The rest of the week slips by, and Thursday night arrives way before I'm ready for it.

After practicing with the boys for hours on end from sunrise to sunset, plus the long walk to the cabin and back every day, I'm exhausted.

The last thing I feel like is having to sit through a long dinner while my mom tries to convince the boys that she's "hip" and "knows how to use the Facebook" – while my dad cross-examines them like a detective in an 80s cop show.

Plus, knowing them, they'll have prepared a ridiculous feast of epic proportions for the boys. The last thing I want is to give off the impression that we're trying too hard.

To make matters worse, I've barely seen my friends this week, and I know I should ask them if they want to come over tonight. They could show up after dinner, and hang out with the guys a bit.

But the memory of Felix blatantly ignoring Zee and Jamie the other day keeps popping back into my mind.

I need to keep tonight as non-awkward as possible. Felix doesn't react well to getting fangirled over, so keeping my friends out of the loop is for the best. Probably.

Still, I feel awful about it, and it's hard not to text Jamie and Zee and Grace and tell them to come over.

It's 6pm, an hour before the boys and Kitty are due to arrive.

I'm upstairs in my bedroom, changing my outfit for the umpteenth time. I finally settle on a comfortable, casual white romper, covered in a print of pale pink roses. It's relaxed enough for wearing around the house, but still cute and trendy. As I scour my wardrobe for a decent pair of shoes, I hear my mom calling me from downstairs.

"Ashling! Sweetie, can you come down?" She yells, an edge of panic in her voice.

Oh joy. Here we go.

I grab a hair tie off my dresser, and maneuver my hair into a makeshift messy bun.

After a final inspection in the mirror, I head downstairs to the kitchen.

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My dad's placing something into the oven, while my mom stirs a huge pot on the stove. Something smells delicious.

I take in the kitchen table bedecked with a white tablecloth, candles, and even handwritten place markers and neatly folded menus, and my fears are confirmed.

My parents went way overboard.

I pick up one of the menus, fearing for the worst.

It's bad.

The menu is like an itemized list of all of the boys' favorite foods.

We'll be starting with an Irish potato soup and beer bread, which Lyall famously said on The Tonight Show he couldn't live without. Followed by Ben's favorite – poutine and cheeseburgers, with sautéed truffles on the side, no doubt inspired by Alastaire's love of truffles. Dessert is homemade cherry pie – Elliot's dessert of choice – served with Felix's preferred gelato flavor, which every Fable fan knows is bittersweet dark chocolate.

It couldn't possibly get more mismatched or more obvious.

At the bottom of the menu, in my mom's looping cursive, is written plus lit Gucci strawberry cupcakes at the end!!!

Alastaire's all-time favorite snack. This whole thing is the exact definition of trying too hard. Especially the lit Gucci part. I'll have to Jamie about that later, she'll frikkin love that.

"What do you think sweetheart?" My dad asks, as he fiddles with the temperature on the oven. "Do you like the menus?"

"We're going to have a totally fleek night," my mom says. "Right Ashling?"

Ugh.

"You mean it’s going to be on fleek," I say. "Although I highly doubt it will be. And I appreciate the hard work and all, but this is totally creepy. Did you stalk them?"

My mom pouts, looking slightly affronted by the suggestion.

"Of course not sweetie," she says. "We just took your advice and Googled them. I'm actually quite the cyber sleuth. We found out a lot."

"Yeah, more than we bargained for," my dad says, suddenly sounding grumpy. "That one called Alastaire, we–"

"–can't wait to meet him! And the others!" My mom interjects, shooting my dad a warning glance. "I'm sure they're all super cool dudes. Right Ashling?"

"Sure, just don't say the word dudes for the rest of the night," I say. "Or ever again, actually. Just... just talk how you usually do. Like... be normal. Don't be too conspicuous. And don’t interrogate the boys. Just keep things chill."

"Sure thing honey," my mom says as she grinds black pepper into the pot she's stirring. "I can STFU."

"What?" I ask, wondering if I misheard.

"I can STFU," she repeats. "Stay Fun. S-T-ay F-U-n. Jamie had it on her shirt the other day. I asked her about it, and she said that’s what it stands for. Being cool and all like, whattup."

"Umm... no mom," I say.

"Really?" She asks. "What does it mean then?"

"Google it," I say. "Anyway, you called me down to help you? "

"That's right," my mom says. "Could you get started on the strawberry buttercream frosting? The cupcakes look like they've risen. They're probably ready to come out the oven."

"Yeah honey, it's the yeast you could do to help us," says my dad.

Lame dad jokes have commenced. And so my night from hell begins.