Cabin Fever (BXB)

My Boyfriend's Parents are Confused (April, 2020)

I think the worst way to meet your boyfriend's parents is arriving at their house unannounced.

At least that's how it feels.

The neighborhood doesn't help, either. It's one of those tree-lined streets that you imagine when you think of Home Alone – with big houses that could probably house twenty people, with garage space for at least 3 cars. Some have 4 car garages. And lawns. Everywhere is really green. Perfect green. A green that seems too saturated to be natural, all manicured and clean and pretty. It doesn't feel real at all.

Mrs. Hopkins (I assume it's Mrs. Hopkins) opens the front door and looks at the both of us before she hugs Simon, who wraps a single arm around her. When she pulls back to look at him, her eyes start getting misty. "Oh my God, look at you," she says. Her hands are on his shoulders. She cups his face. She smiles, and for a second, it feels like this will be okay.

He shies away from her. "Mom," he starts, but doesn't finish the thought. It's drowning in pain, in discomfort.

"You – " She stops and looks at me. "Sorry, and you are...?"

I step forward, acutely aware of every movement I'm making. "Hi, Mrs. Hopkins. I hope we haven't interrupted anything." I smile and put my bag down against the wall by the front door and stick out my hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I can see Simon gets his looks from you." I laugh. It's out of place, and I know it. I don't really know what else to do.

"Yes...but...who are you?" Mrs. Hopkins' eyes move between me and Simon like she might puzzle out who I am and what I'm doing here by staring alone. She does shake my hand eventually, but only briefly, before she turns back to Simon.

I'm too relieved that she took it at all to care how short and awkward it is. It feels like I've made the world a little more right. Not enough, but just enough for now. Something to work on for later.

"What are you doing here?" she asks. "I-I thought you were in Alabaster-by-Sea."

Simon sighs. It's low and tired and sad-sounding, and it makes me want to hug him really tight. "Mom, we got your email about Dad."

"What email?"

"Can we come in, at least?"

"What – oh! I'm so sorry! Please, please come in!"

If I thought the house was big on the outside, it seems to stretch forever on the inside. The front hall's got one of those sweeping staircases that reminds me of the ones girls loved to take prom pictures on. The stairs to the basement are right under it, and there's this great big chandelier that hangs above us. From the front door, I can see into the library (a freaking library!) (or maybe it's a study, because it's more suited for working), the living room, and dining room. Everything feels so precise and elegant and magazine-ready. There's even a freaking orchid (and in bloom!) on the front table.

This is way too pretty and too big for me. I'm not sure if I want to start crying or start looking around.

"Amy, who is it?"

"It's Simon. He's come to visit!"

I glance at Simon.

He doesn't look at me. He's staring straight ahead, rigid in posture. Everything on him screams tension.

I have to stop myself from reaching out to him.

An older man – who I can only assume is Mr. Hopkins – appears at the top of the stairs. He's got a blanket draped on his shoulders, and a book in his hands. The moment he sees us, he frowns. "What are you doing here?"

"That's what you say to your son?"

"What is he doing here?"

Simon sighs. "We got an email from Mom – " His voice is quieter, mousey.