She nods. "What do you do, Miles? Meg didn't mention it."
"I work in the entertainment industry." He winks at me. "Not that interesting."
"Do you need any help with dinner?" I ask.
"No, it's all prepared except the turkey, and that's in the oven." She motions to the table, directing us to sit. "Coffee or tea, you two?"
"Green tea." Miles smiles. "If it's not too much trouble."
I'm not sure if he's teasing me or taking care of me. Both maybe. Whatever it is, I like it.
I lean in to whisper, "Thank you. This is already less awful."
"You want me to tell her about Sinful Serenade?"
"Up to you."
"Most parents don't react well to the knowledge their daughter is having a torrid love affair with a rock star."
"Because you've met so many girls' parents?"
"Seen it happen."
"To who?"
He shrugs.
Mom steps into the room. She sets out a teapot and three mugs. "I haven't used this thing in forever." She looks at Miles. "Meg is very busy. Can't get home much."
"I'm sure that's partly my fault." He smiles wide, charm turned to a thousand.
"You look familiar, Miles. Are you from around here?"
"I lived in Irvine for a while. But that's probably not it. I'm in this band. Sinful Serenade. We have this song that plays a hundred times a day on KROQ."
Mom smiles. "I haven't listened to KROQ since high school."
"It's about the same. Foo Fighters, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Nirvana around the clock."
Mom blushes, totally charmed. "You're sweet, but those bands came long after I finished high school."
"I can't believe that."
She turns to us, friendly but maternal, too. "Do you do well?"
He nods. "Well enough." Under the table, he slides his hand over my thigh. "I write songs on the side. It's go big or go home, but I've had a few hits."
Mom's eyes light up. "Really?"
Miles names a few songs that put the popular in pop. Mom's demeanor changes. It's not that she's horribly superficial. Just, around here, money talks. It takes a lot to impress a family of doctors. Apparently, "millionaire songwriter with gorgeous blue eyes" is enough to do it.
I zone out as Mom grills Miles. He's perfect and charming—the picture of a sweet, supportive boyfriend. He leans his head against my shoulder and praises my wit, my beauty, my excellent work ethic. He speculates wildly about some future we'll never see—where he tours based on my school schedule and settles down in the city where I do my residency.
For a guy who doesn't do boyfriend, he sure is good at playing one.
* * *
We have a late dinner. The table in the dining room is covered with the good linens, the good china, the good silverware. It's the kind of meal royalty eats.