**Diary Entry**
He’s not what you’d expect…
“Mum and Dad are coming this weekend,” Emily said casually, as if it were just an afterthought. “They really want to meet you.”
James froze mid-motion, his knife hovering over a slice of toast smeared with blackberry jam. Slowly, he set it down.
“Brilliant,” he replied, forcing a smile. “I… I’m looking forward to it. Really.”
But Emily knew him too well. She noticed the way his shoulders tensed, how his eyes flickered away from hers.
“Jimmy, it’ll be fine. They’ll love you,” she said softly, squeezing his hand.
He gave a half-hearted chuckle, but his eyes betrayed him—unease flickering behind them.
“Em, your parents are posh, proper people… And then there’s me. The beard, the tattoos, the earrings. I’m their worst nightmare.”
“To me, you’re the kindest man alive,” Emily said firmly. “And they’ll see that. Just wait.”
The next week flew by in a whirlwind of preparations. Emily cleaned the flat, dug out her parents’ favourite recipes, and fussed over every detail. James helped in silence—hanging new curtains, buying fresh flowers—but every evening, he’d slip onto the balcony for a smoke, lost in his thoughts.
Then the day arrived. Emily nervously adjusted the tablecloth for the umpteenth time, rearranging the napkins. James stood by the mirror in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, smoothing down his unruly hair.
The doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” he muttered, stepping into the hall.
There they were—Margaret and Edward Harrington. Her mother’s eyes widened as if she’d seen a ghost. Her father scowled, gaze darting from James’ tattooed arms to the stud in his ear.
“Hello,” James said evenly, offering his hand. “I’m James. Pleasure to meet you.”
After a beat, her father shook it with a stiff nod. Margaret, sensing the tension, recovered first.
“Well then, shall we come in? Emily’s waiting, isn’t she?”
Emily appeared from the kitchen with a bright, if strained, smile. She hugged her parents tightly, then took James’ hand and led them inside.
Dinner was painfully quiet at first. Margaret studied James like a puzzle she couldn’t solve. Edward fired off clipped questions—What do you do? How long have you been together? Where are your parents from?
When James mentioned he was a vet, Margaret raised an eyebrow.
“A vet? I wouldn’t have guessed…”
He only nodded.
“I get that a lot. But tattoos aren’t a personality disorder.”
A brief silence followed before Edward broke it.
“Why animals?”
James took a deep breath.
“When I was a kid, I found a dog hit by a car. It was nearly gone. Mum drove us to the clinic. Watching the vet fight for this silent, suffering creature… That’s when I knew.”
Edward’s expression softened. He started asking about cases, even shared a story about rescuing a cat from a drain once.
By the end of the evening, the mood had warmed. James spoke about how animals sense kindness, how he’d spent nights nursing creatures others had given up on.
As her parents left, Margaret surprised him with a hug.
“Thank you for being honest,” she whispered. “I was… wrong about you.”
Edward shook his hand firmly.
“Take care of our girl. She’s one of a kind.”
The door clicked shut, and James exhaled.
“I half expected your mum to start sprinkling holy water.”
Emily laughed, leaning into him.
“I knew they’d love you. Because you’re the best.”
They stood there, wrapped in silence, while on the windowsill, a ginger kitten—the very one James had saved—slept soundly.
“Funny how things work out,” he murmured. “If it weren’t for you, for this little one, we might never have even spoken…”
“Now we’ve got a story for our kids,” Emily smiled.
“And parents who didn’t disown me,” he added.
They both laughed—light, genuine, knowing that true happiness is being loved for exactly who you are.
