a band, Mags, not a CDC team.”

Dad’s comment gets a small smirk out of me that he acknowledges with a wink.

“How didyoumeet her?” She loudly pushes at the same time she scoots to the edge of her seat. “How did youwinher over?”

Archer opts for staying still versus attempting to gather food. “We met when she offered me dinner one night.”

“Aw,” my mother unexpectedly coos prompting me to look up. “Had you forgotten your wallet or brought the wrong credit card?”

“No. I was,” the adjustment in his seat shifts my attention to him, “living on the street and starving and digging in her trashcan for scraps.”

Watching him maintain the stoic stature on his face is remarkable.

Inspiring.

His ability to keep his chin up, to face the ugliest truths that would disgust the masses, is just one of the many strengths he has that I’m learning to have to. I’m not ashamed of how we met or our love story. And I’m not embarrassed by the life he was surviving before me. In fact, I’ve come to use it like a reminder that there’s a possibility for greatness to be found at every moment.

All of a sudden, my mother starts to snicker uncontrollably. I immediately dart my attention her direction just in time to see her playfully bump into Dad. “He’s kidding!”

My father’s brow crinkles in confusion.

“He’s telling some sort of joke, we don’t get, but that he’ll explain!”

“Yeah, I uh…I don’t think so, Mags.”

“Of course, he’s joking,” she insists, still awkwardly laughing. “That’s probably how he got our daughter to fall for him. He’s probably a total hoot!”

This is where I get my out-of-date language from, isn’t it?

“Probably made her laugh and laugh and laugh until she almost cried.” Her amused gaze falls back to Archer. “You a prankster, too? Maybe one of those people who love to pop out from around corners to get people scared and laughing?”

“That just makes him sound like a killer clown,” Dad grumbles between bites.