My daughter had never brought a boyfriend home before.
Maya was eighteen, independent in the way eighteen-year-olds think they are, and private about anything involving boys.
So when she texted me that she was bringing a boy home for dinner while I was cutting vegetables, I almost dropped my knife.
My daughter had never brought a boyfriend home before.
Bringing Evan over tonight. Please be nice. I really like him.
I smiled at the screen.
I knew she had dated a little, but names usually disappeared from conversation the second I showed too much interest.
Then another message came through.
And tell Dad to be normal.
I laughed.
My husband, Daniel, was sitting at the kitchen table trying to fix the loose handle on one of our cabinets.
"Maya says you're supposed to be normal tonight."
He glanced up. "That's a lot of pressure."
"Apparently she's bringing home a boy."
Daniel stopped turning the screwdriver.
"A boy?" He gave me a look. "I'm going to ask for his tax returns."
"Daniel."
"I'm kidding."
Mostly, I thought.
He went back to the cabinet.
"Lucky for Maya's boyfriend, Mark will be dropping by to return my torque wrench later." He gave me a wry smile. "Should give the boy a chance to pull up letters of recommendation and testimonials from his previous girlfriends."
I rolled my eyes.
"You might find that funny, but I guarantee that Maya won't."
"Come on... you'll find it funny, too."
I playfully swatted his shoulder.
"Is Mark also joining us for dinner?"
"No."
Daniel didn't even pause to think before he replied.
Mark and Daniel had known each other since their twenties, but they weren't close anymore.
Sometimes Mark showed up at barbecues. They called each other on their birthdays, and they borrowed each other's tools.
Their friendship had become the kind built mostly on history.
I never thought much about it.
At six thirty, Maya walked through the front door with Evan.
My first thought was that he looked terrified.
My second was that I understood why Maya had warned us.
Evan was thin and very pale, with dyed black hair that fell past his jaw. His fingernails were painted black. Dark eyeliner framed his eyes, and tattoos covered most of his left forearm.
He'd completed the look with black boots, black jeans, and a faded band shirt.
He looked like the exact kind of boy nervous parents complained about before discovering he volunteered at an animal shelter.
Maya held his hand.
"Mom, Dad, this is Evan."
Daniel stared at him for a long time, then his eyes suddenly widened. He stood so quickly that his chair fell over.
"No."
Maya blinked.
Daniel pointed at Evan.
"He needs to leave. Immediately."
I laughed. I thought he was joking, until I saw the look on his face.
"Daniel? What's going on?"
"I said he needs to leave."
Maya's grip tightened around Evan's hand.
"Dad, what the heck? You haven't even spoken to him."
"I don't need to."
That made me angry.
Daniel had spent years telling our daughter not to judge people based on clothes, tattoos, hair, money, jobs, or anything else superficial.
He had once given Maya a thirty-minute lecture because she called a classmate "weird."
Now he was staring at Evan like the kid had walked into our house carrying a knife.
"Daniel, enough," I said. "If this is meant to be a joke, then it isn't funny."
His eyes stayed on Evan.
"Sarah, please. Just... trust me."
Something in his voice changed my anger.
He wasn't disgusted; he was scared.
And somehow, Evan seemed to know exactly what Daniel was afraid of.
Evan hadn't said a word.
He was studying Daniel's face with an expression I couldn't understand.
Maya turned toward him.