Naptown 24 - A Blizzard in Iowa - 2. Meeting the In-Laws

A Blizzard in Iowa

A Naptown Tale by Altimexis

Meeting the In-Laws

“Just relax, Will,” my boyfriend said to me as he planted a kiss on my lips, “my parents’ll love you.”

“Sure they will,” I replied as I rolled my eyes. “You’ve spent every night for the past week at my place. Hell, you’ve only been home to pick up clean clothes. What are they supposed to think? Before last Friday, you didn’t even know me, and now you’re practically living with me.”

“I am living with you, and I want to keep on living with you, and the problem with that is . . . ?” he countered.

“You’re their youngest child,” I reminded him, “the last one to leave the nest. Naturally, they’re gonna be a bit overprotective, you know?

“You hardly dated in high school, did you?” I asked.

“Well, no,” he admitted. “I, err, basically never dated. I wasn’t out in high school.”

“So now you’re nineteen and a sophomore in college, still living at home, and here you are, suddenly falling head over heels for this guy they’ve never met,” I said. “Naturally, they think you’re off your rocker, and their natural instincts will be not to trust me.”

“Oh come on, Will,” Brian countered. “Two seconds with you is all it’ll take for them to see in you what I see in you. You worry too much. They’ll love you ’cause I love you. You’ll love them, too,” he tried to reassure me.

I wished I could feel as sure as we inched forward in Friday evening traffic, heading out of downtown Chicago toward the suburbs. Brian’s parents lived in one of the oldest and closest-in suburbs, west of the city, in a lovely town called Oak Park, famous for having been home to Frank Lloyd Wright for a number of years. During his time in Oak Park, Wright left his indelible mark on the community, and I wondered if Brian’s family lived in one of the several houses designed by the famed architect himself, but the chances of that, I realized, were pretty slim. Whenever I asked Brian about his house, he was very circumspect, telling me he wanted it to be a surprise. For all I knew, he lived in one of the many high rise condos in Oak Park - perhaps even in a penthouse apartment with a view of the Chicago skyline, which would be pretty cool, too.

I thought we’d left plenty of time to get there, even for a Friday at rush hour, but an accident on the Dan Ryan Expressway had things backed up on all routes out of the city. As it became clear we were going to be late, I became more and more frantic for an alternate route. Of course as any Chicago driver knows, or any big city driver for that matter, alternate routes are a myth designed to make the driver think they’re making better time than they really are. My Porsche 911 S Cabriolet has a navigation system, so I had access to live traffic information, and no end of selections of alternate routes to choose from. No sooner would I become frustrated with one route than my nav system would plot a new one at my request - not that the new route would get us there any faster - it just looked like it was moving faster on the display. I even had Brian get out his iPhone - we both had iPhone 3G S’s - and had him see if he could find a better route on his mobile phone. Pretty dumb, I know, but I was desperate. I was definitely not off to a good start.

Brian kept calling his parents with updates, but it was embarrassing as hell to be so late. We were forty minutes late. What a mess the whole thing was.

When we finally got to Oak Park, Brian directed me to the biggest, baddest Frank Lloyd Wright house I’d ever seen. At first I thought he was shitting me, but the enormous grin on his face told me he wasn’t at all. This really was his house. Sweet!

Still, I couldn’t help but ask him, “This is yours?”

“Yup,” he replied. “I grew up in a national historic landmark, just like you.”

Actually, I spent most of my growing up in Cedar Rapids and Chicago, rather than in our ancestral home in Burlington, Iowa, which actually was on the National Register of Historic Landmarks, but my boyfriend knew that, and now he obviously couldn’t resist having a chance to take a jab at me. And I didn’t mind it one bit.

“This really is something, Brian,” I said as we got out of my car and walked up the steps to the front porch.

“Just wait ’til you see it from the inside,” he said as the beautiful leaded glass front door swung open without our even having to ring the bell. A rather commanding woman pulled Brian inside and gave him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek and then, before he could even have the chance to introduce me, reached out with her hand and said, “And you must be Will.”

“Pleased to meet you Dr. Philips,” I said as I extended both my hands to take hers firmly in my own.

“Actually, I use my own family name, which is Lariska, but please, just call me Jenny,” she corrected me.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you Jenny,” I said as I handed her a bottle of wine.

A distinguished-looking tall and athletic gentleman came up behind Jenny and shook my hand firmly, introducing himself. “And you can call me Danny.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Danny,” I replied.

Looking at the bottle and appraising it closely, Jenny turned back to me and seemed almost to bore into me with her eyes. “Will, I appreciate the gesture, but you don’t need to drive here in your Porsche and bring us a fifty dollar bottle of wine to impress us. We’re more interested in the kind of person you are than how much money you have.”

My mouth must have dropped open when she said that without my even realizing it, because she laughed and said, “You can close your mouth, now, Will. We may live in a big Frank Lloyd Wright House in Oak Park, but I think you’ll find that Danny and I are about the least pretentious people you could ever meet. If you wanted to impress us, you should have taken the ‘L’ out here and been on time. One of the joys of living in Oak Park is that you can get here by public transportation, so why torture yourself by driving? Brian takes the ‘L’ every day . . . at least he did up until a week ago.”

“Yeah, well about that,” Brian started in, “Mom, Dad . . . I want to move in with Will.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit soon?” Danny asked, “I mean the two of you have only known each other for a week.”

“Dad, can we talk about it after dinner?” Brian asked. “Once you’ve had a chance to get to know Will, I’m sure you’ll understand why I fell in love with him so quickly. I do love him, Dad, believe me, with all my heart and I just know he’s the one I want to spend my life with.”

“And you feel the same way, Will?” Jenny asked.

“You can’t imagine how much I love your son,” I answered. “The Porsche, the condo on Lakeshore Drive . . . I’d give up everything I own if that’s what it takes to convince you of the sincerity of my love for your son. None of those things mean anything without him.”

“It sounds like you’re both pretty serious,” Danny said.

“The reason I’ve spent the past week at Will’s place is because I can’t stand to be apart from him, Dad,” Brian answered his father. “This isn’t infatuation and it’s not idolization. I know I don’t have much experience with dating, but I’ve always known what I’ve been looking for. Please . . . you have to trust me on this. Will is the kindest, most wonderful guy I’ve ever known. He’s truly the man of my dreams.” As he finished saying that, he came up to me and wrapped his arms around me from behind. “I love this guy to pieces,” he concluded.

Smiling, Jenny suggested, “Why don’t we go sit in the solarium and have some appetizers?”

As we made our way through Brian’s house to the solarium, I couldn’t help but notice the expensive artwork – most of it by well-known contemporary artists – nearly all if it original oil and watercolor paintings from the likes of McKnight, Yamaguchi and Rizzi. It was an amazing collection, worthy of a museum, and knowing that Danny was the one of the curators at a major art museum himself, I said as much.

“Do you collect art, Will?” Danny asked when we sat down.

Laughing, I said, “That’s a very good question. I certainly appreciate art, and I recognized all of the artists I’ve seen here, and that you have all originals, whereas most people have lithographs. Me as a collector . . . I hadn’t really thought about collecting art at this stage in my life. My parents furnished my condo on Lakeshore Drive, including the art on the walls, although they did ask for my input. They also collect art, but their tastes are much more conservative, tending to favor a much narrower color palate.”

“A blander color palate?” Jenny asked as she set out an appetizer consisting of baked brie with apple slices, and poured us each a glass of wine.

“Exactly,” I answered.

“So you’ve seen our art, and you’ve seen your parent’s art, and I assume you’ve been to museums,” Danny started to ask.

“I have a student membership at the Chicago Art Institute,” I replied, “and I’ve been to most all of the major art museums in the world, some of them several times.”

“If you could choose among all of the artists that ever lived, what kind of art would you choose to furnish your home someday, Will?” Danny asked.

“Wow,” I started to answer, “I hadn’t given it much thought before. Definitely not what I have now in my condo . . . it’s way too bland for my tastes. Also, I believe art has to express something. It has to send a message, like the Diego Rivera murals in Mexico. I may not agree with the message, but it has to say something.

“I really like the work of the original surrealists . . . maybe their work has become too much of a cliché at this point, but . . . Dali, Magritte, Ernst . . . they were brilliant. I could see having some of their works in my home.”

Laughing, Danny said, “Will, we have a seven figure budget for art, but unless you’re willing to spend well into the eight figures, you might want to set your sights just a bit lower. Contemporary artists may or may not become the classic artists of tomorrow, but they’re a hell of a lot more affordable.”

“What do you like, Brian?” I asked.

“Surrealism’s cool, but are you familiar with the hyperrealists like Goings, Close, Eddy, Bechtle and McClean?”

“Of course,” I answered. “Not much of a message, but their stuff is cool. Way cool.”

“I think we can have a lot of fun deciding on those things together . . . things that will be uniquely ours. We’ll make a lot of decisions on many things as a couple . . . color schemes, furnishings and artwork. Do you think we can make the condo a place that represents us rather than just you?” my boyfriend asked.

“Sweetheart, it never really represented my tastes in the first place,” I answered. “Like I said, my parents furnished it. We don’t have a huge amount of money to work with, but I’m sure my parents would be willing to exchange the artwork for something else as long as it’s tasteful, and they’d probably be willing to swap some of the furnishings. Let’s furnish it the way we want . . . with what we like . . . make the condo our place . . . a place where we can grow together.”

“That’s so sweet, Will,” Brian said as he pulled me into his embrace and gave me a peck on the lips that became another peck and then more. The sound of Jenny clearing her throat brought us out of our passionate trance.

“Sorry about that, Mom,” Brian said apologetically. “I really love Will so much, I sometimes forget other people are around us.”

“We can see that, Brian,” Jenny answered, “but we still want to make sure you aren’t rushing into things. How can you know you want to spend the rest of your life with someone after just eight days?”

“I knew after just eight minutes, Mom,” Brian answered. “There’s just a connection between us that can’t be denied. He’s my soul mate and I knew it right away, from the moment our eyes met. We like the same things and share the same interests and beliefs. The day we met, we couldn’t stop talking to each other. We talked for hours until the coffee shop closed. Other than to attend classes, we haven’t been apart since then. We were made for each other, Mom.

“Sure, Will has his annoying habits . . .”

As I glared at him, he continued, “Well, you do . . .” he said to me, “I do, too, I’m sure.” Turning back to his mother, he continued, “Everyone does, but he’s a sweet, kind, gentle person who wouldn’t hurt anyone . . .”

“What about that girl he left in a coma?” Danny chimed in. I knew that was bound to come up sooner or later.

“Danny, Jenny, I won’t say I’ve never made any mistakes,” I began, “because I have. I’ve certainly made my share of mistakes, and I’m willing to be brutally honest with you now so you’ll know everything there is to know about me and what your son is getting into. I’ve already told Brian about my past.

“From the time I was twelve, my parents paraded suitable girls from good families in front of me, hoping I’d pair up with them and that our families could then take advantage of our mutual political connections. The possibility that I might not even be into girls was never discussed, but it was pretty clear that there was no other option. I learned to keep my sexuality under wraps.

“I knew Sherrie was bad news from the time we met, but she was from a good family and my parents heartily approved. She had a serious cocaine habit, but then I was just getting into college life myself and I was experimenting a little bit with the party scene and didn’t realize just what I was getting into. As the school year progressed, however, I quickly tired of the whole thing, whereas Sherrie only became more and more enamored of it and tried to drag me along . . . well, down with her.

“When I was offered a summer internship at the White House and Sherrie told me she was going with me to Washington, I should have just told her ‘no’ in no uncertain terms . . . but I couldn’t. Her parents thought it would be a great idea for her to go along. By then, I’d decided I wanted nothing to do with drugs of any kind . . . not even pot, let alone coke. I never even used the stuff in high school . . . and I decided getting high wasn’t really my thing. My head was pointed towards an ambitious career in politics. Sherrie, on the other hand, only got more and more heavily into cocaine use, in spite of my protests.

“The first time she overdosed, she was told she had to go into a rehab program or face serious jail time. I was all for that, but her parents managed to get her released to me instead. I was to be her rehab! What the hell was I supposed to do that I hadn’t already tried? The second time, by the time I got to her, she’d overdosed and was already brain dead. Now, she’s worse than in a coma. She’s in a vegetative state. She opens her eyes, but there’s nothing there, but her parents insist on keeping her on a ventilator . . .”

“It’s hard letting go when it comes to a child, Will,” Jenny said.

“Yes, but Sherrie’s an organ donor. At least something good could come of an otherwise senseless life, but if they wait until she dies of natural causes, her life will have been a total waste.”

Sighing, Jenny continued, “I hope someday you and Brian have children, and then maybe you’ll understand. I actually agree with you, but it’s very difficult when it comes to your own child to be objective and to look at the bigger picture. I bet they blame you for her drug habit, and for what happened to her, too, don’t they?”

Nodding my head, I answered, “There’s a reason I’m no longer considering a career in politics. They’ve made it clear they’ll poison any attempt I might make to run for office. However, on the bright side of things, I no longer have to worry about coming out . . . but going back to what you said a minute ago . . . you said when Brian and I have children . . . did you mean that?”

“Yes, Will, I did. It’s clear you’ve made some mistakes . . . errors in judgment that are common to kids when they first go out on their own, and errors that probably come largely from your background, but it also sounds like you’ve managed to get past your mistakes and you’ve grown from your experiences.”

“I’m not the same person I was six months ago,” I admitted. “I went to Washington to learn the ropes of politics, and instead I came away a changed man. I saw Sherrie for what she was, and I saw the way her family manipulated the house of cards to suit their ambitions.

“I came out to my parents, and found that they’d known all along, and were supportive once they understood that this is who I am. I also met a group of four absolutely amazing teenagers who showed me that it’s possible to be true to one’s self and still be out and proud. Because of those experiences, today I’m comfortable with who I am, and ready to love your son like no one else can.”

“I know your are, Will, and I think the two of you are lucky to have found each other so young. Don’t get me wrong . . . I still think moving in this soon is premature . . . but that is my son’s decision to make and not mine,” Jenny answered.

There was still a lot of nervous tension for me that evening, and I did break one of their Waterford glasses and spilled a glass of wine - things I hadn’t done since I was a toddler - but Brian’s parents took it all in their stride.

It was otherwise a very enjoyable evening and in the end, Jenny and Danny both hugged me and welcomed me to the family, and they cried when Brian grabbed as much clothing from his bedroom as we could fit into the Porsche to carry back to my Condo.

It was then that it hit them that their son really was moving out.

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