Author's Note: Thank you so much for the reviews. I'm glad you guys are enjoying this! You're all fabulous…

Chapter 30

April smoothed out her napkin over her lap and Roger stared at his water glass as they sat across the restaurant table from April's parents. It had been a month since they had called Roger and April, and they had finally set a date for their dinner plans. They demanded that it be at their country club, not letting April get her opinion in edgewise.

Roger and April sat uncomfortably across from the Hunters, not eating very much of their food. Roger had sat in complete silence, neither of her parents addressing him.

"We're glad to have you back, darling," Mrs. Hunter said in a sugar-coated voice. "We've missed you."

"I'm sure," she mumbled. Continuing brightly, she replied, "Glad to be back."

Her father nodded. "You're looking well."

"Thank you," she forced a smile, taking a sip of her water.

Mrs. Hunter sighed daintily. "I thought you were going to wear a dress."

Roger stifled a laugh by forking some food into his mouth as April rolled her eyes and looked back down at her lap.

"I am, mother."

"I meant a nice dress. Something more appropriate. It's summer, and that's a fall dress."

Roger took April's hand underneath the table, silently reassuring her. With a sudden sense of empowerment, April smiled and nodded.

"Next time, I promise," she appeased her mother, who smiled back suspiciously and turned back to her salad.

"So, Roger, is it?" Mr. Hunter asked.

Roger nodded and cleared his throat, surprised that he had actually made an effort to talk to him. "Yeah – yes," he corrected himself when April nudged him underneath the table.

"What do you do?"

He paused as he thought how to word his next statement. "I, uh, I'm a musician. I play in a band."

Both parents looked up, surprised, and raised an eyebrow.

"Really?" Mr. Hunter replied skeptically. "And what do you do in regards to a real job?"

"Mom," April interrupted loudly. "How's Monique?"

Her parents could talk for days about her cousin Monique. She was like the daughter they'd always wanted – smart, beautiful, and practically perfect in every way.

"Oh, she's doing well," her mother smiled. "Her twenty-first birthday was a few weeks ago. Andrea had us over to celebrate, it was just lovely. It's too bad you couldn't come."

"We weren't invited," she reminded her testily.

Ignoring her last comment, April's father continued.

"She's dating a boy named Trevor. She took him to meet her parents when they started to date so they could approve of him. He's going to become a doctor." He directed this last part at Roger.

"She's going to Paris to study with a tutor for six months, isn't that wonderful? Her parents are so proud. You should have done that while you were young enough," Mrs. Hunter finished.

April sighed. "I can't speak French."

"You used to be able to," her father told her.

"I didn't want to go to Paris. If I wanted to go, I would have."

"Don't get jealous, April." Mrs. Hunter picked at her salad as she scolded her daughter.

She scoffed. "I'm not jealous! I just said I don't want–"

Roger cut her off by clearing his throat, and she quickly shut herself up as Roger wrapped his arm around the back of her chair.

"We'd prefer it if you kept your hands off of our daughter."

Roger stared back at Mr. Hunter with an infuriating smile and April slammed the top of the table with her hands, standing up.

"God! I cannot believe you!"

"April!" Mrs. Hunter hissed, noticing other patrons staring at their table. "Stop it!"

"No!" she yelled, pulling Roger up with her. "You two are horrible! Roger and I are married and I don't care who the hell you approve of. Thanks for lunch," she said sarcastically, pulling Roger away from the table.

She dragged Roger back outside and leaned against the brick wall of the building, ignoring the stares she was getting from the hostess and valet drivers.

"Oh my God!" she cried. "I am so sorry."

"Hey…" Roger trailed off, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"I can't even believe them. They're such assholes. I'm so sorry."

He shook his head and hugged her tightly, rocking her back and forth. "It's not your fault."

"Yes it is! I should have known they were going to do this," she sobbed into his shoulder.

"Shh." Roger wiped her tears from her face and kissed her cheek as she cried even harder. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her away from the door, afraid that her parents would storm out and yell at them.

"Let's go to the car," he suggested as they walked in that direction. She sniveled and nodded, whimpering as she leaned against Roger. They got into her small car and April continued to cry. Roger hugged her over the console in the middle and rubbed her back soothingly.

"I hate them," she sobbed into his shoulder.

"So it's okay if I hate them, too?" Roger asked quietly.

April nodded and laughed quietly. "How stereotypical, hating the in-laws. I hope your parents aren't that bad."

"Parent. Just my mom."

"Sorry," she frowned.

Roger shrugged. "It's okay. My mom had me really young, so she was the one who took care of me. I never even knew my dad."

"I didn't know that."

He shrugged again. "I didn't know your parents were assholes."

April laughed quietly. "Come to think of it, there's a lot of things I don't know about you."

"It's true."

"…But I want to know everything," she told him. "Because that's what married people do."

"Okay," he laughed, brushing the remaining tears from her face with his thumb.

"I know we kind of rushed into everything, but I really do love you."

"I love you too," he smiled. "What do you say we go home and get some real food? None of that fancy weird-tasting chicken."

"Cornish hen," she corrected him, grinning as she turned the car on.

Roger laughed and put on his seat belt, as well as a horribly snooty British accent.

"On tonight's menu we have Cornish gaming hen with pheasant and rabbit tart."

"Mmm," April giggled as she pulled out of their parking spot and drove down the winding dirt driveway to the road. "Yummy."

-----------------

Maureen yawned and tapped her fingernails along the surface of her kitchen table impatiently, waiting for Mark to return. He had been spending the last several nights at her place with her, where they'd talk everything through and just spend time together. He had stepped out a couple minutes earlier to run some errands and was due home any minute.

She heard a knock at the door and jumped up from her seat to answer it. She opened the door slightly and poked her head out.

"Did you get the stuff?" she whispered.

He nodded and shoved the brown paper bag into her hands, glancing around the hallway nervously. He shoved past her into the apartment and dove onto the couch, burying his head under the pillows.

"Hide it!" he yelled. "They're after us!"

Maureen looked around herself anxiously and slammed the door quickly, running into the kitchen. She ducked down behind the counters and dug through the bag, pulling out its contents.

She frowned. "Chocolate? Mark…"

"What?" he asked sitting up, his blonde hair disheveled. "It's like, the staple ice cream."

"Please," she scoffed, tossing the crumpled up bag at him. "You should have got bubble gum."

He laughed, fiddling with his glasses, trying to straighten them out. "What are you, ten?"

Maureen jokingly rolled her eyes and placed two bowls on the counter.

"I'm going to go and get changed. You want to scoop the ice cream?"

Mark nodded and got up from the couch, moving into the kitchen. Maureen sifted through her dresser drawers and pulled out her pyjamas.

"Hey, do you mind if I call my sister?"

Maureen shook her head and smiled. "Nope, go for it." She disappeared into the washroom as Mark picked up the phone and dialed while he pulled a couple spoons out of the drawer.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Cindy? It's Mark."

"Marky! How are you?"

He laughed as he began scooping ice cream. "I'm great, you?"

"I'm good. Where are you? You're not at home? It's not your number on the call ID."

Mark paused as he thought about what to say next. He hadn't told her that he was seeing Maureen again and knew that she probably wouldn't be happy about it, but that was the reason he decided to call.

"I'm at Maureen's…"

"What?! Mark…"

"I know. Just listen," he started, speaking lower. "She's different now."

"Right. So she doesn't talk about herself a lot and she's shy?"

"Shut up. Okay, so she hasn't changed that much. She's still really loud and dramatic, but…"

"Remember what happened last time?"

"I know," he sighed. "Forget it. Why am I telling you this?"

Cindy remained silent on the other end. Mark placed the ice cream in the freezer and leaned against the fridge.

"Oh, come on. Don't pull a mom and ignore me because I broke up with Lisa. I know she was really stupid before, but I dunno. I guess I just can't stay away."

"Well fine, but when she breaks your heart again don't come crying to me."

"Thanks for the support," Mark told her sarcastically. "If you can't count on family, who can you count on, right?" He noticed Maureen coming out of the bathroom rubbing her eyes and smiled at her. "I've gotta go. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay, but Mark, just remember what she did to you before…"

Mark hung up the phone before he had to hear the rest of his sister's rant.

"Hey," he smiled, handing her a bowl of ice cream. Maureen flopped onto her bed, soon followed by Mark.

"This better be good," she told him, eyeing the ice cream suspiciously.

He laughed. "It will be. Trust me."

She swallowed a small spoonful of it and cuddled up against Mark, who wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"How was your day?" he asked.

"Um," she started, poking at the ice cream in her bowl. "Okay, long. My feet hurt."

Mark laughed and squeezed her shoulders gently. "Poor baby."

"Ugh, I hate waitressing," she complained, resting her head on Mark's shoulder. "It's the worst. There's at least one creepy old man who tries to pinch my ass every day."

"They just all want a piece of the young thing who's serving them their mashed potatoes."

"Eew," she laughed, pushing Mark's face away. "Never say that again."

"Okay, okay. Sorry, princess."

Maureen stuck her tongue out at Mark and kissed him on the cheek. "How was your day?"

"Pretty good, busy as usual. Hey, can I take you out for lunch tomorrow?"

"Sure," she replied, shutting her eyes. "What time? I start work at two."

"Noonish? I can come here and pick you up if you want."

She nodded. "Sounds good." She placed her bowl on the ground by her bed and pulled the blankets over her. "Tell me how we met."

"What?" Mark laughed. "You were there."

"I know, but I like hearing it."

He sighed. "Alright. Well… I always used to go filming in the park, and most of the time when I was there, I'd see this really pretty girl on the swing set."

Maureen laughed. "Pedophile."

"No, you dork. I meant you. Anyway, every time I went to the park I'd see this pretty girl and she'd always smile at me, so I'd smile back. Then I'd go back home and edit my footage or whatever. Then one day, Roger convinced me to go out to a bar with him and Benny and a couple of his band mates, so I did. And who was our waitress? The pretty girl from the park!"

"Talk about a small world," she smiled sleepily.

"Indeed," he replied, resting his head against hers. "So the pretty girl said 'we have to stop meeting this way,' and she asked me out on a date. We went out a couple days later, and the rest is history."

Maureen nodded slowly, and Mark could tell she was almost asleep.

"Night, Mo," he whispered, kissing the side of her head gently. She moaned slightly and he smiled.

Mark kept telling people that Maureen was different now, and that she had changed over their time apart, but he wasn't sure if it was really true or if he was just trying to convince himself of it. He knew it would take a while for him to be able to trust her again, but at the same time he hoped that they could just put everything behind them and start over.

He finished off his ice cream as quietly as he could and placed it gently on the ground. He brushed a strand of hair off Maureen's face before pulling the blankets over himself and falling asleep, too.

Here's to hoping…