"You didn't tell me that your parents lived in serial killer country."

So my parents have met Ms. K. It's rather strange to think that two very separate parts of my life have merged like a brief planetary alignment. The event happened Christmas night when Ms. K arrived at my parents' house in "serial killer country."

"You must not love me anymore," she said over the phone, only minutes away from arrival. In the background I could hear the computerized voice of her GPS system telling her where to turn. "You didn't tell me that your parents lived in serial killer country. You lured me out here to kill me in the woods."

I imagined at that moment that Ms. K must have been negotiating the dark and winding turns that mark the desolate path to my parents' house. I imagined that the only light would have been from her headlights, the full moon, and the distant glow of homes decked out in Christmas lights. "I warned you! Didn't I tell you that they lived in the sticks?"

"Yeah but you didn't tell me that I would fear for my life. You didn't grow up here did you??"

"No, I'm from the suburbs."

"This is Blair Witch country!"

"Funny, it was filmed in Maryland . . . ."

"You're not helping!"

When Ms. K finally arrived, my stuff was already by the door ready to go. It was nearly 11 pm and most of my extended family had either left for home or had gone to bed. My father introduced himself and shook her hand like it was a business meeting. My mother warmly said hello from behind the island in the kitchen. I was nervous and anxious to get going. While my father instructed Ms. K on the best route to drive to Brooklyn, she was silently checking out my mom for a glimpse of how I might look in my late 50s. The meeting took all of two or so minutes.

When then loaded up the car and said our goodbyes. When I offered to drive Ms. K's car, everyone shared a chuckle over my inability to drive a stick shift. Okay good, I thought, at least Ms. K and my parents can find common ground by making fun of me.