Page 36 of 7 Miles High
“They like everything else. My father is charmed by my mother. He thinks she’s the smartest person he’s ever met. And my mother wouldn’t look at another man. They’re high school sweethearts forty years into their romance.”
“Any couple that can make it for the long haul gets my respect. I like them already.”
* * *
Flemings is one of the premier steak houses in Newport Beach. As we drive up to the valet, the place tickles my memory. Adjacent to Fashion Island, the restaurant has always been a family favorite for special occasions.
“Do you ever come here to shop?” I ask.
Parker puts the car in park and opens his door. “No. But I’ve been to a few of the restaurants. Capitol Grill and Roy’s.”
Okay. Now I know he likes good food and isn’t afraid to pay for it. My door swings open.
“Thank you,” I say to the valet.
“Think your parents are here?”
“That’s their Mercedes,” I say, pointing to the silver sedan.
He holds open the heavy door under the awning and we walk inside. The lighting is low and the scent of steak cooking heavy. Immediately my mouth waters. The clinking of wine goblets and cocktail glasses fills the air. I love this place.
Parker steps up to the hostess. “Reservations for Dunn. The other couple in our party may have already been seated.”
She looks over the list and finds what she’s searching for. “Yes, they’ve arrived. John will escort you to your table.”
“Thank you.”
“Table fourteen,” she says softly to the man to her left.
“Right this way.”
We walk through the tables, toward the booths on the right. I spot my parents. My mother wears a wide smile. Dad’s focus is on his Manhattan.
“There they are,” I say to Parker.
John gestures to the table and leaves us to find our way.
“Hi!” I say as my parents stand to greet us properly.
“Mom and Dad, this is Parker Dunn. Parker this is my mother Evelyn and my father Tom.”
Greetings are exchanged and we take our seats. Parker faces my mother and I face my dad.
“We’re happy to meet you, Parker. Natalie doesn’t introduce us to many of her friends,” my dad says.
Shit Dad. Please don’t.
My mother’s hand settles atop my father’s, quieting further discussion about my habits. Thank God.
“Well, I’m happy I’m the chosen one,” Parker answers.
To which my mother and I meet eyes. She smiles. So do I. My father is gathering his opinion. As per usual. But he signals the waiter for drink service.
“So, you’re a stuntman.”
“Yes. Natalie came with me yesterday and got to see me in action. I did a high fall.”
“Oh, that sounds dangerous,” my mother says.
