Oh, he’s not what you expected…
“Mum and Dad are coming this weekend,” Emily said, trying to sound casual. “They really want to meet you.”
Thomas, who’d been spreading strawberry jam on his toast, froze. He slowly put the knife down.
“Brilliant,” he replied, forcing a smile. “I’m… I’m looking forward to it. Really.”
But Emily knew him too well. She noticed the way his shoulders tensed, how he avoided her gaze.
“Tom, it’ll be fine. They’ll love you,” she said softly, taking his hand.
He smirked, but his eyes were uneasy.
“Em, your parents are proper, well-mannered people… And then there’s me—beard, tattoos, the earring. To them, I’m bloody nightmare fuel.”
“To me, you’re the kindest person alive,” Emily said firmly. “And they’ll see that. Just wait.”
The next week flew by in a whirl. Emily tidied the flat, dug out her parents’ favourite recipes, and polished everything in sight. Thomas silently helped—hanging new curtains, buying fresh flowers—but every evening, he’d slip out to the balcony for a smoke, lost in thought.
Then the day came. Emily fussed with the tablecloth, rearranged the napkins for the tenth time. Thomas stood by the mirror in a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, smoothing his hair.
The intercom buzzed.
“I’ll get it,” he exhaled and walked to the door.
Her parents stood there—Margaret and Richard. Her mum’s eyes widened as if she’d seen a ghost. Her dad frowned, glancing from Thomas’s tattooed arms to his earring.
“Hello,” Thomas said calmly, offering his hand. “I’m Thomas. Lovely to meet you.”
After a pause, her dad shook it with a stiff nod. Margaret, sensing the tension, pulled herself together first.
“Well then, shall we come in? Emily’s waiting, isn’t she?”
Emily appeared from the kitchen, beaming—a bit too brightly. She hugged her parents, then took Thomas’s hand and led them inside.
Dinner was painfully quiet at first. Margaret studied Thomas like a puzzle. Richard fired off blunt questions. What do you do? How long have you been together? Where are your parents from?
When Thomas mentioned he was a vet, Margaret raised an eyebrow.
“A vet? Didn’t see that coming. You don’t look the type…”
He just nodded.
“Yeah, I get that a lot. But tattoos aren’t exactly a diagnosis.”
A short silence fell, broken by Richard.
“Why animals, then?”
Thomas took a deep breath.
“When I was a kid, I found a dog hit by a car. He was nearly gone. My mum and I rushed him to the vet. Watching the doc fight for a creature that couldn’t even speak… That’s when I knew—I wanted to do that too.”
Richard’s expression softened. He started asking about cases, even shared a story about rescuing a cat from a drain.
By the end of the night, the mood had warmed. Thomas talked about how animals sense kindness, how he’d spend hours nursing ones others had given up on.
As her parents left, Margaret suddenly hugged him.
“Thank you for being honest,” she whispered. “I was… wrong about you.”
Richard shook his hand firmly.
“Look after our girl. She’s one of a kind.”
When the door closed, Thomas let out a relieved laugh.
“Thought your mum was about to start praying and splashing holy water.”
Emily giggled and leaned into him.
“I knew they’d love you. Because you’re the best.”
They stood there, holding each other, while a ginger kitten—the very one Thomas had rescued—snoozed on the windowsill.
“Still… life’s weird, isn’t it?” Thomas murmured. “If not for you, if not for this little guy, we might never have even met…”
“Now we’ve got a proper story for our future kids,” Emily smiled.
“And parents who didn’t chuck me out,” he added.
They both laughed—light, easy, knowing that real happiness is being loved exactly as you are.
