“It was a long time ago,” my mom interrupted him. “Details are fuzzy.”
“Are you serious?” I scoffed. “C’mon. I remember the very first time I saw Jesse and I’m not even married or pregnant with his baby.”
Major, major tactical error.
“Why are you thinking about pregnancy?” my dad cried.
“Is that what you want to talk about?” my mom screeched.
“Oh my God, no!” I screamed, putting my hands over my eyes. “I was just talking about how you two are married and had me and, ugh, can we please not talk about sex? I think I’m having an aneurysm.”
“You think you’re having an aneurysm?” my dad muttered. “Am I going to need a drink for this conversation? Just tell me now.”
“I just wanted to know how you two met!” I said. “That’s all! Wow, this went so wrong, so fast.”
I had never heard two sighs of relief as loud as my parents’.
“Much better topic,” my mom said, smiling.
“Cancel my martini,” my dad added with a weary grin.
“And, like, how did you know you were in love? And how did you know you wanted to be together forever and have me and still be spies and not sacrifice your careers for love, and I guess I’m just confused how you do all this and still love someone.”
My parents stared at me before my dad finally spoke. “Is it too late to reorder that martini?”
“I take it Jesse’s not exactly thrilled by ‘all this,’” my mom said gently while getting a beer out of the refrigerator for my dad.
“Not really,” I admitted. “But I have to do it. Was this what it was like when you first met? Were you both spies way back then?”
“Way back then?” my dad repeated. “How old do you think we are?”
“You didn’t even have DVRs back then. Or cell phones.”
My dad took a swig of his beer in response.
“Your dad and I,” my mom said, shooting him a look, “met in Paris. In high school.”
“In high school?” I cried. “You were my age?”
They both nodded.
“We were both at boarding school,” my dad said. “We were juniors, and your mother did a science project about this thing called the Internet, and I was smitten.” He winked at her. “I still am.”
She grinned and reached across the table to clasp his hand. “And your dad asked me out in Swahili. I thought it was so romantic.”
“Wait, wait, waaaaait a minute. Let’s back it up a continent. You met in school?”
“Boarding school,” my dad clarified. “We were both on merit-based scholarships. I saw your mother in the computer lab, and that was it.” He pretended to flutter his eyelashes at her. “It was love at first byte. Get it? B-Y-T-E?”
“That is so cheesy,” my mother said, but she was blushing and there is nothing more weird than watching your parents flirt, ugh.
“So then what happened? Did you both want to be spies?”
“We were recruited,” my mom said. “Angelo was teaching a course in New World architecture, and he noticed both of our records, and he introduced us to the Collective.”
“Angelo knew you as teenagers? Hold on, my brain is exploding.”
“Why do you think he’s always taking you all over the city?” my dad asked. “Everywhere you go is an architectural landmark. He loves it.”
“So what did you do in Paris?”
My parents looked at each other again. “Watched movies.” My mom shrugged. “We watched movies all the time. Explored the city. Went in some of the underground tunnels. Studied hard in school. Maybe kissed a few times.”
My dad wiggled his eyebrows.
“Stop, stop, stop!” I said. “Innocent child present here.”
“And then after we graduated from high school, we just joined the Collective and that was that,” my dad said, adding the chopped onions to the hot oil already in his pot. “Our life was set.”
“That was that?” I repeated. “I feel like you just skipped a bunch of stuff.”
“We joined the Collective and then had you,” my dad added. “Exciting times. Sleepless times. It’s all a blur.”
I thought for a few seconds. “Is that why you never mentioned Dominic Arment?”
My parents both stopped what they were doing and looked at me. “Angelo?” my dad guessed, and I nodded.
“I just think it’s weird you knew someone from so long ago and you never mentioned them to me.” I wasn’t looking at either parent now, choosing instead to trace patterns onto the countertop with my finger. “Why?”
“Dominic wasn’t—well, he isn’t, I guess I should say, someone who works like us. He’s always been a little shady.” My dad stirred at the onions before they started to burn. “He was always trying to figure out how to monetize the Collective, how we could make money by doing our jobs.”
“I feel like you’re not telling me everything,” I said. “Like there’s more I should know.”
“Do you tell Jesse and Roux everything?” my mom asked.
“No,” I admitted.
“And why is that?”
I rolled my eyes, knowing what she was getting at. “Because I want to protect them in case someone wants to get information from them,” I sing-songed.