The Dinner Test
by TheBucketWoman
Disclaimer: I do not own LWD, its characters, or anything else I might reference herein. The title is both a play on "The Dinner Guest" and an old episode of "Just the Ten of Us," which is a show from the 80s. I am so old.
"The Dinner Test"
Jerry Davis's fifteen year old daughter Emily was bringing her first boyfriend home to meet him. She'd been with the boy for a couple of months and Jerry had managed to avoid crossing paths with him. He'd never been so happy to work late.
Because this was not a day that he'd been looking forward to, far from it. Ever since Emily had started wearing makeup and those jeans that he had tried his damnedest to object to (Linda, his wife, overruled him), he'd been worried about this very thing. A boy in his house.
"What exactly are you afraid of, Jerry?" Linda asked.
"What do we know about this kid?" Jerry asked.
"Sheldon," Linda said. "He's on the honor roll, worked with her on that French project. You know, her first A in that class? And he was the kid who won the Clash of the Bands."
Wrong answer, Jerry thought.
"A musician?" he asked.
"Jerry, you dork," Linda said, smiling. "I know you're not sitting here picturing some tattooed and pierced—"
"I wasn't," he lied.
"This is more the sweater vest type," Linda said. "He's a cute little thing. You'd like him."
"I would not," Jerry said. "Linda, this boy wants to put his hands (among other things) on my daughter."
"Jerry."
"We ain't about to be buddies. I'm not gonna invite him to watch the game with me. We won't play golf together, unless he's the ball," Jerry said.
Linda thought this was funny. "Are you really gonna be this guy?" she asked. "This 'not-with-my-daughter-you-don't' type of dictator?"
"What's your point?"
"My point is that that shit never works," Linda said. "Ever. I mean, haven't you watched enough television to know what happens when a father pulls this trick?"
Jerry opened his mouth, but really had nothing to say to that. He knew how stupid it was, but it couldn't be helped. His daughter was too beautiful and he'd seen too many dirty old men (and dirty teenage boys) looking at her to avoid the urge to lock her in a tower. He didn't care if it was cliché. The cliché came from somewhere. There was truth to it.
"Whenever a father pulls rank on a daughter," Linda said, "the daughter pulls the 'you-can't-stop-me' maneuver and gets closer with the guy. This one, like I said, is a sweetheart who can't believe his luck, but it could just as easily be Derek Venturi next door."
"Oh God," Jerry said. If there was one kid he lived in fear of, it was Derek Venturi.
"Not that Derek Venturi's exactly the worst kid in the world either, even if he does have a talent for ripping up the garden," Linda said.
"I don't think the results are in yet," Jerry said.
"Huh?"
"On whether Derek is the worst kid in the world."
"Jerry," Linda said.
"And for all I know, this Sheldon is next in line for the crown," Jerry said.
"Okay," Linda said. "Looks like my next move is going to be pretty obvious, too."
"Oh yeah? What's that?" Jerry asked.
"I have to tell you to be nice to this kid tomorrow night," Linda said. "Or else."
"Or else?" Jerry asked.
"I know you know what that means," Linda said. "Don't you even try to play dumb with me."
This version of Or Else probably involved fighting the cat for the couch, so he didn't say another word.
So sure, Jerry would be nice to this Sheldon kid. He was always nice.
Sheldon was taking Emily to a dance, so Linda decided to keep the dinner simple, just some grilled chicken salad. Jerry was not allowed in the kitchen. He was being punished, even though he'd come home from work with a bottle of good burgundy and strawberries for after the kids were gone and their younger son, Damien, called Dimi, was in bed. She accepted the bottle of wine and made it known that he would not be partaking if his behavior did not meet with her approval.
Linda, for her part, was acting like the prime minister was coming to dinner, even though the kid had clearly been in their house before and no doubt knew that there was always a little cat hair on the couch and rug, so while vacuuming was nice, there was no need to repeatedly lint-roll every available surface. Unless the boy was allergic. And if the boy was allergic to Neville Furbottom, well, then he may as well just pack it up because that was strike three.
Dimi didn't get all the fuss either. "Why do I have to take a bath?" he asked. "It's just Sheldon."
So after Linda got the house and Dimi cleaner than either had been since the last time Emily's friend Casey the neat freak came to visit, the doorbell rang. Emily came flying down the stairs like something out of a Looney Tunes cartoon, and Linda gave Jerry a final warning look.
"Hey!" Emily said, brightly. Then there was the sound of kissing which sent Jerry's blood pressure up ten points.
"Hi," Sheldon squeaked, a little breathlessly. He stumbled a little over the threshold and caught himself before he could knock Emily over. She led (dragged) him into the living room, and suddenly Jerry was face to face with him.
Jerry didn't know what he'd pictured, but it sure as hell wasn't this kid. This one was far too clean cut. Linda hadn't been kidding. There was no sweater vest, but there may as well have been.
This isn't really her date, Jerry thought. This is the kid she paid to pose as her date. She's meeting the real kid later.
"Sheldon, this is my Dad, Jerry," Emily said. "Dad, Sheldon."
"It's g-good to finally meet you, Juh—I mean, Sir," Sheldon said, keeping wide, terrified eyes on him. He held out a shaking, mildly clammy hand to shake. For the sake of the story, Jerry was hoping for a dead fish of a handshake, but the kid didn't have a bad grip.
"Hi Sheldon!" Dimi said, fist bumping him.
"How ya doin, Dimi," Sheldon said. "How'd that spelling test go?"
"Got 100!" Dimi said. "Marti only got a 98. But she says she's gonna beat me next time."
"Cool," Sheldon said. "Marti Venturi's a tough customer."
Tough customer? Jerry thought. Try Demon Seed. Takes after her brother, that one. Jerry knew that Dimi, seven years old, already had a crush on her. Meanwhile, Sheldon was a little too familiar with the family for Jerry's taste, especially since he hadn't laid eyes on him until that moment.
Linda told them all to have a seat, at the table, that dinner would just be a minute. She put Sheldon next to Dimi and across from Emily. This was the cat's habitual spot, and Emily needed to chase him off before Sheldon could sit. Jerry watched him for signs of allergic reaction and found none.
"So Sheldon," Jerry asked. "Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"
"Um," Sheldon said. "Not much to tell, really..."
"Play any sports?"
"Oh," Sheldon said. "Nooo. Not really. I usually leave stuff like that to the coordinated."
"Then, what do you do?" Jerry asked.
"Well," Sheldon said.
"Jerry," Linda said, coming into the dining room with the food. "You remember. Sheldon's a very talented musician." She smiled over at him.
"Oh yeah," Jerry said. "Musician. Yeah. What is it you play again?"
"Um, piano, some guitar, pan...flute," Sheldon said, biting his lip.
"And he sings," Emily said.
"Yeah, a little," Sheldon said, completely aware that none of this was going over well with Jerry.
"What kind of music?"
"I'm still taking piano lessons and for those, I play a lot of classical stuff, like for recitals, but I like to play a little of everything."
"Define 'a little of everything,'" Jerry said.
"Okay," Sheldon said. "Besides the classical—that's a lot of Chopin, Mozart, Haydn, stuff like that. I play some Beatles, some Stones...um...Motown, Guns N Roses, Death Cab for Cutie, Jeff Buckley..."
"And are you planning to pursue music at university?" Jerry asked.
"Dad," Emily said. "We're in grade ten."
"Not to early to think about university," he said. Emily looked at him in disbelief.
"I'm keeping my options open?" Sheldon said.
"What else were you thinking about pursuing?" Jerry asked. Emily shot daggers at him.
"I was thinking about journalism," Sheldon said. This sounded like an honest answer. Which meant that the kid was onto him. If he wasn't, he would have given him a pat response like business administration, or, if he really wanted to lay it on thick, pre-med. But this kid had liberal arts written all over him and wasn't going to deny it.
Jerry nodded. "And have you done any writing?"
"Some," Sheldon said. "For the school paper. Um...a little copyediting."
"Yeah, Dad," Emily said. "Didn't you say that the quality of writing in the paper went up this year?"
Dammit, Jerry thought. I did say that.
"There's a few more people this year," Sheldon said. "A little bit more competition. Like Casey McDonald's written a couple of pieces, and she's really good."
"And then there's you," Emily said, smiling at him.
"I'm okay," Sheldon said, smiling back. The two of them seemed to be forgetting that there were parents in the room, and Jerry could no longer deny that this was his daughter's actual boyfriend. That she actually liked this kid. That, as Linda said, Sheldon couldn't believe his luck. That Linda was right yet again.
"Ahem," Jerry said. It took them a second to break eye contact and for Sheldon to redirect his attention. It occurred to Jerry that he'd almost like this kid if he weren't going out with his daughter. But since he was going out with Jerry's daughter, that put the kid on his list.
That said, he was a little bit sorry about what he asked next.
"What about your family?" Jerry asked. "What do they do?"
"My Mom is in accounting, and Dad is a history professor over at Western," Sheldon said.
"Any siblings?" Jerry asked.
"One of each," Sheldon said. "They both go to Thompson. Shawna's in grade eleven and Shawn's in grade twelve."
"Shawn was in the local paper not too long ago, right?" Linda asked.
"He was," Sheldon said. "For the debate team. His team won this big meet. He's one of those guys who does everything. He's in charge of the yearbook, and he's class president, and, you know, the debate team. Um...Shawna plays basketball and she's president of her class."
"Wow," Dimi said.
"Sounds like a family of overachievers," Linda said, grinning at him.
"Yeah," Sheldon said. His face went blank before he flashed an utterly phony smile and suddenly Jerry knew more about him than he cared to. This kid who seemed so obnoxiously, suspiciously perfect that Jerry didn't believe he was real seemed to think that he was the black sheep of his family. Suddenly he went from the creep who wanted to touch his beautiful daughter to the kid that it was no longer fun to torment.
There was a momentary silence. One in which Jerry thought that he might just deserve to sleep on the couch. Sheldon took a couple of morose bites of his salad. Dimi, next to him, ate like he hadn't eaten in weeks, totally oblivious to what was going on around him. Then Sheldon startled as the cat swatted him, begging for whatever he could get. Neville let out one of his more pathetic meows, getting up on his hind legs to perch on Sheldon's leg. Neville had a bit of an overbite, which meant that sometimes he drooled like a dog, and was in fact leaving a little wet spot on the kid's pant leg.
"Hey you," Sheldon said, petting him and looking over at Emily for permission to feed the beast.
"Whatever you do, don't give him any chicken," Emily said theatrically, then she looked away and whistled, as if distracted. Linda followed suit. Dimi giggled and watched as Sheldon slipped the cat some chicken and a little bit of lettuce for good measure. The cat, completely comfortable with him, ate out of his hand. It took months for Neville to eat out of Jerry's hand. Traitorous little monster.
Even the cat's against me, Jerry thought. It occurred to him that no matter what he had to say about it, Sheldon Schlepper was in. Linda liked him, Dimi liked him, Neville liked him, and, most importantly, Emily liked him. And that was that. The interrogation was over.
The mood around the table relaxed once the hot seat emptied out. Dimi took charge of the conversation for a while, talking about the ongoing drama that was grade one. Then Linda and Emily gossiped back and forth about people that Jerry had never heard of. Sheldon kept his mouth mostly shut, but was properly complimentary about Linda's cooking, accepting seconds when she offered, one of the many ways to her heart.
Soon enough, and to Sheldon's obvious relief (Jerry felt another twinge of guilt) it was time for the kids to leave. Sheldon looked no calmer than he had when he came in, and Emily looked like Jerry was on her list. So Jerry shook Sheldon's hand again and slipped Emily some cash before they left.
"Now," Jerry asked Emily. "When will you be back?" This was routine for them. He always wanted confirmation that she remembered when her curfew was so that she couldn't claim ignorance later.
"Eleven," Emily said.
"Ahh, maybe you can make it eleven-thirty this time," Jerry said, offering another olive branch because cash just wasn't cutting it this time.
Emily raised an eyebrow at Sheldon, then smiled at Jerry. "Okay. Eleven-thirty." Then, before he could change his mind, she took off like the devil was chasing her, dragging her confused boyfriend behind her.
FIN