First Impressions

Flash Fiction (up to 500 words) to the prompt "Suitably Warm":

His mother’s voice was suitably warm when she greeted them at the door, but in the arch of her brow he detected a chill appraisal of his dinner companion. He’d anticipated as much when he’d picked Gillian up. The coyly torn fishnets and plaid, schoolgirl skirt, the black choker that showed off the slenderness of her neck, these were fine and fetching for a night on the town, but for meeting his parents for the first time? Ah, well, he supposed she was just being herself.

Their arrival roughly a half an hour later than arranged had the desired effect of circumventing an awkward session in the sitting room. They went straight from the front door to the table, where his father already sat, that morning’s newspaper folded open to the crossword on his placemat, a stub of pencil in hand.

“This is my pop. Pop, this is Gillian.”

His father looked up and offered a hollow hello.

“I love crosswords,” chirped Gillian. “Give us a clue.”

“Tart!” blurted his father.

“Howard!” his mother exclaimed.

“Five letters, ends in ‘y’,” his father finished.

“Put the crossword away, Howard,” said his mother sharply, covering for her misunderstanding. “We’ll eat in five minutes. I’ll just fetch the kids.” She left the room and they heard her heels on the wooden staircase.

“She thought I meant you!” stage-whispered his father, giving Gillian a broad wink over his reading glasses.

“Tangy,” said Gillian, as she plopped pertly into the chair he held for her.

His father hitched up his spectacles and frowned at the crossword a moment.

“Brilliant!” he pronounced.

A tumble of footfalls preceded the twins’ headlong entrance into the dining room. Their elder sister came closely behind them, as if she were driving cattle. The three of them silently took their seats and stared shamelessly at Gillian.

   

 “One of them is Daniel, and the other one is Dennis,” he told Gillian, pretending as usual that he couldn’t tell his brothers apart. “And she’s Denice. Hi, Denice. This is Gillian.”

“Hi…” said Denice, as if about to ask a question but thinking better of it.

“Pleased to meet you all,” said Gillian. “Denice, I hear you’re driving now.”

“When anybody will let me,” said Denise with a pointed look in her father’s direction.

“You’ve got to let her practice, Pop,” he said.

“You take her,” his father suggested, stashing the crossword and pencil under his chair as his mother entered from the kitchen carrying three big bowls at once.

“Mom!” he exclaimed, lurching to his feet and going to her aid.

“I’ll get the plates,” said Denice. “You two make yourselves useful and bring everyone a glass.”

“Is milk alright, Gillian?” asked his mother.

“Sure, I like milk.”

“Howard, dear, will you bring in the ham?”

As the family bustled to get the meal underway, Gillian marveled at the grand production of it all. The only child of a workaholic widower, her usual dining experience was Kraft Macaroni and Cheese over the sink.