My Master asked me the strangest question the other day--if he could meet my parents. He asked so sweetly that I couldn't simply say no, although I was still unsure of his true intentions.
That wasn't unusual, though. I hardly ever knew what was going on in Mr. George's mind. I've spent almost every day with him for nearly two months, but he is still a mystery.
Friday night finally came, and I nervously awaited Mr. George's arrival in my childhood bedroom. I shot down the stairs when I heard his strong knock, but my parents had beaten me to the door.
Mr. George stood tall and confident, yet he looked so out of place standing beside my mother and father. He was dressed the same as always, a sharp contrast from my parents' clothes, which were much more understated and humble.
He introduced himself to both of them, sternly shaking my father's hand while gently placing a kiss on my mother's hand. He seemed so soft in that moment. He was not the stern, professional man I had grown accustomed to.
He held a vibrant bouquet of red tulips in his left hand, immediately catching my mother's eye. She happily accepted the flowers, and I swear she was blushing as she breezed back to the kitchen to find a vase.
Her reaction to the flowers helped ease the tension in the room. My father seemed pleased that Mr. George hadn't come empty-handed, but he still studied him with intrigue and suspicion.
Earlier today, I explained to my parents that my boss simply wanted to introduce himself to them as a kind gesture from the company for my great work. It sounded strange, I admit, but my parents always loved it when people bragged about me. My father reluctantly agreed, and my mother mainly seemed excited about hosting dinner.
My parents were very simple people. They never complained and were extremely hard workers. They had devoted their lives to one another and to raising me in a safe, warm environment.
Thinking they only knew bits and pieces of my life now was disheartening. When I was a child, I used to tell them everything. They had no idea what Mr. George meant to me or everything we had experienced together. They didn't even know Mr. Ryan existed.
Their perception of my life was so different from reality. I wished I could tell them the truth, but I knew they would never understand.
***
We all gathered around the small dining room table in the kitchen. The tulips were arranged beautifully at the center of the table, surrounded by all kinds of food. My mother told us to dig in; the happiness in her voice was obvious.
Everyone immediately began to fill their plates with mountains of food. Beneath the table, I could feel Mr. George's strong, reassuring hand squeeze my thigh. I smiled at him as I cut up a piece of my chicken.
Small talk filled the air, and my nerves began to ease. Beneath the table, Mr. Georges' hand started to creep up my thigh. My parents were oblivious as they continued discussing the stock market with Mr. George.
My skin burned where he touched me. I wanted more, but knew I had to control myself in this environment. My heart raced uncontrollably as a wave of heat swept through my body.
My thoughts were a mess. A part of me wanted to hold myself together for the sake of my parents. But a large part of me also wanted to drag Mr. George upstairs and do unspeakable things to him.
My mother's voice cut through my fantasies, "Well, I can't tell you how nice it is to have you over for dinner. Alice hasn't stopped talking about you for the past few weeks."
I cringed from embarrassment. But, Mr. George simply said, "It's so lovely to meet you both. Alice has been doing such an amazing job. I know you must be proud of her."
"Oh, that is just so sweet of you to say. We are very proud of our Alice." My mother sighed while touching her heart in her usual dramatic fashion.
My father rolled his eyes at my mother's reaction before focusing on Mr. George.
"So George, do you go to all your employees' homes for dinner?" My father asked Mr. George, his words laced with skepticism.
"I try my best. People need to know their hard work is being recognized." Mr. George replied innocently with his hand still on my thigh.
My father shrugged his shoulders before scarfing down the rest of his dinner. He went to the bar cart and poured himself a scotch before exiting the kitchen.
My father was not the type of man who put up a fight.
"Ignore him, please," My mother said, clearly embarrassed. I could tell she had to raise her voice to compete with the blaring sound of the television from the living room.
"Tell me more about how well Alice is doing at work. We were so worried about her after the breakup..." She trailed off after I gave her an exasperated look. I hated it when she brought up Zac out of nowhere, but it happened often enough that I should have expected it.
Mr. George's hand reassuringly squeezed my thigh again. It was the perfect way to ease my nerves. He seemed so relaxed in this strange situation, and it helped calm my anxiety. His hand was like an anchor to reality.
"Alice has told me a bit about the breakup. I know it was very hard on her." Mr. George responded.
My mother nodded grimly before adding, "Yes, we will never forgive him for what he did to our Alice."
Mr. George cocked his head in my direction, and I could tell he was curious as to what she meant by that. I had never told Mr. George what happened with my ex-boyfriend because we had been so busy with the contract. I knew I needed to get him away from my mother before she revealed anything else.
After finishing our food, I quickly said, "I'm going to give Mr. George a tour." Before any objections could occur, I grabbed his hand and ran upstairs. I felt like a teenager again, shielding my boyfriend from my parents.
I led him to my room, shut the door, and locked it. It was the first time I felt like the one in charge.
Mr. George wasted no time before snooping through my room, as if it were an art exhibit. I obviously wasn't thinking clearly when I dragged him in here. My only goal was to separate him from my mother before she could tell anymore of my secrets.
But now, seeing Mr. George standing in the middle of my childhood bedroom, I was beginning to question my decision.
He poked through my bookshelf, looking at old books I hadn't touched since high school. His eyes scanned the outdated band posters on my walls. He looked amused, but he didn't make any sarcastic comment. For that, I was thankful.
A girl can only take so much embarrassment in one night.
"So," Mr. George said, breaking the silence, "What was your mom talking about down there?"
I knew Mr. George was not going to let that go. But I hoped he would pretend to be clueless for a little bit longer so I could figure out what I would tell him--the truth or the story I told my parents.
Something came over me, and I decided to challenge Mr. George for the first time.
"Why don't you tell me more about you and Mr. Ryan? I feel like I don't know anything about your history."
Master looked at me wide-eyed, and I prepared myself for the worst. I knew he would hate me answering his question with a question.
But all he said was, "Let's play a game instead."
Now, it was my turn to be surprised. A game?
"Truth or dare, you go first," Master said.
"Okay," I giggled. "Truth or dare, Master?"
"Truth," He said with a wink.
I tried to pick the perfect question, knowing I may not get another opportunity like this with Mr. George.
"How did you and Mr. Ryan meet?" I asked.
"He was my roommate in college--all four years," He stated blandly. I instantly regretted my question choice. I don't know why, but I thought he'd elaborate more.
"My turn: truth or dare, Alice?"
I weighed the two options. On one hand, I knew Master would ask me about Zac if I chose truth. But if I chose dare, there was no telling what my Master would make me do. I also had to remember that we were still in my parents' house, so the dare option seemed too risky.
"Truth," I said finally.
"What was your mom talking about at dinner?" Mr. George asked with zero hesitation, except this time I was prepared.
"I lied to her about what happened between my ex and me. I told her that Zac left me for someone else." I explained.
"But, that's not what happened?"
