“Brea, with hair like that, you have to wear a hat. Isn’t it charming?”
Mark’s eyes widened in horror as my father whipped the blanket off my head then pinned the hat on.
“Voilà! Prince Charming, your future bride has been transformed.”
Mark opened his mouth and shut it again.
I cringed. “Drinks? Drinks? I could use a drink! Anyone else want a drink?”
And maybe a knitting needle to the brain, to make this whole evening just disappear.
37
Mark
“Do you like Negronis?” Brea’s father asked me brightly then went over to the bar cart to mix a cocktail.
“I’ll take anything with alcohol,” I told him.
Brea was standing uncomfortably next to me. Her hair was piled and shellacked on top of her head in an elaborate updo.
“Did you get all dressed up for my benefit?” I asked in a low voice.
“I would never willingly subject you to this hairstyle,” she whispered back.
Her father handed me a Negroni. I sipped it politely.
“How’s it taste?” her dad asked nervously, blinking at me.
“It’s very nice,” I said politely.
“Good, good,” Todd said, twisting his hands.
Brea picked at her skirt.
I realized at that point I had never actually gotten far enough with a woman to do the awkward meet-the-parents routine.
Guess I’m going to have to marry Brea, because I will never suffer through this discomfort again.
Her other dad was clanging and banging in the kitchen.
“So,” Todd said over the din. “How are you liking the New York Mets this year? Think they have a shot at the Super Bowl?”
“Dad!” Brea exclaimed in horror. “That’s the complete wrong sports team! The Mets are baseball, and the Super Bowl is football.”
“Right, right.”
Something clanked behind me, and I jumped.
“Don’t worry,” Brea’s father said with a pained smile. “That’s just Gatsby.”
“Do you have a cat?”
Brea rested her head in her hands.
“It’s a Roomba.”
“Oh, I have a Roomba.” I relaxed slightly back against the seat as a robot vacuum wearing a sparkling tux chugged across the carpet.
