Tangled with the Professor (Bringing Home Trouble)

Chapter 5

Mark

After an interminable amount of awkwardness, Isabelle got pulled away to the kitchen with one of her aunts and her mother returned to show me to my room.

It’s not exactly a bedroom. I’m not really sure what it’s supposed to be. There’s an air hockey table pushed into the corner, a television sitting on top of a cabinet with shelves overflowing with old movies and video games. A few random bits of workout equipment take up another corner and there’s a couch against the wall that’s just long enough for me to stretch out on. Barely.

It’s not as if I’ve never slept on the couch in my office and I’m honestly shocked they’ve afforded me this much dignity. Given the history between Isabelle’s father and me, I’m surprised I haven’t been tossed out onto the curb at this point.

I settle in on the somewhat lumpy couch and put my head in my hands, dragging my memory of the first time I ever laid eyes on Bruce Knight. Because of my expertise in the field, I’m often called as a witness for environmental lawsuits. It doesn’t take too much of my time to do the necessary reports and if it’s something I believe in, I’ll take on the job. It’s usually just explaining in layman's terms what particular industrial byproducts do when they come in contact with local flora and fauna. If it’s come to a court case, it’s usually never good.

I just present my findings, only ever sharing the truth. The problem is that most companies that are being sued don’t like that. Including Bruce, who was formerly general manager of the now defunct Marquis Plastics. Defunct because it was sued into oblivion by the county for releasing toxic chemicals into the nearby water supply. Whether it was accidental or purposeful wasn’t my problem. All I could do was present the damage done to the lake, and consequently, the plastics company was shut down.

Isabelle’s father had been humiliated by the company he’d given his life to put up as a scapegoat for the shitty factory practices he’d allegedly tried to warn them about. He was the sacrificial lamb and I’m sure his career must have suffered.

Despite the haphazard set up of this particular room I’m in, the house is big, comfortable, and in a great neighborhood so he seems to have bounced back after that ordeal, unless Mrs. Knight had to step up and become the main breadwinner. Either way, it doesn’t matter how well they’re doing now. Bruce recognized me and clearly despises me for being part of his corporate downfall.

That alone would be enough to have him taking a swing at me. But I also arrived on the arm of his only daughter and the man’s expected to be nice to me for the next few days. I can’t say I blame him for getting red faced and storming out. I’d be pissed, too.

There’s no way Isabelle knows I was part of the lawsuit that must have turned her life upside down all those years ago. And she still somehow knew her parents wouldn’t approve of me. Her nerves leading up to this moment were completely justified. My chest clenches, aching for her. I’m at a loss and don’t know how to fix this. All I know is I have to try, to get the lost look out of my girl’s eyes and put a smile back on her face.

As much as I wouldn’t mind laying low until I have to face the hostiles again, I head out to look for Isabelle so we can talk. I find my way back to the stairs where she’s just starting to come up. She looks a bit startled to see me, then forces a tense smile.

“Dinner’s just about ready. I was coming to find you.”

“Are you sure I’m allowed to eat?” I ask, trying to joke around even though it’s a valid question. Her forced smile collapses and I reach to brush her hair back and squeeze her shoulder bracingly. “Sorry, bad joke at a time like this. Are you okay?”

She twists on her heels and pulls me down the stairs, evading the question as she tells me again that dinner is about to start. I notice she changed her clothes and is now wearing a pretty green dress. I spent the last hour wondering what I got myself into and haven’t changed, tugging on my t-shirt and flannel that I traveled up here in. Hopefully this isn’t some formal affair and my casual attire doesn’t add more fuel to the flame, making them think I’m actively disrespecting them.

It turns out that everyone is dressed normally and I wonder if Isabelle put on the dress to try to appease her angry parents. Because they’re still very clearly simmering and the meal is one of the most awkward encounters of my life. It’s not just her parents and brother, but an aunt and uncle, a couple cousins, and what seem to be some family friends. I’m too concerned with Isabelle to keep track of everyone.

“So, what is it you do?” asks the aunt, staring down her nose at me with a fork full of roast beef halfway to her mouth.

She begins to chew as I grasp for an answer and Isabelle is giving me horrified looks across the table, silently reminding me not to tell too much.

I have a very good feeling that her aunt knows very well what I do and I’m not sure why she’s hell bent on bringing attention to it. Maybe to give Isabelle’s father an opening to go on the defensive.

“I work for the university,” I say, turning to Isabelle’s brother to ask him something, anything, to get the aunt off my back.

Before I can utter a word, she pipes up again. “Some kind of research, right? Environmental? Don’t you shill your services to the highest bidder?”

“Aunt Mary!” Isabelle squeaks.

I’m fuming that her aunt is trying to portray me as someone who can be bought, but Isabelle’s appalled face makes me keep my mouth shut. Thankfully her mother has better manners than her aunt and she changes the subject to something more benign. Bruce is silent the entire meal, barely touching a bit of the admittedly delicious food and staring daggers at me the whole time.

Just as Mrs. Knight is bringing out an apple pie and starts to slice it, that god awful Aunt Mary speaks up again.

“So, Izzy, I thought you were bringing your new boyfriend home with you?”

My fists clench under the table as Isabelle goes white, her lips pursing before she stammers her answer. “Mark and I have been seeing each other for a little while now.”

“You know that,” hisses Mrs. Knight in a stage whisper.

Aunt Mary pretends she doesn’t hear her even though everyone else at the table is writhing with discomfort. She trains her beady eyes on me and smiles grimly.

“Oh really? I guess I was confused since you’re so much older than Izz—”

“Stop,” Isabelle cries, standing up fast enough to tilt her seat back.

Her brother makes a grab for it to keep it from falling over. Even Mrs. Knight is silent now, giving me a look of pure disdain.

“It’s only the truth,” her aunt says with so much false sweetness I want to tip her wine glass over her head.

I start to rise and reach for Isabelle’s hand to help her calm down and show her I can handle all of this and more for her, but her aunt’s final jibe is the straw that broke the camel’s back. With a huff of frustration and anger, Isabelle turns and flees from the dining room.

Before I can fully rise from my seat, her father slams his hand onto the table and with one last ultra death glare, he also bangs out of the room. I don’t bother to look to see how the friends are reacting to this nuclear meltdown, too stunned that Isabelle was giving up on us.

“Merry Christmas,” the aunt’s husband says, draining his fifth wineglass of the night. Isabelle’s brother lets out a miserable snort and her mother puts her head in her hands.

Great. Merry Christmas, indeed.