Perfect Little Plan

by Jennifer Miller

  Before I can give it another thought, there’s a knock at my door and I open it to see Rixton standing on the other side. The first thing I notice are his eyes and smile. Then I see that he’s wearing jeans, a nice shirt and his boots. He’s clearly being himself, and that’s good. So why does it also make me feel so nervous? I know why. Because I know what my parents will think. Pushing all of my doubting thoughts aside, I try to smile as he steps forward and kisses my lips.

  “Hi, darlin’. You look beautiful.”

  I smile and look down at myself. I’m dressed for dinner in my typical go to dinner at daddy’s house attire. My house uniform. A nice skirt, blouse and heels. He tucks a hair that fell from my loose bun behind my ear. “Thank you. You look nice too.”

  “Ready to go?”

  “Yes. Let me just grab my jacket.” I grab my jacket, turn on the alarm and lock the door, wincing as I do, knowing I’d prefer to stay right here. We make our way to his truck and I give him the initial directions to get to their home.

  Rixton’s hand is on my leg and my hand covers his. I try to come up with conversation, but the words are alluding me as I’m forcing myself to not talk about what I’d really like to. I stare out the window and watch the scenery pass – my thoughts swirling in my head. What will Rixton’s reaction be when I tell him about the meeting? Will he be mad that I went to meet her? Mad at her for calling? Maybe he’ll be angry because I didn’t call him right away.

  A squeeze to my hand catches my attention, causing me to look at his face. His brow is furrowed, “Why are you so quiet?” I shrug my shoulders in response. “Are you nervous for me to meet your parents? You don’t have to worry. Parents love me.” I try to smile, but don’t have it in me. “Aw darlin’, they can’t be that bad.”

  “About that. I should tell you something.” I see him nod out of the corner of my eye. “My father came over the other day. His client had told him that I abandoned R.J. at the country club. Moreover, he told him that I left him there, having left with you.”

  “Okay…”

  “He wasn’t very happy and insisted on knowing who you were.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “In truth, he didn’t give me much opportunity to say much. I did tell him that you were important to me and that I wanted you to meet him and my mother. He said that was good because he wanted to meet you too.”

  “Well that doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “Maybe not. I don’t know. I just…” I sigh. I don’t know how to tell him about my father’s expectations of me. And I don’t want to tell him just how livid he was. I don’t know how to tell him that his casual dress will be more than enough to offend and disappoint him and magnify his misperceptions. And he’s never seen how I deal – or don’t deal – with that. I don’t know how to tell him that I’m terrified to do this because for the first time in my life, I’m drawing a line in the sand. I’m purposefully not complying, being what he would call ‘insubordinate.’ Doing something that I know will not gain my father’s approval. And I have no experience with how that will shake out.

  “What?” he prompts.

  “I just don’t know how tonight is going to go. My parents have always held me to certain expectations. Standards. I’m just nervous.”

  “Your parents love you and no doubt just want you to be happy. All parents do. And I want to make you happy, darlin’, so I’m sure this is all going to go really well. Don’t worry.”

  Giving him a nod I look out the window once more. “Is that all that’s bothering you?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You just don’t seem yourself. Is it just your parents that have you so quiet and withdrawn? It’s last night, isn’t it? I tried to explain that I had no choice. And I really am sorry. ”

  “How about we talk after dinner, okay? I just need to get through that before we talk about anything else.”

  “What does that mean? So, I’m right? You’re struggling with that, despite our conversation? Or, something else is bothering you?” I remain quiet not answering his question. “Pyper, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Before I can control it a sardonic laugh tumbles from my mouth. “That’s rich.”

  “What? I’m confused.” He takes his gaze off the road and glances at me, his look also conveying his confusion. “Why are you angry?”

  “I just find it ironic that you are telling me to be honest. Asking me to come clean with what’s going on.”

  “I’ve always been honest with you. And told you what I can, just as I said. So, what is that supposed to mean?”

  “Yeah. So you say.”

  “I’m not just saying. I’m telling. I don’t lie to you. I told you I never would. Now tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Oh come on, Rixton. You, after all, should understand if I choose not to share something with you right now.”

  “So, that is what this is all about? You told me that you understand that I’m not ready to talk about that yet. Were you lying to me?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Look, Red, I know you are worried about this evening, but let’s not get carried away and say things we don’t mean. How many ways do you want me to apologize for leaving you last night? Okay, let’s see… I’m an asshole, I was thoughtless, I was… whatever you think. But, in fairness, I thought we had an agreement – a deal. So let’s keep to the plan, okay?”

  Plan? Plan?! He has no idea how I’ve forced myself to alter the plan. How difficult that has been. And here he is questioning my integrity, my ability to keep my word to him. And what about his integrity? Who is this Joanna person? This is going to be one night to remember… or to forget.

  He’s approached the gate to my parent’s home and I give him the gate code. The gate opens slowly and the truck finds its way to the large circular entrance. He parks and I feel him turn toward me.

  Boldly, I look him in the eyes, take a deep breath, and command, “While I want to respond, you are probably right. Perhaps I should stick to the plan. It may not be in either of our best interests for me to comment further right now. Let’s just get this night over with.”

  With that, Rixton turns off the ignition, yanks his door open, rounds to my side and pulls the door as he offers to help me descend onto the pavement. He’s obviously irritated. He’s practically giving off steam in the cool night air. And I’m a bundle of nerves. Great.

  I soften my voice, “Let’s just do this, okay? We can talk more afterward.”

  “Sure,” he says without any conviction in his voice.

  We make our way to the front door, hand in hand.

  My knock is greeted by a smiling Mrs. B, “Pyper, it’s good to see you as always, sweet girl.”

  I give her a hug and as I pull away make introductions, “Mrs. B, I’d like you to meet, Rixton. Rixton, this is Mrs. B., my parent’s housekeeper and one of my most favorite people in the world.

  Mrs. B looks Rixton up and down and a huge grin comes over her sweet face. Before she can say a word Rixton shocks me by giving her a hug, “Anyone that means so much to Pyper, is a friend of mine. It’s nice to meet you ma’am.”

  “Oh, well aren’t you a gentleman? It’s nice to meet you too. Please come in. Your parents are already in the dining room dear. Head on in and I will serve the salad right away.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. B.”

  Rixton takes her hand and kisses it, prompting something to happen that I’ve never heard from Mrs. B. ever. She freaking giggles! I look from Rixton to her in shock and back again. She walks away with an extra swing to her hips and I look at Rixton with my mouth hanging open. “What? I told you parentals love me.”

  “Yeah well, she was easy. Just wait.”

  I take a deep breath, grab Rixton’s hand into my own and lead him into the formal dining room.

  Stepping through the threshold, I pause and take it all in. The seating is arranged with my father at one end, while the opposite chair is empty,
no doubt for Rixton. My mother is on one side and the place across from her awaits for me to fill it. She is wearing a high collared blouse and her standard pearls with her hair pulled back in a chignon. My father is dressed in one of his three-piece suits and is looking at something on his phone, fully unaware that we are standing here. It dawns on me that I can count on one hand how many times I’ve ever seen him in anything other than a suit.

  I clear my throat to announce our presence and both of their heads whip in our direction.

  Smile in place, I walk into the room. “Mother.”

  Standing, she waits for me to walk to her and give her a hug in greeting. She pulls away from me, smiles and kisses my check. “Hello, darling.”

  I turn and face my father, but find him staring at the doorway where Rixton waits to enter. I touch his arm, “Daddy.” Turning to me, he leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek but remains silent. I clear my throat again trying to rid myself of nerves, “Mother, Father, I’d like for you to meet Rixton, my…”

  “Boyfriend,” Rixton says for me and it makes me smile unexpectedly. I like the sound of that, cheesy as it may be. Even if I am mad at him. Or me. Or both.

  Rixton steps forward and takes my mother’s hand and kisses it, “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” His drawl sounds thick and I see my mother’s eyes widen as she takes him in.

  “Welcome to our home, Rixton.” My mother is nothing if not polite.

  “Thank you for having me, ma’am.” He gives her a killer smile before turning to my father. My heart pounds and my stomach drops. “Sir. It’s nice to meet you.” Rixton puts his hand out and my father waits a few beats just staring at it, lips in a straight line. Just when I’m afraid my father is going to snub him like an asshole, my father shakes his hand in return and nods his head.

  “Rixton,” my father says in greeting. It’s obvious my father is studying him and formulating God only knows what additional opinions. I start to shuffle my feet, feeling uncomfortable with my father’s scrutiny. “Welcome to my home.”

  “Thank you for having me, sir.” Rixton walks to my chair and holds it out for me, waiting for me to sit and I give him a smile in thanks. Then he walks to his own chair and sits.

  We’ve barely been served our salads and I’ve just taken my first bite when my father dives in and starts the beginning of what is likely to be a long inquisition of Rixton. “So tell me, Rixton, how did someone like you meet my daughter?”

  I cringe at his comment and interject before Rixton can, “I told you already, daddy, that Rixton is a college friend of Luke’s. We met through Luke and Olivia.”

  “Ah yes, that’s right. I recall that now. You and Luke went to college together – that’s great. In what field of study do you have your degree?”

  Instantly I freeze, knowing that in my father’s eyes, Rixton’s lack of education is a major downside. Certainly, this fact is not going to be a good thing. Strike one. Or are we already at two? “I didn’t receive my degree.”

  My father, rather ungentlemanly, chokes on the drink he was sipping, “I’m sorry?”

  “I said I didn’t receive my degree, sir. My family needed me after my father became ill and I had to leave college and return home. He wasn’t able to do things around the ranch that he used to, so I went back to be there for them.”

  “How unfortunate. It sounds to me like your family put their own needs ahead of your education.”

  “Daddy! Don’t be judgmental; you’re making a horrible assumption. You don’t have all the information and frankly, it’s none of your business.”

  “I just can’t imagine what would be so important that they would pull you out of college. Appendicitis? Gallbladder? Arthritis?”

  “My father was dying, sir.” Rixton’s teeth are gritted, but he’s doing his best to remain calm. I know how difficult this topic is for him. “He wasn’t able to keep up with things on the ranch and I went home to help them. I chose my family’s needs over my education, sir.”

  Ignoring Rixton’s response, he barrels forward, clearly unaware of his behavior and its impact on Rixton. “So, where is this ranch? Is it cattle? How many?”

  I look at my mother, but she’s avoiding my gaze and studiously looking at the salad before her. She’s going to be absolutely no help. When my father acts like this, she never speaks a word. Just rides out his attitude until he gets over it. That’s what we’ve both always done.

  “In Texas, sir. I was just telling Pyper the other day how I would love to take her to see it,” he looks at me, and smiles. I’m relieved to see some of the stress leave him and his eyes soften. “I think she would really love it.”

  My father snorts softly as if he finds Rixton’s statement humorous. I look at him and quickly inquire, “What’s so funny?”

  “You, on a ranch. I find that funny,” my father laughs again, making me frown.

  “You would ruin your silk blouses and pretty shoes, honey,” my mom chimes in as if she has a clue. What the hell does she think I would be wearing? A prom dress and heels?

  “I wouldn’t let that happen, ma’am. I’ll get your daughter some sturdy cowboy boots that she can wear on the property.” Rixton has a mischievous look in his eyes and I have to stifle a laugh.

  My father however, doesn’t find it funny. Go figure. “How is it that you’re living in Chicago if you left college to go home to Texas? Are you only here temporarily for a visit?”

  Rixton nervously meets my eyes and looks away again at his plate. “My father passed away and now my brothers are there to help my mom, so I left to come back here.”

  My father’s brows lower over his eyes and he steeples his fingers under his chin, staring at Rixton. He looks like he’s trying to put pieces together and isn’t happy with Rixton’s answer.

  “One would think that now is the time your family would need you, but instead, you chose to leave. That’s interesting. What do you have to say about that?”

  As if on cue, Mrs. B. comes in to remove our salad plates and to serve the main course. Thank goodness for her timing. Her eye catches mine and I swear I see her wink at me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s perched right around the corner listening in to this conversation. I love her. She places a plate in front of me with a chicken breast, asparagus and rice. When we’re all served, Mrs. B. leaves the room and I open my mouth to change the subject, but before I can, my father picks up his round of questioning. “What do you do for a living, Rixton?”

  After swallowing his bite of food, Rixton looks my father in the eye and announces, “I’m a bartender.”

  The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop a mile away. The fork is paused in front of my father’s face and my mother is staring at him, waiting for his reaction. I need to say something. Do something. But I’m not sure what to do – what to say. I can almost read the escalating judgmental thoughts in my father’s mind.

  “Yeah isn’t that great, dad? He and Luke enjoy working together.” Looking to my mom, I try a change of subject. “What’s new at the country club lately, mother?”

  “What exactly are your intentions toward my daughter, young man?”

  “Did you seriously just ask that question?” I ask. “Is this the 1960s, for God’s sake?”

  Rixton stares at my father, not looking away or flinching. “My intentions are whatever Pyper will allow.” He looks at me, “I want very much to be with your daughter and I hope she wants that too.”

  Staring at Rixton, I can’t look away. That unreadable look flashes in his eyes again and I wish we were alone so I can talk to him more about that look, his words, my feelings.

  “How exactly to you intend on getting by on the salary you make as a bartender?”

  Rixton chuckles, “I’m doing just fine, sir.”

  “Right now, maybe. But if your intentions are what you say, how do you plan on someday supporting my daughter on that kind of salary? Or maybe you haven’t thought about that? And what about a family? Do you really think you can adeq
uately take care of a family on a bartender’s salary?”

  Rixton flinches and stands, “Pyper, where is the bathroom?” I give him directions and he excuses himself from the table. As soon as he’s gone, I turn to my father.

  “What the hell, daddy?”

  “It’s a fair question, Pyper. The real question is what are you thinking being with a man like that? Get over whatever the hell this is you think you are doing. Is this some late adolescent, rebellious period? Some desperate attempt because your best friend is getting married? It isn’t funny anymore. And you are embarrassing yourself. Let the poor boy go and get on with it. It’s time you see the illogic in this.”

  “You couldn’t be more wrong. About everything. I like Rixton, dad. Really care for him. And I want to be with him and this is not something I need to ‘get over’ as you suggest. In fact, I have no intention of doing so.”

  My father looks astounded; my mom maintains her disconnected posture and attitude. “Already this boy is a horrible influence on you. You never disagree with me on these kinds of things. On anything. It’s time to disconnect from him- now. This behavior is unacceptable.”

  I stand now, angry. “You don’t give a shit about me or what I care about at all, do you?”

  “Pyper!” my mother admonishes.

  “Oh, now she speaks!” I yell, angry that she has chosen this moment to open her mouth. “Where have you been all evening while daddy has been interrogating Rixton?”

  “His questions are valid, Pyper, whether you like them or not, he makes a good point.”

  “No. He doesn’t. You both don’t care at all about what makes me happy, do you?”

  “Of course we care,” my father shakes his head at me like I’m an idiot. “But he is not your kind. He does not fit the criteria you were taught to apply in this arena. You’re merely wasting your time.”

  “Not my kind? Wasting my time? Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

  “That’s enough with the language young lady.”

  “How about this for language. Fuck you. I can’t believe you care more about criteria and image and that I uphold your made-up standards, than my own happiness. I’m tired of always having to play by your ridiculous rules. I’m tired of not being able to be myself, of being afraid to be who I am, and putting on a show being miss agreeable and happy all the time when the truth is…inside I’m losing myself, bit by bit every day because I’m confusing your expectations of what I’m supposed to be with who I really am. And it is your fault. Well, not anymore. ”