Something I've always wanted to do. I always figured it would be a post apocalyptic story. Not even close.
Anybody want to read a scene? Setting is Boulder Colorado in 1980.
QuoteMike pulled up to the Walkers' house just after six, the sky already dark, streetlights casting pools of amber across the quiet residential street. The Mustang's engine ticked as it cooled, and he sat for a moment, checking his reflection in the rearview mirror, smoothing his shirt collar.
The flowers sat on the passenger seat, not roses, too much for a nineteenth birthday, but a mixed bouquet the florist had suggested. Daisies, some carnations, a few stems of something purple he couldn't name. Wrapped in paper, tied with ribbon. His mother had been firm over the phone yesterday: "You bring flowers. Always. It's what civilized people do."
He picked them up carefully and headed for the door.
Martha answered almost immediately, her face lighting up with that particular warmth she seemed to reserve for him now.
"Michael. Right on time."
"Hi, Mrs. Walker." He stood there holding the flowers, suddenly aware of how formal this felt compared to picking Becky up at the dorm.
"Come in, come in," Martha said, stepping aside.
The house was warm and bright, Sunday evening settled in comfortably. Cooking smells from earlier still lingered—leftover Thanksgiving turkey being transformed into something new, probably soup or casserole. Through the doorway to the living room, he could see Professor Walker in his chair, newspaper open, reading glasses perched on his nose.
"Becky will be down in just a minute," Martha said. "She's been fussing with her hair for twenty minutes."
"Mom," Becky's voice called from upstairs, carrying both exasperation and amusement.
Martha smiled conspiratorially at Mike, then headed toward the kitchen. "I'll let her know you're here."
Mike stepped into the living room. Professor Walker lowered his newspaper, looking over his glasses.
"Mike. How are you?"
"Good, sir. You?"
"Can't complain." His eyes dropped briefly to the flowers, then back up, a hint of approval in his expression.
"Big plans tonight?"
"Dinner. Nothing too elaborate."
Professor Walker nodded. "Good choice." He folded the newspaper, setting it aside. "You know, I was her age when I took Martha on our first real date. Flowers then too."
Mike smiled faintly, uncertain how to respond to that.
"She kept them until they were brown and falling apart," he continued, something fond in his voice. "Pressed one in a book somewhere. Probably still has it."
Before Mike could reply, footsteps on the stairs drew both their attention.
Becky came down wearing a dress Mike had never seen before. Simple, dark blue, appropriate for dinner but clearly chosen with care. Her hair was down, falling past her shoulders in a way that made her look older somehow, more polished than her usual ponytail.
She paused at the bottom of the stairs, taking in the scene: Mike standing with flowers, her father watching from his chair, the particular domestic tableau of boyfriend-meeting-family that she'd somehow walked into.
"Hi," she said, something self-conscious in her smile.
"Hi." Mike stepped forward, extending the flowers. "Happy birthday."
Her face changed, genuine surprise and pleasure replacing the self-consciousness. "These are beautiful. Thank you."
She took them, brought them to her face briefly, inhaling. Then turned toward the kitchen where her mother had reappeared in the doorway.
"Mom, can you put these in water for me?"
Martha came forward, taking the bouquet with obvious delight. "Of course, honey. I'll take good care of them." She looked at Mike. "These are lovely, Michael."
"Thank you, ma'am."
Martha disappeared back into the kitchen, already humming softly as she searched for the right vase.
Becky turned back to Mike, "Ready?"
"Whenever you are."
Her dad stood, moving to the entryway as they headed for the door. "Have a wonderful birthday, sweetheart."
"Thanks, Dad."
"Have fun, you two."
"We will," Becky said, then added over her shoulder as they stepped outside, "Don't wait up."
Mike caught the small smile on his face as the door closed behind them.
I'll have to read this later, I don't have time right now. Too much goin' on.