6 June 1989
"I'll get it," Meg says, quickly, when the doorbell rings.
She and her parents are sitting around the kitchen table, finishing what is, for them, a rather late breakfast. But Meg and her father had gotten back from the ball game in Toronto quite late last night, and some days you just have to sleep in a little.
(But not a lot. Not with company coming.)
She doesn't miss the amused look that passes between her parents before John says, "Thought you might."
There's something Meg might almost call relief on Alain's face when she, and only she, answers the door. He takes her hand to pull her out onto the porch. Meg shuts the door behind her. "Hi."
Alain wraps his arms around her waist and kisses her before he answers. "Hello."
"How was your trip?"
"Fine. With a very pleasant end," he says, kissing her again.
"This isn't quite the end," she says. "You still haven't made it into the house."
"It can wait a few minutes, right?" he says, and he sounds . . . nervous.
Meg leans back a bit, far enough to see his face. He looks nervous, too.
"You're nervous," she says. He's usually so collected -- it's kind of odd to see him nervous.
And kind of endearing.
Alain exhales something that's not quite a sigh. "Ma belle, I am about to walk into a man's house and say, 'Hello, Dr. Ford, I'm the boy who thinks he's good enough for your daughter.' Of course I'm nervous."
"So, you're not worried about my mother, just my father?"
Alain's eyes widen. "Should I be worried about your mother?" he asks.
Meg just barely keeps from smiling. "Sorry, that was mean," she says. "You shouldn't be too nervous, though."
"And why is that?"
"Because you have the complete and utter support of the daughter in question. And they both know it."
Alain exhales again and then nods. "All right. I will try not to be too nervous."
"Good. Come on, let's get it over with. The first two minutes will be the worst, right?"
"I hope so . . ." Alain says, dropping his arms from around her waist.
Meg takes one of his hands, and reaches to open the front door.
And then turns back to Alain, with a slightly sheepish expression. "Sorry."
"What?" he asks.
"I think I've locked us out."
She and her parents are sitting around the kitchen table, finishing what is, for them, a rather late breakfast. But Meg and her father had gotten back from the ball game in Toronto quite late last night, and some days you just have to sleep in a little.
(But not a lot. Not with company coming.)
She doesn't miss the amused look that passes between her parents before John says, "Thought you might."
There's something Meg might almost call relief on Alain's face when she, and only she, answers the door. He takes her hand to pull her out onto the porch. Meg shuts the door behind her. "Hi."
Alain wraps his arms around her waist and kisses her before he answers. "Hello."
"How was your trip?"
"Fine. With a very pleasant end," he says, kissing her again.
"This isn't quite the end," she says. "You still haven't made it into the house."
"It can wait a few minutes, right?" he says, and he sounds . . . nervous.
Meg leans back a bit, far enough to see his face. He looks nervous, too.
"You're nervous," she says. He's usually so collected -- it's kind of odd to see him nervous.
And kind of endearing.
Alain exhales something that's not quite a sigh. "Ma belle, I am about to walk into a man's house and say, 'Hello, Dr. Ford, I'm the boy who thinks he's good enough for your daughter.' Of course I'm nervous."
"So, you're not worried about my mother, just my father?"
Alain's eyes widen. "Should I be worried about your mother?" he asks.
Meg just barely keeps from smiling. "Sorry, that was mean," she says. "You shouldn't be too nervous, though."
"And why is that?"
"Because you have the complete and utter support of the daughter in question. And they both know it."
Alain exhales again and then nods. "All right. I will try not to be too nervous."
"Good. Come on, let's get it over with. The first two minutes will be the worst, right?"
"I hope so . . ." Alain says, dropping his arms from around her waist.
Meg takes one of his hands, and reaches to open the front door.
And then turns back to Alain, with a slightly sheepish expression. "Sorry."
"What?" he asks.
"I think I've locked us out."