Over the course of our relationship, Casey’s parents have come to Los Angeles to visit her several times. I’ve eaten dinner with them more than once and have been forced to endure multiple trips to the mall with them and Casey to look for clothes. As much as I hated all of that, the prospect of spending the next two days with them as their future son-in-law is on a different level of agony. But somehow the impending doom of my life ending in marriage to Casey is less threatening than the more immediate disaster that would result from breaking up with her now.
We’re in my car on the way to LAX to pick her parents up. Casey says, “Remember, you can’t curse around my mom. She’ll think you’re a bad influence and that our marriage will be bad. And offer to pay for things. You’ll never have to, but if you offer to pay for things my dad will think you’re a provider and that’s good. And don’t bring up France with my dad. He’ll go crazy and won’t stop talking for an hour. And if my mom asks you where you think we’re going to live, just tell her that it’s still up in the air and it really depends on where we can find the best place. And if they ask you about a wedding date, tell them a.s.a.p. And if either of them ask you about when we’re going to have kids, just say as soon as we get settled we’re going to start trying. Wait, maybe don’t say anything about trying because they’ll think about us having sex and I don’t want my parents thinking about that. Just say as soon as we’re settled.”
When we exit the 405, there’s a hobo with a sign that reads HOMELESS, HUNGRY, AND HANDSOME—ANYTHING WILL HELP at the first stop-light. I like his sign so I roll down my window. He walks in between a few cars also stopped at the red light and holds out his hand. I reach in my pocket and realize I only have a five-dollar bill. I don’t really want to give him five dollars, but I already rolled down my window and now he’s standing at it. I give him the five-dollar bill. He thanks me, the light turns green, and we keep driving. Despite the satisfaction I genuinely get from giving hobos money, I gave this guy money specifically to get the following reaction from Casey:
“Why do you give them money? It’s so stupid. They just spend it on drugs and booze.”
There’s something about her hating the fact that I give hobos money that makes me happy.
We park at LAX and go into the baggage claim area to wait for Casey’s mom and dad to come out. She says, “God, isn’t this exciting. I mean, I know you’ve met them before and everything, but you’ve never actually met them as your future in-laws. Seriously, aren’t you excited?”
I think she’s asking a rhetorical question so I don’t answer.
She says, “Well, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
Some people start coming out of a door toward the baggage claim.
Casey says, “Do you think that’s their flight?”
I think I want to walk back to my car and drive back to my apartment and play World of Warcraft. I think I don’t want to spend the next two days being dragged around L.A. looking at clothes I couldn’t care less about and eating food when I’m not hungry. I think I don’t want to do this anymore.
Her mom and dad walk through the door and spot us. Her mom half jogs over to Casey with a big smile on her face, while her dad is left to drag both of their carry-on bags behind him.
Her mom says, “Oh, congratulations, you two. I just knew Casey would get married one day. I just knew it. My little girl. And you,” she says to me, “come here.”
She gives me a big hug and says, “It’s about time, huh? We were starting to wonder about you.”
For an older woman Casey’s mom has a noticeably nice ass. I wonder if Casey’s will slim down if I stay with her until she’s in her fifties.
Casey’s dad finally manages to make it over to the group. He says, “So, my little girl’s getting hitched?” He gives her a hug, then turns to me and says, “And I’m going to have a new son.” He shakes my hand in a weird kind of overexcited way.
Casey’s mom says, “So we thought we could go eat a little lunch when we get out of here and then you guys can drop us off at our hotel for a few hours so we can rest for a bit, and then you can come back and pick us up and we can go shopping, or I figured that you guys would probably start looking for a place to live together…we could come with you. That would be so much fun. How does that sound?”
Casey says, “That’s exactly the way I had it planned, too.”
If I had a cyanide pill I would probably eat it.
Casey’s dad says, “Great. We just have a few bags.”
We wait at the baggage carousel for a few bags, which turns out to be five.
When we get in my car and I start it, I become immediately aware that Casey forgot to take my Snoop Dogg CD out and Casey’s parents are treated to the following pro-marriage rhetoric:
You talk too much
Ho get up out my face unless you tryin’ to fuck
’Cause on the real a nigga kinda drunk
Casey turns the music off before Snoop can say anything else. Everyone in the car heard it and no one’s saying anything. I put the car in reverse and pull out of my parking spot. No one’s saying anything. I start driving to the parking structure exit. No one’s saying anything. I pull up to the booth, grab my ticket off the dashboard, and roll down my window. Casey’s dad says, “I just can’t get over how nice the weather here is.”
We pull up to the booth and I give my ticket to a little Asian guy. The meter flashes $3.00. The little Asian guy hammers it home by saying, “Three dollars, please.”
I realize I gave my last five dollars to the hobo on the way into the airport. Casey said her parents would never let me pay for anything, I just had to make the offer. I say, “I got it.” I reach in my pocket to make the offer seem real. I’m feeling around inside my empty pocket when I hear Casey’s parents say nothing.
I don’t know if they’re pissed at me for Snoop Dogg or if this is the one time they’re actually making me pay for something as some kind of test. In either case I have no way of paying the three dollars. The little Asian guy says again with exactly the same inflection, “Three dollars, please.”
Casey’s getting nervous next to me. She turns back and smiles to her parents. She says, “How was your flight?” She’s trying to stall them, but it’s not working. I can see her mom’s face in my rearview mirror. She’s getting anxious. Her dad looks disappointed. Deep down I don’t really care about any of it. And I’m kind of happy when I say, “That’s funny, I don’t seem to have any money on me. I guess I just gave my last five dollars to that homeless guy.”
Casey’s mom reaches for her purse and says, “Why do you give them money? They only spend it on drugs and drink.” Then she adds, “I think I have three dollars.” She’s almost disgusted when she hands me the bills.
I say, “Thanks, sorry about that. Dinner’s on me tonight.”
Casey’s dad says, “Don’t be silly. It’s only three dollars.” But I can tell he’s pissed, too. It’s more than just three dollars to him. It’s the guy who’s about to marry his little girl not being able to get out of a parking lot. I hope it keeps him awake at night. I hope I’m the secretly hated fiancé, the one they complain about to their friends at the country club, the one who always gets shitty presents at family Christmas parties, the one who ruins their perfect family.
As we pull out of the parking structure, Casey says, “So where do you guys want to eat?”
I know her dad is thinking that now I can’t even offer to pay for lunch because everyone knows I have no money. I think I might offer anyway. Her dad says, “Somewhere with steak.”
Her mom says, “You already had your steak for the week.”
He says, “We’re on vacation.”
She says, “That doesn’t matter. You’re not having another steak. Casey, you pick.”
Casey says, “Okay, I know a good place. Daddy, there’s no steak but I think you’ll like it.”
He says, “Do they have beer?”
Casey’s mom says, “You can’t have any more beer this week either. Are you just trying to kill yourself right before your daughter’s wedding? Is that what you want?”
He says, “It’s my vacation.”
She says, “That doesn’t matter. Your heart doesn’t go on vacation and neither does your high blood pressure.”
They keep arguing as we drive down the road to one of Casey’s favorite lunch places, the Daily Grill. I wonder if they still fuck or when the last time was that she sucked his cock.