Into the Light

29. How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?

I need a cigarette, this very instant. As in, right now. And you can wrinkle your nose as much as you like, baby, but I'm going to ignore that and just smoke this cig I have clasped between my fingers. Which seem to be shaking ever so slightly, I observe.

"Oh, all right." Rashim gives in and slows down to an amble, pushing his hands into the pockets of the loose jacket he's wearing over a breath-thin shirt. I won't be thinking about how his nipples loom like darker shadows through it, no I won't. "But honestly, Toni, I can't understand how you can be that jittery. For heaven's sake, they're just my parents!"

"That's completely wrong," I correct him. "There's nothing 'just' in this situation. They aren't 'just' your parents. They're your parents, and for me that's more than enough reason to be nervous!"

He shakes his head. "And they've no doubt managed to get themselves properly worked up, too... I swear that if I'd realized what's going to happen, I wouldn't have said anything to anybody!"

"What do you mean, get worked up?" I stare at Rashim who rolls his eyes.

"Exactly that! They're nervous as hell about meeting you, worrying over everything being so ordinary, and all that. I tried to explain to them that the purpose of this visit is for you to get to know each other, not trying to impress anyone, but I guess it didn't quite go home." He kicks a small stone out of the way and grants me a half exasperated, half amused glare. "So I've proved again how stupid I am. I should've simply told you that we're going for a walk, and then just gone and knocked on the door - instead of talking about this in advance!"

"Hey, I still don't get it," I insist. "Why should they worry about such things? I'm the one who has to make a good impression here!"

"Toni." Rashim stops and turns to face me. "You're not exactly just anybody. You're from Uman, from an old noble family, filthy rich, and from the high society. And no matter how horrid that society is, and how shitty your life has been, you're still someone whose arrival in Dirna merits a mention in the celebrity columns. That means you're something a little intimidating to ordinary people, such as my parents. Got it?"

"You weren't intimidated, though." I can't look away... his eyes just have that effect on me. Their corners crease a little.

"Remember, I'm silly," Rashim murmurs. "I had no idea who you were." He leans forward to kiss me. "I just knew that you were damn hot, and that I had managed to spill both of our drinks on the floor... careful with the bottle, love."

I obediently gather the parcel closer. It's my present to Rashim's parents, a magnum bottle of their favorite red wine, in the hope that it'll make them at least a little more benevolent towards me.

Rashim's arm slips around mine, he pulls me along and we walk briskly down the street. He's not limping any more, and even though he still has a light bandage around his ankle just in case, his foot has definitely got better over the past few days. There's something for me to preen about; I've been diligently making sure that he rests it, and helping him do the exercises and stretches he can without putting his weight on it. Most enjoyable, that, not to mention all the cuddling and foreplay it has led to. Oh, we've definitely been making the most out of the fact that Rashim's had to limit his steps and keep his foot raised to reduce the swelling more quickly...

Goddamn it - before I have time to demand another smoking break to try and calm myself, we suddenly stop and Rashim opens a narrow gate. We're in front of a small house in the western side of the city, and apart from its color it looks more or less like all the others by that quiet street. It's painted pale pink, with a row of neat bushes dotted with fluffy white blossoms on both sides of the walk leading to the front door. In other words it's a perfectly ordinary house, just like the dozens I've run past with Rashim on so many mornings - though not on this street, this is so far away from Rashim's little apartment, on the opposite side of the city.

So there's nothing in its appearance to justify the way my pulse just about doubles when I follow Rashim towards that door. I try to tell myself as much but all too soon we are standing on the steps. Rashim glances at me, gives me a small, encouraging smile and raises his hand to the knocker. But he has hardly time to touch it before the door opens and I'm faced with...

Hmm, hold on. There's never been any talk about an older brother, so this freckled man with a dark ginger hair and friendly honey-brown eyes must be Rashim's father. Never mind that he really looks more like an older brother, not old enough to have a nineteen-year-old son. But Rashim greets him with a hug and a murmured 'hi dad', and I suppose he ought to know best. Right, so this is the father, momentarily looking a little embarrassed - probably because we caught him actually waiting for us at the door. I take a deep breath and manage something resembling a smile, and the man smiles back to me. He's much like Rashim in build and height, and I bet that from a distance it would be rather easy to mistake one for the other, if one didn't look at the most obvious differences, such as Rashim's long hair.

But - oh, wow. So this is where those lovely slanted eyes have come from. The mother is small, dark, very pretty, round in a totally charming way. Rashim kisses her on both cheeks and she nearly blushes as she glances shyly up at me. Rashim's long fingers entwine with mine.

"So, mum and dad, this is Toni," he says matter-of-factly, and while they introduce themselves I succeed in swallowing the awkward lump that has been obstinately stuck in my throat.

"I'm so pleased to meet you," I tell them. "I, uh, wanted to bring you something, and Rashim told me that you might like this..."

My present is accepted with visible delight, which is a great relief. The petite lady leads us into the living room and then flutters around for a while like an agitated butterfly, until Rashim tells her that he's happy to help her get the table ready and fluidly ushers her into the kitchen. They disappear behind the corner, and I almost choke on my tongue when the full implications of that particular maneuver dawn upon me: I'm now in the living room without Rashim, alone with his father.

I look at him, he glances at me, and just about simultaneously we give each other a slightly awkward smile. Okay, Toni, you've always taken pride in your suaveness - prove it now.

"This is a lovely house." My brain just refuses to come up with anything more original, but at least it's a relatively safe start. Rashim's father grabs the opportunity gratefully.

"Thank you - we like this a lot. Been living here ever since the kids were small."

"Kids?" I prick my ears. Rashim's never mentioned any siblings...

"Rashim and his sister," he clarifies and points at a picture on the wall. I step closer to take a look. It's an oil painting, a little amateurish perhaps but good enough to reveal that the chestnut-haired young woman who's posing there bears more than a passing resemblance to the three other members of the family that I've met so far. She's holding a chubby baby in her arms. "She's married, lives in Merane. Painting is a hobby of her husband's, he's made that one too."

"Very nice," I say honestly. "So she's a few years older than Rashim?"

"Six years," he says and then adds proudly. "That's their first child."

I feel an unfamiliar sting. In all likelihood, Rashim won't be fathering any kids. Nor will I. Should I feel guilty about it when talking to his father? Mine wouldn't care anyway, even if he were still alive, but...

"And how is your new house coming along?"

I almost start. "Oh, it's almost complete. It's going to be ready in about a week or so."

"Right." He hesitates a moment. "Rashim tells us he'll be living there with you."

Idiot me - did I perhaps just think houses would be a safe topic? But his wording was not right. It was off in a way that's very important to me.

"We'll be living there together," I correct. "I - I hope you don't mind?"

"Mind?" He looks surprised. "Mind what?"

"That he and I... I mean..." Could somebody just please kick me right now? "That we are together."

Rashim's father looks slightly puzzled. "If you mean to ask whether we mind that he has a boyfriend - no, we've known he's gay since he turned ten or something, I guess. And we just want him to be happy with his life."

I open my mouth to answer, but right then Rashim peeks from the kitchen. "Dad, Toni, the lunch is ready. And you'd better come right away, or I won't be responsible for the consequences - it looks so delicious that I'm going to eat all of it by myself if you don't act quickly."

We all settle around the table, Rashim on my left and his parents across us. Rashim's mother watches me anxiously while I savor the first mouthful and just barely manage not to swallow my tongue as well, then blushes with pleasure when I sigh deep and tell her that it's, simply put, delicious. That, plus half a glass of wine, put her considerably more at ease, and I'm not quite sure how and when it happens but we are chatting comfortably with each other well before we get even halfway through the meal.

Rashim gets very eloquent as he gets to telling about our house on the Rise, and a few times I have to rescue wine glasses that might otherwise be knocked over. His parents are listening raptly. No, they sure don't seem to have any problem with their son, and I get the distinct feeling that they also at least accept me. Such nice people they are, enthusiastic about Rashim's choice of career, and overjoyed to receive tickets to the Dance Theater's opening performance - of course Rashim's secured seats for them, and we've brought the tickets with us now.

Between dancing and the new house we manage to chat about perhaps three dozen other topics, and I'm definitely relaxing by the minute. They don't have anything against me, nor against what we have together. I'm not quite sure what I say, at some point during the dessert, to make Rashim suddenly wrap his arms around my neck and kiss me squarely on the mouth, but I know I'm thoroughly embarrassed and red as a boiled lobster when he lets go of me. Rashim's mother sighs.

"Oh, it's so good to see how happy you are together," she beams at us.

What can I say? Lovely, that's what she is.

When we finally declare that none of us is able to swallow a single mouthful any more, the lady of the house shepherds us all out of the kitchen, but Rashim insists that she come to sit down with us, and to hell with the dishes right now. Her husband grins and winks at me, and I can't help chuckling.

I guess I can call these people my in-laws. Such a weird idea... but I must say I definitely like it.