It’s an important event when one meets the parents of one’s partner. Or any of their family, really. When you want to be a part of someone’s life, it is vital to make a good impression on those who are already in their life. And so these meetings are fraught with tension, or so I would expect.
In Allen and Megan’s case, however, it went quite well. Like Megan, her mother and stepfather are a very easy-going, lighthearted pair, and they were delighted to meet Allen. They waved off his apologies for having taken so long about it and were gracious and welcoming. They had many questions about his artwork, and they are very excited to attend his showing next month.
Allen’s nervousness was gone almost immediately upon meeting them, and so for quite some time throughout the evening, I felt rather extraneous. But I noticed as time went by that something was bothering him, and so I lingered, trying to determine where this feeling of uncertainty and inadequacy was coming from.
I did what I could to alert Megan to it, so that she drew Allen aside while her parents were setting up a board game. “Everything okay?” she asked.
Allen hesitated, and so Megan took his hand and pulled him into the kitchen. She sat down with him at the table, took his hand, and waited.
“It’s really nothing,” he said, shaking his head.
Both Megan and I disagreed.
Allen sighed. “I love your parents,” he said. “They had such great questions about my artwork, but it made me wonder…” He hesitated, and Megan waited patiently. “Well—was I just an utterly boring person before I started up with my art again?”
Megan considered the question. “Well…not utterly boring.”
He laughed, lowering his head. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“Oh, Allen, what does it matter?” she asked with affectionate exasperation. “Contentment is boring to anyone who is on the outside of it. What does it matter that you don’t have all these interesting stories to tell? My parents still think you’re a good guy with a creative mind who absolutely adores me.” She raised her brows at him. “Which is true, isn’t it?”
“Goes without saying,” Allen said, leaning forward to kiss her. But he wasn’t quite comforted, and I urged him to speak his mind. “So you don’t think…you don’t think the years I wasn’t painting were a waste?”
“God, no,” Megan said, horrified at the thought. “Allen—your spirit took a huge blow when you lost your mom. You needed time to heal. And the way I see it, art requires a kind of vulnerability that you weren’t ready to face for a long time, and that’s okay.” She put a hand on his face and made him look at her. “But you never stopped being an artist. And I think you’ll find that there are things from those years that you’ll be able to draw on for your work now. Even if it’s only reserves of strength.”
If she had been talking with Sabasa, she could not have said anything that is more perfect.
He stared at her with tears in his eyes. “You’re my strength,” he whispered, and leaned forward again for a longer kiss.
It was at that precise moment that Megan’s mother pushed the door open. “Okay, we’re about ready—oh,” she said as the two flinched. Grinning, she put her hand on her hip. “Well, I do hope I’m interrupting something.”
“Mom,” Megan complained, but she was laughing as she got to her feet and pulled Allen with her. He laughed, too, and took the light teasing that followed with a good heart.
Megan is very wise, really. And she is right—time taken to heal is not a waste, for everything that follows rests upon it. And work is not everything. It is important to find contentment again, however dull it may seem on the outside.