"Sorry, momma...I was thinking about...nothing. Just lost in thought," I admitted, though wouldn't dare explain what thoughts I was having.
"Well, you had better snap out of it because tonight is extremely important to your father."
"Yes, ma'am," I replied as she handed me a heavy casserole dish.
"Go put this on the table, will you?"
"What is this?" My father demanded as he walked through the kitchen door.
My mother and I stopped to stare at him, equally confused by his comment.
"Mr. Shields is a northerner, Kat," my father explained, "He ain't gonna wanna eat this..."
"Oh yeah?" My mother huffed, jabbing her hands into her hips and narrowing her eyes at him, "Well, why don't you tell me? What do Northerners eat? They don't have chicken up north? They don't have potatoes? What? Did you want to take him out for a pizza?"
"No," my father replied, somewhat contritely, "It's just the way its fixed..."
"It's fixed deliciously, just the way you like it and he will like it too," she retorted, "He'll like it, or he'll starve."
My father groaned and rolled his eyes, realizing that he had upset my mother, "Look, I'm sorry. I'm just nervous."
"I know you're nervous," my mother replied, slightly relenting in her anger. "But you need to let us help you. Let me help you."
I tried to ignore my mother's obvious implication that my help was useless and continued to the table, again wishing I had some kind of escape.
When I placed the dish on the table, my eyes wandered over to the place-setting reserved for our latest dinner guest.
There were only four place-settings, indicating that the man was expected to come alone.
He's probably been widowed since before I was born. I thought, keeping in mind all the disgustingly old men my parents had recently brought to the house recently.
Even though they wouldn’t come right out and say it, I knew they wanted me to marry one of their business associates and the thought made me feel physically ill.
I tried to comfort myself by thinking that since he was from the north, maybe his wife was at home, but it didn't do much good.
The bottom line was that my parents wanted me to help them smooth over their business endeavors and I didn't want any part of it.
Although, as rebellious as I was, a voice inside my head continued to tell me that I needed to mind my parents; insisting that they were doing what they thought was best for me.
It was that voice that kept me from doing anything particularly rash and I resented it wholeheartedly.
The doorbell rang, pulling me out of my thoughts and I waited for instructions.
My father was in a mood and if I didn't do what he wanted, I was going to pay for it, in one way or another for the remainder of the evening and so, it was better simply to appease him.
"What are you waiting for, girl? Go answer the damn door!" My father insisted as he walked up behind me.
After a quick shake of the head, I walked over to the door with my father at my heels.
When I opened the door, I was surprised to see a man who was well-dressed but not overly showy. The first thing I noticed about him was that his dark eyes matched his hair and his smile was mesmerizing.
“Hello, Mr. Shields,” I grinned, hoping to God no one else would notice that my heart had immediately started to pound unmercifully in my chest.
“Hi,” he replied in a confident manner, “Is this the Daniels residence?”
“Yes,” my father answered for me, practically shoving me out of the way and extending his hand in the process. “I am Raymond Daniels and that was my daughter, Sahara.”
“Ray, nice to meet you,” he insisted, shaking my father’s hand briskly before walking inside with a confident stride and turning toward me, “And a pleasure to meet you as well.”