She could feel his nervousness as they sat and waited. She looked to him to see his fingers busily drumming themselves upon the large table that spanned out before them.
“Hey, it's going to be all right,” she reassured him while resting her hand upon his twitching one. His gaze met hers accompanied with a hint of a smile.
“I know,” he said with a heavy sigh, “I'm just no good at these kinds of things.”
“You'll be fine,” she continued, now stroking at his arm, “They won't bite your head off. I promise.”
His smile widened, followed by a row of silvery teeth. The drumming fingers stopped.
The minutes droned on. As boredom took hold, they both began lazily scanning the room with uninterested gazes. A single woman, clad in white and wearing a large apron, was busying herself with the handling of large platters and trays of food. She looked weary.
A man was standing idly beside a cash register at the opposite end of the room, his attention drawn to a particular spot upon his left hand.
“Hi, Taylor,” came a familiar voice to the woman's left.
She turned her attention to see two older people staring back at her, causing her heart to leap and simultaneously tighten her hold upon the man next to her.
“Hi!” she replied while standing and hugging each of them individually.
She felt no return in the gesture, but ignored it. She sat back in the seat as they each took a chair opposite the table.
“What is this about, dear?” the older woman said, a smile hanging from her face as if placed there from outside influences.
“Mom, Dad,” the woman said while looking to the man next to her, “I'd like you to meet someone.”
I looked to him. He was smiling back at them meekly.
“This is Brice,” I said while gesturing toward him, “We are going to get married-”
“I already said that enough was enough of this shit!” the older man suddenly shouted.
“Richard, sit down!” the mother seethed while pulling upon his wrist.
Taylor looked to Brice to see his face decorated with a thick layer of fear. His skin was ghostly white, a thin sheen of sweat hung from his brow.
“Honey,” her mother cooed to her to catch her attention.
She turned back to face her, a look of supreme hurt upon her face.
“We've already been through this a hundred times.”
“You never accept who I am!” Taylor shouted with equal volume to both of her parents.
The area around them was already silent; she could feel eyes upon every inch of her back.
“This is not who you are, Taylor!” her dad shouted in response, “This is not the daughter I raised.”
“If you hate me so much, why don't you just come out and say it-”
“Why do we always have to bring these episodes out in public?” her mother said with labored tone.
“There's no one next you to, Taylor,” came the voice of her dad, “No one is sitting at the table.”
Her head whipped to the seat beside her. Brice was gone.
“He probably left after the way he was treated!” she said with indignation, “You would leave too.”
Her father sighed.
“There was never anyone in that seat, Taylor,” he said to her, his voice barely above a whisper, “This is the final straw.”
“I love him!” she screamed as she stood and shoved at her father, “Doesn't that mean anything to you?”
“We let it go on too long,” her mother said, her head in her hands, “I let it go on-”
“I need to go look for him,” Taylor said with tears in her eyes, “I hate both of you.”
She ran from them, toward the exit. She heard her father call after her, but she ignored his angered wail. The cool air struck her wet face as she emerged onto the parking lot. She squinted through the darkness to see any signs of Brice.
Why did they always run away?
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