Work Text:
As they pulled up to the curb, Mickey felt a wave of nausea wash over him. Up until a minute ago he was excited, daydreaming about how well the night would go, how much fun they’d have. But now...he looked to his dad behind the wheel of their old, beat-up truck and then turned to face the extravagant home before him.
Scout was going to take one look at their truck and think he was a complete loser. He was going to laugh in his face and refuse to go out with him. He’s going to tell everyone at school what a poor loser he was, and then Mickey would spend the rest of middle school as a miserable, lonely loser.
“Mickey,” his dad interrupted his thoughts. “Be a gentleman and go to the door.”
“He’s not a girl, Dad,” he mumbled back but moved for the door handle anyway.
Mickey gulped and slowly got out of the truck, softly shutting the door behind him. He took small steps toward the front door, hoping that it would miraculously get further away. As he passed the meticulous flower beds and stepped over the patterned paver walkway, he couldn’t help but compare their own simple farmhouse to this…this…
‘Mansion,’ Mickey thought. ‘Scout lives in a bloody mansion.’
He reached the front door. Correction: doors. They were fancy French doors with intricate ironwork and brass knockers. He sighed and reached for the knocker held in a lion’s mouth.
The door flew open.
“Hey, Mickey!” Scout greeted, stepping out and grabbing his wrist, turning quickly to leave.
“Uh, h-hi,” Mickey sputtered, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of his date.
“Let’s get going!” He hopped down one step.
A loud, shrill voice cut through the night. “SCOUT!”
His date groaned and reluctantly turned back to the front door.
“Don’t just run off like that, let me meet your date.” A woman appeared, she looked like she belonged in a magazine. Her hair was perfectly styled, and her dress hugged her fit body like a glove, she was adorned with so many rings and bracelets that when she spoke she jingled. “So, you must be Mickey.”
The young boy looked down and mumbled, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Ma’am!” She laughed. “Now that’s one I don’t hear often.”
Mickey felt a pang of embarrassment and opened his mouth to try and recover, but the woman kept talking, evidently not interested in conversation but in the sound of her own voice. He understood where Scout got it from.
“Okay, Ma!” Scout forced a break in her speech. “Can we go now?”
“Just a minute, your father’s gonna wanna meet him.” She turned from the doorway and began to shout.
“Ma!” Scout cried. “No! He doesn’t need to meet him, oh my god!”
“Don’t be silly, honey, of course he does,” she waved him off.
After a few more yells and Scout’s whines, a tall, clean-shaven man appeared. He looked at Mickey with disdain, and the young Aussie withered.
“You are tall for your age,” was his greeting.
“Dad!” Scout hissed, while Mickey managed a “Yes, sir.”
“Is that your father in that truck?” The man asked.
“Yes, sir,” Mickey answered, feeling a knot twist inside his chest.
“I’d like to speak to him before you two leave.”
“Dad!” Scout whined, but his father was already walking down the path and toward the street.
Scout and Mickey followed, each cringing as they watched their fathers interact. Mickey mentally prayed that his dad’s taciturn nature wouldn’t come off as rude and that he wouldn’t comment on the unnecessary extravagance of Scout’s family home.
It was so much worse.
“Is that French-French or French-Canadian?” John Mundy asked with an air of scorn as he got out of the truck to shake the man’s hand.
“I am from France,” Scout’s dad answered, trying and failing to hide the contempt in his voice. “You will be taking the boys to the movies?”
“Dad, I already told you that,” Scout tried to hurry along the interaction.
Scout’s father ignored the boy and asked, “Will you be staying with them?”
John Mundy looked at the two young men, saw their blushing faces, and carefully replied, “I think I’d be a bit of a third wheel.”
The Frenchman’s eyes narrowed, and Scout nearly died when he stated, “Oh, so you’re going to leave two teenage boys in a dark room unsupervised?”
John Mundy’s usual unfriendly face turned even darker. “My Mickey’s a good lad.”
Scout could see the pot boiling over and quickly grabbed his father’s arm and started to drag him away. “We’re gonna be late if you don’t stop yapping!”
“Jeremy!” The Frenchman scolded but allowed himself to be pulled back into the house by his wife. She waved and wished them both a good first date, she even winked at Mickey, causing the lanky teen to blush an even deeper red.
The two boys clamored into the back of the cab, relieved to finally have that interaction come to an end. Mickey whispered to Scout, “Sorry about the truck.”
“What about it?” Scout whispered back.
“It’s just, um, it’s not very comfortable, I guess,” Mickey stammered and smoothed his button-up down.
“Nah, it’s cool. Sorry about my parents, they’re so extra. At least my brothers weren’t home, they’re the worst.”
John Mundy turned the radio up a little bit, trying to give the two the illusion of privacy. He couldn’t fight the smile that tugged at his lips, he wasn’t so sure about this ‘queer’ bit, he didn’t quite understand what his son had been saying about binaries and bisexuals and liquid genders, but he could recognize what was happening in the back seat, a bit of puppy love.
They arrived at the theater, and this time Mickey was the one to grab Scout’s hand and quickly pull him away from the threat of parental supervision. He got a few steps away before his dad called him back.
“I’ll be back here in an hour and a half, don’t make me wait.”
“No, sir,” Mickey agreed.
“I know I don’t got to tell you to be polite,” his dad reminded.
“No, sir.”
“All right then, have a good one,” he nodded, then started again as his son stepped away. “Hey, Mickey! C’mere!”
He reached into his pocket to pull his wallet out, searching for a few bills.
“No, Dad, I’ve got my own money.” Mickey tried to refuse, but his dad forced two twenties into his hand.
“Save it for something you really want.”
--
John watched as his son trotted down the walkway and into the cab, he clicked his seatbelt into place and tried to school his face into a neutral expression, fighting a smile that wouldn’t back down.
John put the truck into gear and started to drive out of the gated neighborhood. “Have a good night then?”
“Yep.”
“Movie good?”
“Yep.”
“Did’ya get popcorn?”
“Yep.”
“Did’ya get a kiss?”
Mickey’s ‘yep’ turned into an embarrassed cough, he turned toward the window and tried to shrink into the seat.
“What? Can’t your old man ask you about your date?” He elbowed his son, prompting a response.
“No, we didn’t kiss,” he simply replied, and John felt his heart break a little.
“Ah well, you’re a bit too young for all that anyways.”
“No, I mean,” Mickey fidgeted with the seatbelt. “His, um, his dad opened the door, and um, we…”
“Ah,” John nodded. “His dad’s a bit of a wanker, isn’t he?”
“Dad!” Mickey reprimanded.
John laughed a little. “I suppose he’s just a bit overprotective then? A bit like Mum, eh?”
Suddenly his son sat up straight. “Oh, Dad, can we stop at a servo?”
“What for?”
“I know what I want to spend my money on.”
John hesitated, slowing the truck down just a little as they approached a larger intersection.
“I’ll be quick, I promise, please, Dad?”
Mr. Mundy held back a sigh as he turned off the street and into the parking lot. Mickey hopped out and dashed inside, it wasn’t long before the boy returned, a small bouquet of flowers grasped in one hand.
“Ah, okay,” John started, confused. “You made a big stink, talkin’ about you two being boys, and no one’s the girl-”
“Huh?” Mickey looked over. “They’re not for Scout, they’re for Mum.”
John grinned, leaned over, and ruffled his son’s hair before slinging his arm around him in a half hug. “You’re a good lad, Mickey, a good lad.”