"Are you sure I look okay?" Grissom asked nervously, turning to look at Sara.
In response, she put a hand on his cheek and pushed his face away from her. "Try watching the road while you drive, Gil. You look fine, and trust me, they'll be less pleased if you get us into an accident than if they think your shirt is the wrong color."
"But . . ."
Sara put a comforting hand on his arm. "You'll be fine. They'll like you, trust me." She struggled for a moment to prop her feet up on the dashboard of the car. "God, I didn't think that anyone's ankles could get this swollen, even after the doctor and Catherine both told me."
"Don't change the subject!" he exclaimed in a strangled voice. "I'm about to meet your parents for the first time, and you're worrying about your swollen ankles! What if they don't like me? What if they think I'm too old? You said they're hippies. What if they don't like how structured my life is?"
Sara groaned. "Calm down! I have never seen you freak out this much in all the years I've known you. They're just my parents, Gris. I'm an adult; even if they hate you they can't stop me from marrying you or anything. But they won't hate you, anyway. You're just the type of person they want for me."
"I haven't married you and I got you pregnant. That's the kind of person they want for you?" He moaned something unintelligible. "Tell me again that your dad's against all violence – including beating up his daughter's boyfriends?"
"My dad's against all violence, including beating up his daughter's boyfriends," Sara repeated dutifully. "He's never killed anyone yet, I promise you. And the reason we're not married, though I shouldn't have to remind you of this, is that I didn't want to, not because you weren't willing.
"As for the baby, well, Mom's just so happy that she's going to have a granddaughter that she'll probably forgive us anything. They've been hearing about you for something like ten years now, it's not like you're some stranger who came in and swept me off my feet." She paused. "Well, you did sweep me off my feet. But you know what I mean. They know I'm getting just what I wanted."
Grissom was silent, mentally reviewing all the ways that this meeting could go wrong. There were a lot of them. They could dislike him on sight. They could dislike him when they found out that he was Sara's boss, or when they realized that he was so much older than she was. They could disapprove of the small home he and Sara lived in, or of the framed bugs on the walls, or of the live ones living in cages in the kitchen. They could . . .
Another groan escaped Grissom's lips, and Sara couldn't help but smile. She thought it was rather cute how nervous he was about meeting her parents, who were probably some of the most harmless people he'd ever meet. "Hey, Gris? We're, uh, at the airport. You might want to park."
"What? Oh!" He quickly turned the car into the parking lot. When it was in park, he turned to her again. "You don't think they'll think it's ostentatious that I drive a BMW?"
"No," Sara said briskly, "they'll be glad that you can support me. Like I need you to," she added, scoffing. "Considering that they're hippies, they're pretty traditionalist. Older men are acceptable, especially well-to-do older men. Therefore they'll like you. I'll probably get a lecture on how to keep you happy or something."
"I'm not rich, Sara!"
"You think I don't know that? I do most of the check-writing and bookkeeping around here, I'll remind you." She grinned. "But we're not poor either, and we'll just let them think that you're rich if they want. Now come on, their flight is supposed to arrive in ten minutes. They really won't like you if you're late picking them up," she teased.
Grissom groaned and clapped a hand over his eyes, but allowed Sara to push him out of the car.
They had only been standing by the baggage carousels for five minutes when they heard a squeal. "Sara!" A tall woman with brown hair streaked with gray came flying toward them, trailed by an equally tall hippie-type with salt-and-pepper hair, who was lugging two carry-on bags covered with travel stickers.
Sara wiggled excitedly and squealed too, causing Grissom to stick a finger into his right ear, which had caught the brunt of the noise, and squint his eyes shut. When he opened them a second later, he realized that he was looking at Sara's father, who also had his ears covered and was wearing a grimace.
"Women, huh?" the older man asked with a laugh, nearly shouting to be heard over the high-pitched conversation going on to their right. "Steve Sidle. You're Gil?"
Grissom swallowed hard. "Yes. Hi," he said weakly, holding out a hand to shake Sara's father's. "Gil Grissom. It's, uh, great to meet you." The air suddenly quieted and he realized that both Sara and her mother were watching the men's exchange. Unwilling to look away from Steve and seem rude, Grissom twitched a shoulder nervously toward Sara.
She slipped her arm around his waist and squeezed reassuringly. "Mom, this is Gil Grissom. Gris, my mom, Amy Sidle. You've already met Dad, I see." She smiled, looking back and forth at the two men, glad to see that Grissom hadn't fainted from fear yet. "Daddy, have you been torturing him?"
Steve Sidle grinned and hugged his daughter. "No, sweetie, not at all. At least, not yet!" He laughed again, then pulled back and looked at her. "You look good. Very, very pregnant, but good. Happy." Leaning over Sara's belly, her father kissed her cheek.
"I am happy," Sara assured him, and took Grissom's hand. "Let's grab your bags and get out of here, ok? Those slot machines drive me nuts!"
"You're not grabbing anything!" Grissom said sternly, at the same time that her father said, "You're carrying enough luggage of your own, Sara!" Again, the men exchanged a smiling glance, leaving Grissom feeling slightly less nervous. They both headed toward the baggage claim.
"He's cute," Amy whispered in her daughter's ear when the men were out of earshot. "So, tell me all about him. How old is he? Does he take good care of you? Is he . . ."
Sara cut her off with a laugh. "In a minute, Mom. I'll tell you everything when we get home, I promise." She sighed. "Go easy on him, ok? He's so nervous that I'm surprised he hasn't passed out yet."
"No promises until I know how he's treating you, honey. He hasn't married you, and that's an automatic strike against him."
"He asked. I said no," Sara said out of the side of her mouth, giving her mother a dirty look. "Don't you dare hold that against him."
"Hey girls!" Steve said jovially. "Gil and I've got the bags, what say we head out. I can't wait to see your house!"
Grissom twitched again.
Sara grinned.
