Shame on Him

I watch as he stares at the tattoos on Dallas’s arms peeking out from the edge of his T-shirt. It’s obvious my father is judging him and it raises my hackles.

“Uh, no. I’m not an attorney. I own my own private investigation firm, and lately I’ve been working as a part-time detective with the South Bend police department,” Dallas informs him.

He pushes his sleeves up higher on his arms and then crosses his arms in front of him. It’s almost like he’s daring my father to ask him about the tattoos.

“Lorelei, your hair is atrocious. Are you going through some sort of phase?” my mother asks, just to switch things up.

I grind my teeth together and pick up my fork. “No, I just thought I’d try something new.”

Five minutes in this home and I already feel my determination fading.

My father digs the knife in a little deeper. “I played golf with Steve Burdick the other day. He said you’ve postponed a meeting with him three times in the last two weeks. That’s not very professional, Lorelei. How do you expect to make partner with behavior like that?”

Steve Burdick is a partner at my firm and I know exactly why he wants to meet with me. I know he’s going to offer me the partner position, and right now, I just don’t know if I’m strong enough to turn it down. I keep hoping the longer I put it off, the more confidence I’ll gain being a private investigator and it will make the decision easy.

“I’m sorry. I’ve just been very busy. I’ll call him first thing Monday morning,” I tell my father.

My eyes meet Dallas’s across the table. He’s uncrossed his arms and now has his fists resting on the table, clenching and unclenching them like he’s mad about something. He stares at me with his brow furrowed.

I pull my gaze away when my father speaks again. “Yes, make sure you do that. It’s uncomfortable for me when I run into colleagues and have to make excuses for you.”

I can feel my face heating up with embarrassment. It’s bad enough that I have to suffer through these types of conversations every time I’m with my parents, but it’s a million times worse now that Dallas is here witnessing my humiliation.

“Mr. Warner, I’m sure you’re already aware of this, but your daughter is amazing at her job. I’ve seen her in action,” Dallas informs him.

My father wipes the corner of his mouth with his napkin and sets it on the table. I watch in fascination as Dallas goes about eating, not even realizing that my father is glaring at him.

“Yes, well, we’ve made sure she’s kept on the right track. As long as she doesn’t make any more foolish mistakes her future will be set.”

Dallas snorts and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry; is there something you’d like to say?” my father asks him.

Any other man would cave before my father, but not Dallas. If anything, he sits up taller and makes sure to smirk at my mother as he places both of his elbows on the table.

“Oh, there are a lot of things I’d like to say, but they probably aren’t appropriate for dinner conversation. Your daughter doesn’t make foolish mistakes. If anything, she’s too perfect. She’s smart and she’s a hard worker. As her parent, that should be something to be proud of.”

I can’t hide the shock from my face at the words that leave Dallas’s mouth. Is he actually sticking up for me? And why does this make me so happy and angry all at the same time? I should be sticking up for myself. But just like any other time I’m around my parents, I feel like nothing I say matters.

“Of course we’re proud of her. We just want to make sure she’s making smart choices in her life. The way she’s dressing and her careless attitude at work worries us that she’s being influenced,” my father replies, looking pointedly at Dallas and his tattoos.

Dallas stares him down and my father actually has the intelligence to look away. Unfortunately, my mother decides it’s time to rejoin the conversation.

“Have you spoken to Doug lately? How is he?”

I shouldn’t be shocked that she’s bringing Doug up. She does it every time we speak. But doing it in front of Dallas is a new low even for her. It’s not every day I bring a man to dinner. Obviously they must suspect we’re dating, even if it’s the furthest thing from the truth. In her mind, there’s nothing wrong with speaking of her daughter’s ex right in front of another man. And now Dallas gets to add one more thing to his long list of inadequacies about me.

“He’s fine, Mother. How are the plans coming along for the Make-A-Wish event next month?” I ask, hoping that she’ll get the hint and change the subject.

She doesn’t. “I just don’t understand why the two of you couldn’t work things out. You were so happy and you had a wonderful life together. Your father and I have had our differences, but we’ve always managed to work them out.”

She looks at me. Like it’s my fault because I didn’t try hard enough. I’ve heard this same speech so many times I could recite it by heart.