Since Amy and I were now officially going together, we went through the inevitable business of meeting parents.
Or in Amy’s case, grandparents.
Her grandparents’ house was on the northern edge of town. It had once been a farm, but over the years, her grandparents had been selling off their farmland to various developers. Now their home was a lone old-fashioned farmhouse surrounded by suburban split-levels and ramblers.
The paint was peeling and it looked like the roof needed work, but the yard was in good shape and you could see where a garden would soon be sprouting to life.
Amy’s grandmother opened the door. She was old. No other way to put it; she had to be at least eighty. She was thin, wrinkled and leathery with her wispy grey hair pulled back in an old-fashioned bun. Still, her voice was firm and steady and, except for some stiffness in her walk, she looked like she was still going strong.
She could still cook, I can vouch for that. She bustled around the kitchen wielding knives and heavy pots and pans, looking anything but feeble. And I can happily report that the resulting dinner was delicious.
Amy’s grandfather was another story. When I arrived he was sitting in the living room in what was clearly his favorite chair. He didn’t get up to greet me when I came into the room, and a quick glance made it clear why not. There were two plastic tubes going into his nose from a green metal canister on the floor next to him.
Oxygen.
His skin was kind of a yellowish grey color and when we shook hands, his had a visible tremor to it.
Listening to him at dinner, though, I could tell he still had all his marbles. Since he didn’t get around much he spent most of his time sitting around reading and watching 24 hour cable news channels. He knew a lot and managed to have plenty of opinions that he was more than ready to share. He reminded me a little of Jeremiah Kratz in that way, except that he was intelligent and actually knew what he was talking about. I ended up actually liking the guy.
In fact, I like both of Amy’s grandparents.
Still, as I staggered home, (way overstuffed with her grandmother’s cooking), I was feeling vaguely uncomfortable.
It was more than indigestion. Amy’s grandparents were great, but they were really old, and her life was pretty much in their hands. Her grandfather had gotten some law firm to try to track down her father, but from what she’d told me, that didn’t sound very promising.
I didn’t want to get all morbid about it, but if they died, what would become of her?
Then, of course, she was going to have to meet my parents.
Since Dad can get…well…embarrassing, sometimes, I was more than a little nervous about this. He’s the kind of guy who will suddenly grab Mom and break into a waltz in the middle of a shopping mall because he likes the song they’re playing on the Muzak.
Like I said, embarrassing.
Luckily, it all worked out okay.
Not that he wasn’t his usual embarrassing self. He was cooking a really complicated multi-course Italian meal, so naturally he had to wear a goofy red and white apron with the words “It Hasta Be Pasta!” printed on it, and, of course, he had to have an opera blasting on the stereo, which obviously meant that he had to sing along…well, you get the picture.
Fortunately, Amy thought he was cute.
Go figure.
And besides, the dinner was excellent. When Dad is cooking, you’re really taking your chances. The way he tells it, recipes are for “Philistines and wussies’, and some of his experiments in the kitchen can get pretty scary. But when he gets it right, the results can be amazing, five star restaurant good. Luckily, this was one of his good nights.
Since this was an Italian meal, Amy and I were each allowed one glass of wine with dinner. “The vino – it’s-a part-a the meal,” Dad pronounced. “You can’t-a leave it out and a-get-a the full-a effect.”
Mom rolled her eyes and poured out a small portion of wine for Amy and me. “I’m not exactly sure what you mean by ‘full effect’ Andrew, but if you continue to bellow in that pathetic fake Italian accent, I’m cutting you off.”
She made as if to set the bottle down beyond his reach, but he managed to snatch it from her and refill his glass.
“Cara mia, I enjoy myself and you accuse me of drunkenness! We should all remember the immortal words of Eugnosis of Alexandria and…” (singing) “’…Always look on the bright side of life…’”
“Uh, Dad,” I cut in, “I think that came from Monty Python.”
He looked at me craftily. “Ah, but where do you think they got it?”
The night was clear and cold as I walked Amy home. A pale rainbow artfully circled a nearly full moon.
Amy and I walked holding hands, not really talking much. I’d only had half a glass of wine, but there was a warm feeling glowing inside me. Everything that night looked and felt strange, but good-strange, like I was seeing it all… the moon, the street, the houses…for the very first time. It was nice, but a little unsettling. I’d never felt like that before, and I wasn’t sure what was going on.
Now, looking back, I know that strange glowing feeling wasn’t caused by any wine.
It was happiness.