My dad was getting plates and glasses out of the cabinets, but he looked up when we entered the room. “Mom, Dad, this is Clayton Reed. Clay this is my mom and dad.” I gently tugged Clay into the room by his shirt sleeve.
He wasn't exactly digging his heals in, but it took some strength to get him moving. My mom turned around and bestowed on him her dazzling smile. She wiped her hands on a towel and came over to greet him. “Nice to meet you, Clayton. We've heard a lot about you.” Clay shook her hand and shot me a look.
“I don't talk about you that much, geesh.” I muttered, embarrassed. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Young. Thanks for having me over for dinner.” He handed her the bunch of flowers. “These are for you.” My mom's eyes brightened. She was such a sucker for them. Clay had unknowingly made the perfect move. “These are lovely, Clayton. Thank you so much. Let me put these in some water.”
My mom went in search of a vase, which left us with my normally mild mannered father who currently looked anything but mild. He was looking at Clay as though he were under a microscope. “How are you, Clay?” My father asked, shaking his hand. Clay winced as he pulled his hand from my father's grasp. Had my father seriously just squeezed Clay's knuckles together? Was he channeling Arnold Swartzenegger?
Shit, this was going to be worse than I thought. “Fine, sir.” Clay replied, tucking his hands into his pockets. “So, Maggie tells us that you just moved her to live with your aunt. Where are your parents?” I wanted to smack my father. He couldn't build up to the big questions like a normal person. No, he had to go right for the jugular.
Clay shifted a bit uncomfortably on his feet. He hated talking about his parents, so he never did. But he looked my father in the eye and answered him honestly. “My parents and I don't get along, sir. So, they had me come and live with my mother's sister Ruby. I like it a lot better here in Virginia.”
My father blinked in surprise at Clay's candor and some of the rigidness seemed to melt away. I wanted to smirk at my dad's own awkwardness. I could tell he didn't exactly know what to say to that. Well, take that Dad.
“Well, I'm glad to hear you like Virginia. It's a lovely place to live. Uh. I think your mom is done with the chili. Why don't we have a seat at the table.” My dad indicated for us to sit down. Clay looked at me and grimaced in apology. I squeezed his hand, letting him know it was all right.
Mom came back with the vase of flowers and placed them on the table. She fussed over them and positioned them so they were perfect. Clay and I sat down beside each other, mom and dad across from us. Mom served us our bowls of chili and homemade corn bread.
“This is delicious, Mrs. Young.” Clay said between mouthfuls. My mom glowed at the compliment. For someone who claimed to not be charming, he was doing a number on my mother. My dad had let up on his cool attitude, but continued to watch Clay closely.
“Thank you, Clayton. Well, the reason we wanted to have you over was so we could meet you. We don't like Maggie May riding around with boys we don't know.” My mom said, passing Clay the basket of bread.
My dad leaned forward on his elbows and stared at Clay. “We don't know anything about you and parents can't be too careful about their children these days. There are too many crazies out there.” I closed my eyes and bit down on my sigh. This was mortifying.
Clay swallowed his food and looked at my parents. “I totally understand. You can't be too careful about the crazies.” His words were sarcastic and I shot him a look that clearly asked what the hell he was doing.
My mom cleared her throat. “Well, tell me, Clayton. You're from Florida, right?” She asked, trying to move the conversation into another direction. Clay stiffened beside me and his entire demeanor changed. Little did my mom know this was the last topic Clay wanted to talk about.
“Yeah, he's from Florida. But he loves Virginia. We had a blast at the outdoor market in Charlottesville last weekend. Remember that crazy vendor with the bird feeders made from gourds? They were too funny.” I rambled desperately.
My mom looked at me questioningly, but my dad hadn't taken his eyes from Clay. I nudged Clay with my elbow, trying to get him to talk, but he remained stoically silent. “I love that outdoor market! Your Dad and I need to get back down there soon.” My mom started telling me about this lady who made homemade jams and I tried to pay attention.
But I was too worried about Clay. He hadn't said anything else. The rest of dinner passed with my mother and I making ridiculous small talk while Clay stared at his bowl and my father stared at Clay. When Clay got up to help my mother clear away the dishes, I gave my dad the glare of death.
“What is your problem, Dad? You're making him uncomfortable!” I hissed. My father looked at me levelly. “I'm just getting to know him.” Was all he said. I cocked my eyebrow. “Getting to know him? You're staring holes into his head is what you are doing. Just stop it okay? Clay is my friend and I want him to feel comfortable being here.”
My dad frowned. “I'm just watching out for you, Maggie May. You're my only child. How much do you really know about this boy?” He asked me quietly. I looked at Clay as he helped my mom get dessert together. He still seemed closed off and distant, but at least he was talking to my mom.
“I know a lot about Clay. Probably more than most people. And I like him, so just let it go.” I urged, giving my dad the pleading eyes he could never say no to. My dad softened a bit but didn't let the subject drop.
“There's something about him. I'm not sold, Maggie. Just keep your head about you with that one.” He advised as Clay and mom returned to the table with a chocolate cake and plates.
Clay had left right after dinner, despite me asking him to stay and watch a movie. I think he wanted to get away from my dad's eagle-eyed stare. I walked him to his car and stood in the driveway with my arms wrapped around me. It was chilly and I could see my breath.
“Sorry if that was weird.” I said as Clay got into his car. Clay shrugged. “It was fine, Maggie. I'll talk to you later.” And with that he left. And I hadn't heard from him for the rest of the weekend. I had tried calling him all day on Sunday, but his phone kept going straight to voice mail.
But then Monday morning, Clay was at my locker like nothing had happened. We never mentioned the dinner again. My mom had let me know that Clay was welcome at the house. My dad had stayed resolutely silent.
But I made sure Clay only came around when I knew my dad was at work. Clay never questioned why I was specific about the times he could come over. I don't think he wanted a repeat encounter with my dad.