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“I can’t buy my own plane, Dad.”

Taavi scooted in next to me, all but disappearing into the puffs of my parka. He shot me ahelp mesort of look.

“Dad, this is Taavi. Taavi, Marshall Hart.”

My father turned in his seat and offered a hand. “Nice to meet you.” My dad winked at him. “Nice to know somebody’s keeping an eye on this one.”

Taavi’s smile was healthier directed at my father than it had been with my mother—not surprising. I love my mom, but she’s a lot. “Thank you, sir.”

“Marsh is fine, Taavi.”

“Okay, Marsh.” Taavi didn’t look totally comfortable with that, but I didn’t blame him. My parents are good people, but meeting the boyfriend’s parents is trying at the best of times and with the most mild-mannered of parents, and this was neither of those things.

My mother settled herself in the front passenger seat like a nesting bird, fluffing herself and spreading out her coat like feathers. I’m sure she would have let me sit up with Dad, but I’m not cruel enough to inflict three hours in the back seat with my mother on Taavi. I wouldn’t do that to most people, and I like Taavi a lot more than most people.

“You boys must be hungry,” my mother announced. “Marsh, we need to stop for them. Airport food is so awful. What do you want? Can you eat at a Hardee’s? What about you, Taavi? Do you eat anything special?”

“No, Mom, I can’t eat at a Hardee’s.” I smothered the sigh that wanted to come out. My mom knows I can’t eat meat, but she also apparently can’t remember which fast food places carry things I can eat. “Burger King or Dunkin’ Donuts.”

My mother poked repeatedly at the car’s built-in GPS, the device beeping softly. “Which one do you want?”

I looked over at Taavi, who shrugged, his eyes still wider than normal.

“Dunkin,” I told her. They had a lot more vegetarian options, for one, and they had donuts and fancy coffee, and I needed some sugar and caffeine. I’d also take some eggs and cheese and potatoes, but I was going to need a lot more than that to live through this drive.

“Marsh, there’s one just off forty-one,” my mother announced, poking more at the GPS. “We’re taking forty-one out of the city, right?”

“Yes, Judy. We’re taking forty-one.” My father’s answer had that bland tone he always got when my mother was overstimulated about something.

“Oh, good.” She programmed it into the GPS. “There.” Then she turned back over her shoulder. “Fifteen minutes to breakfast. And then we’ll be on the road. Now, Taavi, tell me all about you.”

A quick glance to the side told me that Taavi was deeply uncomfortable.

“Mom.”

“Don’t interrupt, Val.”

I had to resist the urge to say something extremely childish. There was something about being stuck in my parents’ backseat that had just fucking turned me into a fourteen-year-old all over again. As though I had any desire to relive that horrifying period of my life.

Instead, I took a deep breath, telling myself that I was a responsible, mature adult, and I could simultaneously stand up for my boyfriendandnot whine at my mother.

“Mom, we got up really early this morning and just spent three hours on a plane. Can you give us a minute before you start the third degree?”

“I’m not starting the third degree, Valentine,” my mother insisted, reaching down into the bag at her feet to pull out her yarn and crochet hook. I’m sure she’d already made at least one dishrag on the way to Milwaukee, and we’d likely see another one or two on the way back. And we were likely to be sent home with a set of dishrags, and probably also some dishtowels with little flowers or birds or some shit on them.

“Can it wait until after breakfast, Judy?” my father asked, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. “I’m sure the boys are hungry and tired. Get them fed, then you can ask poor Taavi all the questions you want.”

I mouthedthank youat my father, desperately wishing this whole thing wasn’t going to turn me into an overgrown child. There’s nothing quite like reverting to prepubescence in front of your significant other to test your relationship.

And we’d been in the car with my parents for about five minutes.

Fuck me.

* * *

Two hours later,and I wanted nothing so desperately as to get out of my parents’ Explorer. I didn’t particularly care if I ended up on the side of the highway in a slush-filled ditch like a deer carcass mangled by a truck—I just needed to get the fuck out of the car.

My father kept shooting me sympathetic glances in the rearview mirror, but even he hadn’t been able to put a stop to my mother’s incessant questions about Taavi’s family, his job, the fact that he was going back to school… I was frankly surprised she hadn’t asked him the size of his dick and his preferences about sexual positions. Those were about the only things she hadn’t asked him.