The restaurant I took Alex to for our first anniversary was full. When I looked around at the bustling tables, I saw all kinds of different people living their own lives. To our left there was an old couple eating side by side, one glass of wine each, studiously bent over their meals. To the right of our table, a group of young women in their mid-thirties, collapsing with helpless giggles as a stern woman dining alone nearby, looked on and frowned. Businessmen in their grey suits, whiskey in hand discussing politics and the uprise in the economy. Behind us there was a small group of European tourists, trying to decipher the menu that they held in their hands. The noise level in the restaurant was high, but it didn’t bother us, we got used to it pretty quickly.
That night felt special. It was our first anniversary, and we splurged on a nice date. We went out to a fine dining restaurant in our finest attire. Alex wore a dark navy blue gown made of soft, satiny fabric. A semicircular, high collar made of silk-like materials headed the ankle-length robe. I wore a simple, yet elegant black V-neck jumpsuit. Hand in hand we talked and enjoyed our meal. However, though that night was special, it felt a bit different compared to others. Alex seemed off and didn't talk as much as she usually does when we’re out. I had a feeling she had something on her mind, but I knew if I pushed her to tell me what was going on, she would shut me out. So I waited until she felt ready to tell me what was bugging her during dinner.
After dinner, we shared a small custard soufflé with a nice pairing of white wine that the waiter suggested for us. Halfway through our dessert, I saw Alex take a small spoon full of the creamy confection before sitting back comfortably in the velvet chair.
“Honey, I have something to ask you.” She said hesitantly.
“Yeah, what's up, babe. You know you can ask me anything.” I reassured her, as I grabbed her hand off the chair’s armrest.
“We’ve been together for a year now and I think it's time that you meet my parents. So I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind coming over for dinner tomorrow night?” She faltered, squeezing my hand while giving me a kind of worried look.
“Alex, why do you look so worried? I would love to meet your family. If you’re scared we won't get along, you don't have to worry, parents love me!” I giggled, leaning over the table to place a gentle and loving kiss on Alex’s lips.
“It’s not that they won’t like you. It's just…” She hesitated. “They don't particularly acknowledge what I am.”
“Oh… They don’t want to acknowledge that you're gay. I’m sorry to hear that. But I'll be there the whole time, I'll protect you.” I said, giving Alex a gentle smile.
But before I could add more, it looked like Alex wanted to correct me on something, but stopped herself before saying anything. Like always I didn't want to start anything, so I didn't urge her to tell me what I had gotten wrong.
“It’s gonna be fine Alex, I will follow your lead. I will say what you want me to say. You don’t have to worry.” I reassured Alex before waving down the waiter for our check.
Once we got back to my apartment, we laid in bed talking about how messed up our families are. How both our fathers are drunks and didn't care for us as kids. How our mothers were loving, yet distant. The more we talked the more I realized that my life wasn't as bad as I thought. Even if I moved from home to home, I was still loved and cared for by my foster families. The way Alex would describe it, her parents brought out the very worst in each other. Each of them backing up each other's vices as if they were virtues. People always told me bad parents were traumatized as children, caught in the fires of their own suffering. Their thoughts swirling around like a hurricane in their mind. I’ve always known there are people in worse situations than I was, but I hadn't really realized until Alex.
After our long and profound conversation, we both fell asleep in each other's arms. We held each other tightly, afraid that if we would let go we would wake up in different homes, different beds. Only knowing each other through a dream.
I woke up to the same strange dream, however this time, it was a bit different. I could see what happened before the flames broke out. I could see a normal family, a father and a mother crowding around a cradle. Inside, there was a small child. The same child that later laid between two charred bodies. Without warning, the front door of the quaint home burst open. A disgusting creature, wielding a glowing black spear, walked in. As I looked closely at the abomination, I could see a skeleton. It looked fresh. In some places, there was a pink sheen where the flesh had been removed. There were tool marks gauged into the recently living bones. The right femur had been sliced, giving the creature a limp. Without any hesitation, the skeleton rushed towards the baby. The couple jumped in front of the helpless child to protect it from the psychotic intruder. Their effort to protect the infant was, however, futile. With a swift movement of his spear, the intruder slaughtered the couple. Blood splattered across the home, creating a small puddle at the base of the crib. The creature slowly walked towards the cradle that was in the middle of the living room. The child did not cry at the sound of its parents dying. The child did not cry when it saw the horrific eyeless skull of the culprit. The child just laid there motionless, staring in the emptiness where the murderer’s eyes used to be. Yet once the man reached in the cradle of the defenceless child, a massive crater cracked open from beneath the crib. Enormous flames rose from the ground engulfing the man and the infant. I could hear the cries of agony from the skeleton. Those cries of pain then turned into a menacing laugh. Yet there were no cries from the child.
The rest of the dream played out like it normally did. The same scene of the burning house, the same stench of burnt flesh. However, this time, there were no cries. The infant was laying between the bodies of its parents. Dried eyes, even though half of his face was burnt. By the end of the elaborate dream, the massive crater was gone, there was no sign of the undead intruder and no clues on how the crater was created. Having more information, more details, a backstory to what happened didn't make the dream any less unsettling.
When I woke up scared from the horrific dream, Alex wasn't sleeping next to me like she usually was. Being my usual anxiety-filled self, I started panicking. However, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and pancakes reassured me. I got out of bed, grabbed a hoodie that was on the headboard of the bed and headed to the kitchen. The windows in the kitchen were wide opened which chilled the room with the autumn air.
Alex was cooking a third pancake when I entered the kitchen. I slowly made my way to the stove where she was standing. I wrapped my hands around her waist and softly placed a kiss on the side of her neck.
“Good morning beautiful. How did you sleep?” I flirted with a groggy morning voice, before grabbing a pancake off the plate next to the stove.
“Better than you, that’s for sure. You tossed and turned all night. Did you have a nightmare again?” She asked, turning around to face me.
Her face was full of worry. From that look, I could tell she hated seeing me like that. Alex is always wanting to help me with these kinds of things. However, no one can honestly help me with these dreams. Even my psychiatrist isn't really helping. I don’t fully understand them, which means I can’t even help myself. It's rather annoying.
“Yeah, I'm fine.” I sighed. “It’s nothing I haven't dealt with before, so there’s nothing to worry about babe.”
There was a long pause before Alex added, grabbing pancakes for herself and sitting at the kitchen table with me, “I was actually planning on having dinner with my family tonight so you can meet them. Just like we talked about yesterday. But if you're not up to it, I can reschedule for another time.”
“What! It’s not gonna be an issue. I'm up for it.” I stated grabbing the maple syrup and butter from the middle of the kitchen table.
“Honey, are you sure? It’s completely fine if we reschedule. My parents will understand.” She quickly added before squeezing my hand softly.
“I’m a hundred percent sure I'm up for it. You know I’ve been wanting to meet them for a while now.” I reassured her before stuffing a fork full of sticky pancakes in my mouth.
Later that night, Alex and I were getting ready for our dinner plans with her parents. She kept asking if I was sure I wanted to go out tonight. And I kept reassuring her that I was fine, but something seemed off with her, yet again. The way she was asking seemed like she was extremely nervous. Not in the way you would expect. Her nervousness almost seemed like she was afraid to go see her parents. I knew her parents weren’t fully accepting of her daughter being a Lesbian, but not at the point of her being afraid of them. I was sure there was another underline problem, but I didn’t ask what it was. It wasn’t my business to ask. If she wanted to talk about it, she would.
Before leaving the house for our night out, I grabbed a bottle of wine that I had bought earlier for Alex’s parents. Wine in hand, we left for Alex’s childhood home.
After an hour of driving out of the city, we were nearly there. Alex grew up in a small town not far from the bustling city where I lived. Her childhood home was built on the Main Street of the town. The house was long and narrow. It was maybe only twelve feet wide at the front, but it stretched some thirty feet back like a giant shoebox. It was two stories high and had a one-story extension at the rear of the home for the kitchen. The wooden framed windows were propped open with sticks and the brickwork, once a lively yellow, looked dirty with over a century of grime. A small rose garden had been planted in front, and although it had obviously once been carefully planned and loved, it was now riddled with weeds. When I pointed out the garden, Alex informed me that she was the one who planted and took care of it, but once she left, her parents abandoned it.
We parked my car in the driveway behind a well-maintained grey 1997 Mercedes-Benz. We got out of the car, making sure not to forget the wine bottle in the back seat and slowly making our way to the front door. Before knocking on the white door, I grabbed Alex’s hand and gave her a reassuring kiss on the forehead.
“Everything is going to be okay. I’ll be by your side the whole time.” I gently said, knocking on the door.
A few moments later the white door slowly opened. We were greeted by who I assumed was Alex’s mother. She was an older woman, but not the kind you pity with their old bones and fragile limbs, but the kind of woman who could still run an army kitchen given half a chance. She stood quite tall and slim, her short grey hair neat and likely styled with old-fashioned rollers. Her face was made up with subtle make-up, except for her lips that were cherry red. She wore a delicate neck scarf, patterned with small roses, which complimented her white and red evening dress well.
“Welcome, come in come in. Athena, your father, is in the living room.” Alex’s mother said, smiling and pointing towards the living room where her father was sitting reading today’s newspaper.
When we walked in, I noticed the room was like a perfect magazine cover. I was afraid to sit in case I wrinkle the fabric or stain it with something I don't even know is on my pants. The couch was cream but inlaid with fine green silk; leaves embroidered so delicately that they might have landed there in spring and just sunk in, but I know they took hundreds of hours to sow. The white curtains were linen, the kind of white that is untouched by hands and devoid of dust. A cursory look to the right showed me the almost hidden cords that were used to open and close them. There was no television, no bookshelf, no table, only the chairs arranged around the bespoke fireplace which leaped with a gas flame. The photographs are black and white, not casual family snaps, but arranged to look like such by a professional. Any one of them wouldn't look out of place in a spread of The World of Interiors. The floor was a high polished wood, dark and free of either dust or clutter. It was clear that no kids had lived here in decades. It was also obvious that they haven't had guests over in a very long time. The only thing out of place in this picture was us, standing in the doorframe of the living room, holding a bottle of wine and holding each other hand in hand.
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