Darkest Days: A Southern Zombie Tale by James J. Layton Page B

she said, “I didn’t want you to think that I was weak.”
    Cara tried to still her trembling lip as tears welled up again.
    Jean wiped her moistening eyes and changed the subject. “So, when do I get to meet your boyfriend?”
    Cara feigned modesty. “Mom, we’ve only been together a few days.” Saying this aloud brought a chill as she realized how irrational love had made her. The shudder passed and Cara resumed basking in the glow of maternal affection.
    Jean suggested in a hopeful voice. “Why don’t you invite your friend over for dinner?”
    Cara smiled. The last person who came to dinner in the Creed household was a teacher who left upset at the impertinent youth. Cara had taken on a patronizing tone throughout the entire evening that finished with a lively debate on socialized healthcare.
    The young girl smiled up at her mother as if seeing her for the first time. “I’ll ask him to come tomorrow. I think he has to work tonight. If we drove by McDonalds’, I could ask him.” She hinted towards Mrs. Creed.
    ***
     
    The next night, Bryant attended the dinner as planned. He arrived at 6:50 P.M., ten minutes early for dinner. He vaguely recalled someone telling him that proper etiquette dictated that one should wait to knock on the door until the appointed time in case the preparations were not complete. Despite this advice, he immediately walked to the door and knocked. Tension at formally meeting his girlfriend’s parents and anxiousness to see her propelled him toward the door.
    Bryant paused before knocking to examine his clothing. He still wore blue jeans but felt that he was formally dressed due to the black, buttoned long-sleeved shirt, which was a step up from his normal T-shirts. As a matter of fact, he had listened to ZZ Top’s Sharp Dressed Man right before arriving.
    The door swung open and Cara stepped outside. “I thought I heard your truck.” She greeted him with a light kiss on the lips. “The food arrived about five minutes before you. Come on.” She took his hand and excitedly pulled him inside.
    Bryant was perplexed and repeated, “The food has arrived?”
    Cara laughed. “My mom is not a housewife. In order for you to be able to eat, someone else had to cook it.”
    The rooms went by in a blur as she pulled him along until a hallway opened into a large kitchen. David and Jean Creed sat at the table with a bucket of KFC chicken in front of them like a centerpiece.
    Cara pointed at the two adults. “This is my Mom and my Dad.” She excitedly gestured at Bryant. “This is Bryant.”
    The young man blushed and extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.” He shook Mr. Creed’s hand and then turned to the mother repeating the process. “Ma’am.” His first impression of the pater familias bordered on a faux totalitarianism. He thought he had the reins, but the wife thought the partnership was fifty-fifty. “They probably had some serious shouting matches in their day” he thought. He took a seat and waited for the conversation to begin.
    “So,” David began in a serious fashion as paper plates were passed around the table. “Cara seems to like you. Our daughter is unusually picky about the company she keeps. So, we’ve been wondering what kind of superman you might be.”
    Bryant tried to read the father’s stone face but could not decipher the intention of that statement. “I’m not anything special, sir.” He cautiously proceeded.
    “My daughter is a straight A student and has skipped two grades.” The father casually stated.
    “Dad!” Cara protested.
    “Well, it is true. Can’t I be proud of my daughter?” He asked with feigned innocence. Then he narrowed his eyes at Bryant. “What kind of grades to you make?”
    Bryant shifted uncomfortably. “A’s and B’s.”
    Cara interjected. “He supports himself by working full time, so he can’t study like I do.”
    “Oh, a working man, huh?” The father asked with a twinge of respect.
    “Yes, sir.”