Page 24 of Charmed By the Next-Door Neighbor
"I'm twenty-six years old. Your job is to let me make my own mistakes."
"And is this a mistake?" My father gestures between me and Nash. "Is he a mistake?"
The table goes silent.
Nash's hand tightens on my knee, just slightly, and I realize he's waiting. Waiting to see what I'll say. Waiting to see if I'll throw him under the bus to make peace with my parents.
I look at him.
He's watching me with those steady eyes, and there's something in his expression, something resigned. Like he already knows what I'm going to say. Like he's used to being called a mistake.
Fuck that.
"No," I say, looking back at my father. "He's not a mistake. He's the best thing that's happened to me since I moved here."
Nash goes very still beside me.
"Claire—" my mother starts.
"I mean it." I'm on a roll now and I can't stop. "Nash is kind. He's thoughtful. He doesn't try to control me or tell me what to do. He listens to me. He sees me. And honestly? That's more than I can say for either of you right now."
My mother's face has gone pale. My father's jaw is tight.
"We see you," my mother says quietly. "We've always seen you."
"No. You see who you want me to be. The daughter who goes to law school and lives in the city and marries someone from a firm you respect. But that's not who I am."
"Then who are you?" my father asks, and he sounds genuinely confused.
"I don't know yet," I admit. "That's what I'm trying to figure out. But I can't do that with you hovering over me every second."
The waiter chooses that moment to appear with dessert menus, and the timing is so bad I almost laugh.
Nobody orders dessert.
My father asks for the check, and when it comes, Nash reaches for it.
"I've got it," my father says.
"No sir," Nash says firmly. "I'll get it."
"Don't be ridiculous. This meal costs—"
"I know what it costs." Nash pulls out his wallet, actual cash, not a credit card, and puts enough bills on the table to cover the check and a generous tip. "I'm dating your daughter. I'll pay for dinner."
My father stares at the cash like he's never seen money before. My mother looks like she's trying to solve a complicated equation. I fall a little bit in love with Nash right then and there, and I have to remind myself very firmly that none of this is real.
We leave the restaurant in uncomfortable silence. The parking lot is dark now, lit only by a few strategically placed lights that cast long shadows across the pavement.
"Well," my mother says when we reach the cars. "This was... educational."
"We'll see you tomorrow," my father adds. "We thought we'd take you to breakfast. Just the three of us."
"Actually," Nash says before I can respond, "we've got plans tomorrow."
I look at him. We do?
"What plans?" my mother asks.
