(c) Making Conversation (G-PG)

by **rock and/or roll** Thu 01 Jan 2009, 10:16 pm

Title: Making Conversation
Author: Me
Rating: G or PG
Pairing: Gerard/Lyn-Z
Status: One-shot/Complete (at the moment anyway)
Summary: Gerard and Lindsey prepare to have dinner with the Ieros.
Well, Lindsey prepares and Gerard complains.

Making Conversation.

Lindsey stood at the kitchen counter, carefully lifting the steaming lasagne sandwiched between her hands. A vibrant hue of red stained her lips and she smelt like nature, the scent mingling with the mouth-watering aroma of the meal; the labour of the past hour paid off in a delicious dish. With an appreciative nod to herself, she placed it carefully on the cooling board.

Eyes gazed at her reproachfully as she worked. Her husband sat not far away, elbow rested grumpily upon the grained wood of the table. He was deliberately being useless in a bid to get across how displeased he was. Today was a Friday, the night of which he’d looked forward to as he sighed through his ever-increasing pile of accounts throughout the afternoon. But no, relaxation was off the menu, replaced instead with lasagne and small-talk.

With an ‘hmph’ that could put an ill-tempered teenager to shame, he lifted his head off his hand. A slight red patch marked his loss of circulation, but other than this, only a few words could describe his appearance; classy and semiformal, just as much so as his wife. They were a mismatch of red and black, Lindsey in a smart and light dress and Gerard in his best pants and a plain black shirt, not a crease in sight.

“Am I going to like this Frank person?” he asked, which wasn’t the first time. It’d been a worry of his, though he doubted he could ever profess how utterly apprehensive he was as his heart fluttered just a little. Lindsey wanted her husband and her colleague to get along, maybe even befriend each other, and he didn’t want to let her down.

“He’s really nice.”

She didn’t turn around. With a flick of her wrist, a drawer was open, rattling merrily as she pulled out cutlery. Gerard sighed melodramatically, and lay his head down on the nicely decorated table, perhaps hoping that Lindsey would sense him making puppy-dog eyes at her back. Apparently not. With a huff, he sat back up and began to drum his fingers repeatedly onto the hard surface.

“He’s not like that weird guy that kept staring at me is he?”

A small snigger came from her side as she finally turned. “You had pasta sauce all over your mouth.”

He scowled. “And he didn’t say a damn thing.”

“He was just being polite. And I wish you would be too. How often do I ask colleagues over for dinner?”

“Don’t think I didn’t see him making eyes at you,” Gerard huffed, crossing his arms.

She scoffed, “That wasn’t his fault. One of his eyes is lazy.”

“Oh sure, that’s his story. You heard what he said. Single.”

“I asked him if he was seeing anyone...It’s called making conversation.”

“I’m sure he had more than conversation on his mind.”

She held up a hand, as bold and recognisable as a bright red Stop sign. He hushed.

“Gerard, enough now. They’ll be here any moment and I don’t want you to scare them off by being a brooding ass, okay?"

He sniffed with disdain and busied himself by picking up the salt and pepper shakers in each hand. Both were shaped like little ceramic blobs of people, moulded into a bizarre stance that made them hug when connected. With the air of a child playing dolls, he fiddled with them, conducting them in a joyful dance as the clock ticked away above.

“Well, you know the drill if I don’t like him,” he piped up. “I pretend to faint, and you tell them they should leave to give me some air while you pretend to call the paramedics.” He looked almost proud at his self-formulated plan.

“I’m not doing that, Gerard.” He looked up and sighed in defeat at the vision of her standing strongly, arms crossed and a spatula clenched between her delicately painted nails. As apprehensive as he was about this evening, about making a good impression and making small-talk, he couldn’t spoil this. So he changed tactic.

“And what am I supposed to say to Frank while you’re talking to Mrs Iero about...knitting or something?”

“When have I ever talked about knitting?”

“I’m sure it’s come up at some point.”

Their conversation was halted by the smart rapping of knuckles on wood. Lindsey gave Gerard a look and he shot one right back. With a final scan around the kitchen, taking in her grumbling husband, the neatly set table, the polished cutlery and cheery lighting, she nodded. A pleased smile stretched her face, only slightly besmirched as she took a final glance at Gerard before heading towards the front door.