Michelle’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. She raises one eyebrow and turns the car onto a leafy side street. Blake’s words make my chest feel tight.

We pull into their driveway and Blake, like the gentleman he is, opens my door for me. His childhood home is generously proportioned, with blue siding and a cranberry red front door set against a lush backdrop of pine trees. A long, green backyard seems like the perfect spot for two energetic boys to practice lacrosse shots all those years ago. Another car is parked in the driveway.

“Reid and Lauren got here a while ago with the baby,” she explains.

Inside the house, there’s a flurry of hugs and introductions, but somehow, it takes Michelle mere seconds to pour me a glass of white wine. Reid is exactly how I expected him—he has Blake’s sharp cheekbones and wavy brown hair, but his formerly athletic shape is going soft around the middle. His wife looks pretty but also completely exhausted; her hair is up in a ponytail, out of reach of the grasping infant on her lap. The decor is full of tasteful neutrals and sleek stainless-steel appliances, like in the kind of house you’d see on any TV show about upper-middle-class white people. Framed black-and-white family photos line the walls.

I hang back while Blake catches up with his family, awkwardly smiling at Belle, the baby. She shoves a few fingers in her toothless mouth and begins to slobber. Soon enough, Blake makes the requisite introductions. I do my best impression of a perfect girlfriend: beaming at his family, politely asking questions to show how interested I am in their lives, standing with my best posture while also straining to look casual and relaxed. This is hard. I had figured that because I’m naturally sociable I could get by just fine—but I forgot how stressful this situation could be. I hadn’t realized until today how badly I wanted to impress Blake’s family. Even if our relationship began just for show, it’s hard to shake the desire for approval.

Michelle tends to a few pots on the stove, then ushers us into the dining room for dinner. I hover by the oblong table, feeling too paralyzed to select a chair. I don’t want to accidentally pick anyone’s favorite spot or sit at the head of the table. Finally, Blake sits down and pats the seat next to him. I take it gratefully.