Hiding From Us

35. adrian

‘’So is there anything I should be aware of about your parents?’’ I asked. ‘’I mean, so that I don’t, like, cause an awkward silence.’’

     ‘’Um, no,’’ said Grace. ‘’I think you’re good. Just don’t ask Dad why he carries an axe, though. People who ask him that don’t always tend to leave the house in one piece.’’

     ‘’Um. Oh.’’

     She turned to me and smiled. ‘‘Jeez, A, I was just kidding. They’re nice people, really. You’ll get along fine.’’

     She twined my fingers in hers and lead the way to her house: this big, tidy thing with large windows and two mahogany garage doors that looked like they could fit SUVs. Previously, I’d taken the bus ride up with her and now I was anxiously going to be presented to her parents—well, her father and her stepmother, actually, and her little brother. It seemed unfair that sweet Grace would have to go through the trauma of having divorced parents, but she seemed to be okay. She and Iain, her brother, had turned out well. 

     Grace pushed open the door and lead me inside. ‘‘Hello?’’ she called. ‘‘It’s me. I brought a friend, by the way.’’

     I frowned. Nervously, I leaned down and whispered into her ear, ‘’Do they know I’m your boyfriend?’’

     ‘’No.’’ She shook her head. ‘‘But I’m going to tell them right now. Don’t worry.’’

     A woman appeared at the top of the stairs. She had brown eyes and an easy smile, like Grace, but the comparison stopped there. Her hair was dark, dark brown, and her posture was strong and confident, which was quite different from Grace’s. I figured she must’ve been the stepmother. 

     ‘‘Hi, Grace,’’ the woman said. ‘‘Who’s this?’’ 

     Grace took a breath. ‘‘Beatrice, this is my boyfriend, Adrian. Adrian, this is my stepmom, Beatrice.’’ 

     Beatrice let a smile slip onto her tanned face as she made her way down the stairs, towards us. ‘‘Grace, I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. It’s lovely to meet you, though.’’ She extended a hand. 

     I shook it. ‘‘Thank you. It’s great to meet you, too.’’ 

     Beatrice frowned slightly. ‘‘Your accent . . . I’m sorry, I can’t place it too well. Russian?’’

     ‘‘German,’’ I said, trying to clip it. Suddenly, I made a mental note to ask Grace if she preferred less accent or more accent. 

     ‘‘Really? On an exchange trip? Well, welcome to Canada. You’re a lucky boy, Adrian, to have Grace as a girlfriend.’’ 

     I thanked her. Beatrice winked at Grace and disappeared back upstairs, where I met Grace’s father. He was tall and sturdy with a buzz-cut of dark hair. When he shook my hand, I tried not to wince. 

     ‘‘I’ll try not to sound like the stereotypical father who chews out his baby girl’s boyfriend,’’ he said, sounding apologetic, ‘‘but I’m just going to ask you one question.’’

     I swallowed. Grace touched the small of my back comfortingly. 

     Stuart—that was his name—said, ‘‘When you go back to Germany, do you swear to exchange phone numbers and kiss her goodbye?’’

     Grace breathed out, ‘‘Dad.’’

     ‘‘Yes,’’ I said. I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘‘Yes, I swear. I swear on my life.’’