LANA MASON
"Mom, I am so serious," I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. "I'm sick over this. Please, please, please tell everyone to be on their best behavior. Please."
"Oh my God, Lana," she cackles because I'm sure she can hear my voice wavering. "You need to relax, sweetheart."
"I'm not joking," I sound more firm now. "I am so in love with him and if anyone says anything to make him uncomfortable or think twice about being with me, I will never come home again. Do you understand me?"
Rather than laughing at me again, I can picture her nodding on the other line. "I understand. I've already told everyone to be on their best behavior and your dad has been mentally preparing himself for this over the last week. He's ready."
He might be, but that doesn't mean I am. I don't think anyone understands just how important this night is to me, especially because they don't know what it means for Harry to take a whole night away from the restaurant. He won't be there for dinner service at all. Nobody will be eating food constructed by his perfect hands tonight. That's a massive deal.
"Okay, well, he's here," I glance over my shoulder at the sound of the buzzer. "We're going to leave now, so just...please, Mom."
"I know, I know," she assures me. "Get here safely, alright? Everything is going to be fine, don't worry about it."
Still, I shake my head as I hang up because that's all so much easier said than done. A whole family gathering was never in my plans when I imagined Harry meeting my parents for the first time. This wouldn't even have been the plan at all if my aunt hadn't been there when I told my mom I was seeing someone, but they were having a girl's night and the wine was flowing and I should have known better. Then it became public knowledge and there were no ifs, and's, or buts. The whole family wanted to meet my boyfriend, and there was no stopping them after that.
With my stomach in knots, I look over my simple outfit of Levi's jeans, pointed-toe boots, and a three-quarter length-sleeve black T-shirt. My hair is in a claw clip so that I'm not tempted to anxiously rake my fingers through it all night and my makeup is almost nonexistent because I anticipate rubbing my eyes and hiding my face quite a bit. I hope I'm wrong about that.
Rather than letting Harry up, I hold the talk button to let him know that I'm coming before I lock up and head down to meet him. He's standing there with flowers and wine, and my heart shatters at the sight of his nicer outfit of a button-down and trousers. He's trying so hard and that means so much to me even if my family will be in t-shirts and baseball caps.
"You're the sweetest," I hold his face to kiss him before anything else.
"This is okay, yeah?" He glances down at himself.
"You're perfect," I kiss him again. "But I just have to tell you again–"
"I know, I know," he cuts me off with a laugh. "They're blunt and your dad is probably going to hate me. I'm prepared."
"I don't think you are," I argue.
"Lana," he deadpans. "I learned how to cook in France. You think those chefs were tucking me in at night and reading me bedtime stories? I've been called a useless waste of space in French more times than I can count on both hands. I'm not worried about what they're going to say to me, I just want them to approve, that's all."
I frown in concern. "Who called you that?"
He laughs and kisses my forehead. "C'mon. We don't wanna be late."
