My dad looked at Jordan's hand, outstretched in front of him. Then he looked up at my boyfriend. I saw my father taking in the eyebrow ring and the buzzed head. The leather jacket and motorcycle helmet and realizing his daughter was dating every single thing he hated.

But manners won out and my father shook Jordan's hand. Jordan turned his attention to my mother, who was still reeling from the shock that this was her Maysie's boyfriend. Jordan gave me a troubled look before sliding into the booth beside me.

He rested his hand on my thigh and gave me a comforting squeeze. It was all going to be okay. Jordan was here.

Things were awkward. We put in our orders with the waitress and got our drinks. I waited on pins and needles, wondering when my dad would start grilling Jordan. I could tell Jordan was uncomfortable but he was trying really hard to carry a conversation with my parents. And I loved him for his efforts.

“So, Jordan. What are you studying in school?” my dad asked, taking a long drink of his water while watching him over the rim of his glass. The rest of us were just starting to dig into the food that had just arrived. I was poised to take a bite of my chicken Caesar salad, but immediately lost my appetite when I realized the interrogation had commenced.

Jordan took a bite of his burger and wiped his mouth. “Accounting, sir,” he replied. His answer seemed to shock the hell out of my dad. His eyes widened marginally.

“Accounting. Really? That's a respectable career path,” my father acknowledged grudgingly.

Ha, take that Dad! I wanted to shout. That's what you get for making your hateful assumptions. I tried not to smirk. “Yeah, my dad has his own accounting firm up near the city and he'd really like me to come on as a partner after I graduate.” My dad was even more impressed by this. But I could hear the mostly concealed wistfulness in Jordan's voice.

“That sounds wonderful, doesn't it Dan? It's nice to see Maysie spending time with someone who has such wonderful life goals,” my mother piped in, seeming relieved that this tatted up bad boy was actually a worthwhile human being. As though becoming an accountant made you a productive member of society or something.

I started to relax, thinking this wouldn't be so bad when Jordan spoke again. “But what I'd really like to do is play music,” he said. My dad, who was actually looking...not happy, but something less than brutally disappointed, frowned.

“Play music? Whatever for?” he scoffed as though that were the most ridiculous notion he had ever heard. My mom gave a nervous giggle. Jordan stiffened a bit and I gripped his hand under the table, trying to tell him through my fingers to give it up. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have with my dad. Not when things were actually going kind of well.

“I play drums in a band and I love it. I think it would be fantastic to do that for a living. To devote my time to something I'm passionate about, not just crunching numbers to help rich people get richer,” Jordan said.

And there it was again. My dad's disapproval. Oh how I missed you.

“Well, the likelihood of making any sort of living as a musician is highly unlikely. And what kind of life does that build for you and your future family? What kind of person willingly brings their children into contact with drugs and sex?” my father spat out. God, he sounded like an idiot. An ignorant idiot at that.

Jordan started dragging his tongue ring across his bottom teeth. He was pissed but trying really hard to rein it in. I closed my eyes, wishing I was somewhere else. “You know, Jordan's mom runs her own chocolate shop. Mom, you love chocolate. Isn't that cool?” I broke in desperately. My dad and Jordan were engaged in some weird macho stare off and I had to stop this before it got really bad.

My mom was equally as nervous so she made a show of being impressed with Mrs. Levitt's shop. She asked Jordan a million questions about the types of chocolates his mother imported. Jordan answered every question patiently and respectfully.

“What time do we have to be at that sorority of yours?” my father asked, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. God, would he ever stop?

“Uh, 6:00, I think,” I told him. My father clicked his tongue.

“I'm not sure why you bother with all of that sorority nonsense. The Greek system is a ridiculous waste of time, wouldn't you agree, Jordan?” My father directed his question at my silent boyfriend. This was a test. And from his set jaw, I knew Jordan was about to fail miserably.

Jordan took a drink of his soda and looked my dad in the eye. “Actually, sir. I'm in a fraternity myself. And while I think a lot of the Greek system can be a bit over the top, you can't deny the sense of community that comes with being in a sorority or fraternity,” he said evenly. Okay, I knew that was just to goad my dad, because Jordan had told me on more than one occasion that he had come to detest the Greek system.

“You're in a fraternity? Oh, well that's interesting,” my mother offered. I thought my dad would keep up about the whole sorority thing, but thankfully, he let it rest. But that didn't mean he was finished with me.

Our dessert had just been served when my dad went in for the kill. “We got your last check in the mail a few days ago. I'm not sure how you think you're going to pay off that credit card bill with the paltry amounts you're sending us. I can tell you one thing, young lady, we will not be bailing you out of this mess. We've bailed you out of enough in your life, and we refuse to do it anymore,” he said curtly. Bailed me out of what? I had always been a model kid. Hell, I wasn't given a choice. My father was seriously deluded.