Soul Sucker
Meeting the Parents

John Miller’s POV

Newark, New Jersey

Thanksgiving Day, Thursday, November 24, 2022

I turned onto the dead-end street and stopped in front of the house that Mary pointed to. It was an older home in a neighborhood that had seen better days. It looked like a single-story bungalow, probably a hundred years old. A full second floor and a bump-out on one side looked like later additions. The siding was white with green trim on the windows that was peeling in places. The yard had seen better days, and Mary had explained her parents couldn’t keep up with maintenance after Dad’s back injury.

Heather was out the door with her backpack when I put Mary’s car into park. She ran through the gate and flew up the porch steps to the front door. I went around the front of the Lexus sedan and opened her door. The car was part of her image as a retailer and was a big chunk of her expenses, but it drove like a dream. I held out my hand to help her up before she leaned into me. “Ready for this?”

“Nothing is going to change my mind,” I said as I kissed her quickly. I could hear Heather talking a mile a minute to her grandparents at the front door while I got the food out of the back seat.

Mary grabbed the bag with the wine, holding my arm as we walked into her childhood home. I set my food box on a table as Mary hugged her parents. Stepping back, she took my hand. “Mom, Dad, this is my boyfriend, John Miller,” Mary said with a smile. She set her bag down on a side table. “John, this is my father, Frank, and my mother, Anita.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said as I extended my hand. Frank was tall and thin with the bearing of a US Marine despite the cane and the difficulty moving.

His grip exceeded mine as he sized me up. “Welcome to our home, John. We’ve heard a lot about you. Some of it was even from Mary.”

Anita smacked his arm and moved past her husband, embracing me in a hug. She was Mary with greying hair, still striking in her early sixties. “All good things,” she told me. “Heather won’t stop talking about you, but we’ll get all the details later. Grab that stuff and bring it to the kitchen, please.” I followed the women through the older house, my mind taking in the hardwood floors and clear pine moldings. Photographs and decorations abounded, including a large photo of Mary and her late husband at his commissioning ceremony. The kitchen was old-fashioned but functional, and some food was on the table with its fall decorations. “You didn’t have to bring the wine, but thank you,” Anita said as she set the bottles in the fridge.

“One bottle is grape juice,” I mentioned. “There’s a chardonnay the owner recommended with turkey plus a white zinfandel that Mary likes.”

“It will be a nice change to break out the wine glasses. It’s all I can do some years to get Frank to pour his beer into a glass,” she teased him. “Go sit in the living room with him while we talk about you and make dinner.”

Heather came down the stairs with her gi over her T-shirt and jeans, held closed by her white belt. Mary was enjoying the workouts, while Heather LOVED them. She was getting better quickly, though she needed five more months as a beginner before advancing to a gray belt. “Grandma! Look!” She spun around quickly at the door to the kitchen.

“You look good, Heather. No rough-housing in the living room,” Anita warned.

“Stretching and calisthenics then,” I told my young apprentice. “Let’s show your Grandpa how much you’ve learned.”

Heather kept us busy with talk of school and martial arts, so there wasn’t time for a deep conversation. After her daily exercises, I moved to the ground so Heather could demonstrate some of the holds and grapples she’d learned. Frank was watching the interaction between us closely, plus making sure we didn’t get in trouble for wrestling on the floor. “John fights Mixed Martial Arts and has a black belt in Jiu-Jitsu,” she bragged. “I got to watch his fight last weekend in New York!”

“Are you any good?”

“I’m all right for a guy in my forties, but recovery takes longer now,” I answered.

“I was a decent lightweight boxer in the Corps,” Frank said. “Fighting is a young man’s sport.”

Heather got called to the kitchen to help set the table, giving me my chance. “I suppose it’s been a while since Mary brought a man to meet her parents,” I said.

“You’re the second,” he told me. “I know I’m overly protective. My wife had complications during Mary’s childbirth, and we couldn’t have more children. I want her to be happy.”

“So do I,” I said. “I’m taking things slow, and Heather has to be all right with us too. Nothing is simple, is it?”

“Nothing worth a damn is easy,” he nodded. “Mary’s happy; a blind man could see that. Keep her that way, and we’ll be fine.”

Mary poked her head in and told us to wash up. I sat in the center with her parents on the other side. The table setting was Anita’s fine china and crystal, which she told me only came out twice a year. Frank led the prayer, then carved pieces of turkey for us. I filled my plate with homemade stuffing and all the fixings and relaxed, enjoying the holiday and learning about my girls.

An hour later, I was stuffed and drowsy. “Go watch the game or something,” Anita said as she stood up. I tried to help out, but Anita drafted Mary and Heather instead. “You’re my guest, and guests don’t help out,” she told me.

I retreated to the living room. Frank had the Bills-Lions game on. “I suppose you’re a damn Patriots fan,” he said.

“Goes with the upbringing. Bruins and Red Sox, too,” I replied. “I don’t care about the NBA.”

“And just when I was starting to like you.” I already knew he was a Jets fan.

“At least we both are rooting for the Bills to lose.” It didn’t work that way, with the Bills kicking a field goal to win at the end. We had Anita’s homemade pumpkin pie for dessert before the girls headed out on a walk. As soon as the front door closed, Frank pounced. “Are you sleeping with my daughter?”

“She’s an adult, and what she does is her business,” I deflected. “Our private affairs are just that. Private.”

“Sounds like you want to,” he growled.

“Have you looked at her? Smoking hot, a younger version of her mother. Of COURSE, I want to sleep with her.” That got him to laugh. “Both of us have warning signs and land mines for a relationship. I’m taking my time so I don’t screw it up.”

“You’re divorced, right?” I nodded. “What did you learn from that?”

“I learned I had to get my act together before I could be in a relationship again,” I replied. “I can’t blame my wife. I was a cop before I was her husband. I was an alcoholic and mean, and I attacked her instead of looking at myself. I didn’t think I was ready for a relationship again when I met Mary.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Heather.” He raised an eyebrow. “She’s a great kid, thanks to her Mom. I recognized Mary as more than just a girlfriend. I started thinking about having a family and what I needed to do to be a husband and a father. Instead of the commitment scaring me, I realized I wanted to be that man. I have a chance to be happy.” I looked him in the eye. “I’m terrified I’ll screw it up. That’s why I’m letting those two set the pace.”

He looked at me for a bit. “I believe you,” he said. “Mary’s had a tough time moving on with her life. I can see you two will be good together.” He tapped my shoulder with his fist. “If you need us to take Heather so you can have time alone, we’ll take her.”

“I appreciate that,” I told him. “I don’t think Heather is ready for the madness of a Miller family holiday.”

We had to leave in the first quarter of the Giants-Cowboys game. Heather and Anita both gave me big hugs. “Good luck on the next leg of your tour,” Anita teased.

It was a three-hour drive from New Jersey north to our family farm outside Granby, Massachusetts.