In the seconds after the door opened, Andy saw himself through the eyes of Michelle's father: the hipster glasses, the expensive sweater, the short 'fro, the quirky shoes. He felt silly. Mr. Owens was exactly what he'd expected, serious, balding, overweight, authoritative. A heaviness hung over him. His first words were "Help you?" He didn't seem actually interested in helping.
His plan all along had been to get it all out quickly with boldness and sensitivity. "Hi, sir, I'm Andy, I'm dating Michelle. I wanted to stop by and say..." But that was as far as he'd been able to think through. He paused and then resumed. "Sir, how are you doin'? I'm really sorry about Michelle. I'm..." He looked at his shoes. "I'm really hurtin', too."
The man stood looking at him for several moments. Andy wondered if he should just leave. He'd never felt so awkward. Finally the man stepped aside and said, "Come in here, Son. You're datin' my daughter?"
His plan all along had been to get it all out quickly with boldness and sensitivity. "Hi, sir, I'm Andy, I'm dating Michelle. I wanted to stop by and say..." But that was as far as he'd been able to think through. He paused and then resumed. "Sir, how are you doin'? I'm really sorry about Michelle. I'm..." He looked at his shoes. "I'm really hurtin', too."
The man stood looking at him for several moments. Andy wondered if he should just leave. He'd never felt so awkward. Finally the man stepped aside and said, "Come in here, Son. You're datin' my daughter?"
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