Page 4

Here we go again.

He leans up out of his seat and extends an arm across the table, and, like I’ve been brought up to do, I return the gesture.

“Pleasure to meet you.” I smile as I shake his hand.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he says, with a hint of flirtation in his voice.

“Janet and I thought you and Patrick would really hit it off. He’s living in New York, working at Braxton Law Firm. Isn’t that wonderful, Gabriella?”

“Wow, that is wonderful,” I say, matching her tone. “That must be a demanding job. I can’t imagine there’s much time for a social life,” I reply, hoping someone might get the hint.

I feel my father’s glare on me without even having to move my head. My father has this incredible talent for being able to convey exactly what he thinks without uttering a word, and I know he doesn’t appreciate my underlying comment.

“It is, but I make time for those who are important to me,” Patrick replies, obviously not getting my tone. I want to roll my eyes, but I refrain. Instead, I reach for my glass of water and take a sip.

“Gabriella, your mother tells us you are working as an accountant. That must keep you busy,” Janet says. She’s mid-fifties, at a guess, with short, light brown hair that’s graying around her temples, pulled back from her head with a ghastly-looking headband, and like my mother, she wears a set of delicate pearls around her neck and a brown tweed jacket.

That’s not what I do anymore, I internally scream. But instead, I reply saying,

“Yes, very busy, but I enjoy it, so it doesn’t feel like work. What’s the saying? Find something you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.” The table falls into polite laughter and I glance over at my parents, who are beaming with pride, so I know I’ve done my part. I’ve played the role of the dutiful, hardworking, charismatic daughter; someone worthy of parading about like a new purse.

The next two hours feel like five. I sit and listen to Carl drone on about his golf score, the latest case he was working on, and then, when Patrick chimes in to share his thoughts on the current stock market, I want to stab myself in the ear with my dessert fork.

Get me out of here.

Sure, there is nothing wrong with Patrick. He is good looking and polite. He just doesn’t have much about him. He is as bland as the salad we had for our starter.

I check my watch, noticing the time, and use that as my window to get the heck out of here before Suzanne starts talking about her book club again. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good book, but something tells me Suzanne doesn’t read what I read.

“Mom, Dad, I’m so sorry, I better head out. I don’t want to be driving back to the city too late.”

“Of course, darling,” my mother says, glass of red wine in hand. “You get going, your dad will walk you out to the valet.” Before my dad can answer, Patrick stands.

“I’ll walk her out to her car, Mrs. Monroe.” The smile on my mother’s face makes me want to roll my eyes and dry heave. She really thinks she’s picked a good one here. My mother loves nothing more than to play matchmaker.

“Well, isn’t that sweet of you, Patrick. Thank you. Gabriella would love that.”

Gabriella can speak for herself.

I want to say no, but I have the good sense to agree and say my goodbyes before walking side by side with Patrick to the valet area.

“I’m sorry if you felt ambushed tonight. I didn’t realize myself till you walked in that it was clearly a setup,” Patrick says shyly, which catches me off guard. He seemed so confident and self-assured at the table and I wonder if he feels the need to act a certain way in his parents' presence the same way I do.

“It’s fine. I had a lovely evening,” I lie, but it’s not his fault. If his parents are like mine, I feel sorry for the guy.

I hand over my ticket to the valet. I turn to face Patrick. Most women would go weak at the knees for his white teeth and dazzling blue eyes, but he just doesn’t do it for me. I’m not sure if it’s the defiant girl within me who’s decided she hates Patrick just to piss off her parents, or if he just isn’t my type. But I wouldn’t know, because I’ve never allowed myself to do what I want. I am forever trying to please my parents, to make up for my mistakes.

I almost sag in relief when my car pulls up. “Well, this is me. Thanks for walking me out.”

Patrick scratches the back of his head awkwardly, worrying his bottom lip with his top teeth. “It’s no trouble. So, do you think I could get your number and take you out to dinner sometime soon?”

I still, a little caught off guard that he wants to keep up this charade. “I am, erm, I’m away next week.”

“How about before you go?” he suggests.

Like the good girl I am, I reply, “Yeah sure, that would be great.”

He hands me his phone and I type in my number before handing it back. Our fingers gently brush and I feel nothing, not a thing. Maybe I’m broken, or maybe it’s nerves, maybe it’s been this whole night, and how cornered I felt, but I’m not attracted to this man. But will I tell my parents that? Like hell I will. I’ll lie and say I had a great time, that Patrick was the perfect gentleman, and he’s taking me out to dinner.