Parental controls

Enter the stage. Monica and Peter are in their old flat’s bathroom. Monica is putting on her make-up. All this for nothing. Peter, at the same time, is brushing her hair. She would do this normally by herself, but this day the objective is to bond. And so bond they do. But all this for nothing. She is trimming his beard. He would do it on his own, but she thought this way they could finally be really together. Really together? Well, things are not going smoothly. Physicality plays a role in that, and that they meet up on a rare occasion doesn’t help.

***

“Honey, I think it’s high time.” The voice is going up and down as if it was some phrase from an upbeat song to be sung. 

“I am quite busy, what is it this time?” 

Matter-of-fact.

“Honey, I think you should know. Bob has two invita-…”

“Who’s Bob?” 

Double whammy.

“Bob has two invitations for the two of you for his poetry reading.”

“You can take your girls. It’s not too interesting, is it?”

“Oh, but… it will be.”

“Goodbye. Don’t call me later.” 

A brutal hanging up of the phone takes place, after which there are seconds of silence.

“Who’s Bob?” An expression on Peter’s face says it all. Though would it be an all-knowing expression, he’d probably act on this intuition. This was only a semi-aware of the situation kind of glance. At best.

A big sigh escaped Monica’s lungs.

“Erm, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Did I do something?”

“No, of course not.”

“Did your mother do something?”

“No, she’s being her, it’s enough.”

“But in essence: no?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“What what?”

“Let me… Did Bob do something?”

If only an intense stare in the eye could kill… 

***

So they are getting ready. They are near closing the door and about to see a lot brighter future (fingers crossed). And they are in an awe of their way of predicting what will be found to their parents’ liking. After all, sharing the good news has to be, well, properly done. And so they made themselves look, talk, walk and smell like Mr and Mrs Winstons. The only thing they don’t realise yet is that soon it will be impossible to hide another news any more. As is usual with being a couple, parents have to give their blessings (yadda, yadda) but then a month or two pass, everybody’s getting used to what’s been new, and then they occasionally call to ask what’s up but generally after that it is almost a rule of etiquette that they can fuck off. 

***

Peter is thinking out loud. 

“Why?”

Why does he not move in with Monica? They have enough money. Then again, Monica is pretty sceptical. Tying his shoelaces and ironing his T-shirts, however, sounding outright outlandish and bolstering unnecessary stereotypes is something she could put up with. Besides, his similar, selfless acts convince her it’s the right thing to do. Such is the agreement. But living together all day long? And doing all this, not only to go out afterwards? With no rewards? A big no-no. All the good memories should be saved for later, as if delayed, and they cannot be made out of grumpy day-to-day-ness. 

“What?”

“Nothing. I’ve been wondering. When do we move in?”

“Move in? What do you mean?”

“Like live together for good.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for this discussion.”

***

So there they are. Looking so lovely. Two sets of parents and one set of soon-to-be-newly-weds. Everybody’s smiling. Supposedly everyone’s happy. Apparently, it’s all or nothing. They go all-in, they make flattering comments, they cannot stress enough how much they feel great to see each other. Will it stop at some point? Of course.

At first everything is going rather smoothly which is rather unexpected or at least highly unlikely. Then Monica’s mom brings up the subject of her boyfriend that returned recently from Spain and would be soon coming around to eat food in great quantities and stay for the night, obviously. He’s probably fat, has greasy hair and makes inappropriate jokes when it’s the most awkward, Peter is thinking. He wonders whether this is this Bob character that was mentioned by Monica. Still, the name seems to be of little importance when compared to the whole concept of an ideal boyfriend. One fact known for sure is that he is a far younger version than the first husband of Monica’s mother, Monica’s biological father, and even a younger man than his most recent predecessor that had nothing to do with neither Monica nor Peter. Why is it known? Monica’s mom made it abundantly clear through constant revisiting of the subject (“oh, honey, and did I mention he’s more than twice younger, oh dear, I’m giving away my age”).

“Mom, could you pass me some cheese?” Says Monica to Peter’s mother.

“Here you are.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. But try these, they’re so much better for your skin and not so fattening.”

It’s all going downhill from that remark. Supposition that Monica has gained some weight. Unwanted weight. Then the whole diet-debate. Then the reveal and dropping of the jaw. What has been dubbed “unwanted weight” appears to be the first-born granddaughter of Peter’s parents. 

***

Bob’s reciting his poems. Yes, everyone came as instructed. Apart from the family, there is close to no one in a spacious library. The poems are bad. Nobody’s quite sure whether the absent boyfriend of Monica’s mom is Bob, or is it just some friend of hers. The whole thing lasts for about an hour or so. Everybody seems exhausted. Most of all Bob who’s sweating out of effort (standing, reading and holding his notebook with scribbled pieces). 

“Bob, it’s Monica. Monica, Bob.” Monica’s mom introduces everybody one by one, always starting with Bob. Keeping up appearances.

The party ends on a higher note than anyone could predict. Bob remembers he has his one last poem to be read in front of the family. In spite of being, arguably, quite tired, they all agree to hear it. Bob promises this will be a good one. He is half inside the taxi when he spits out the concealed and ambiguous truth in equally mediocre verse.

“Make of it what you will

 but I was delighted 

to meet my girl here.

And not only one but two,

how, you say, is it true?

My girl hasn’t told you?

Now I must go, so farewell…

And bon voyage, 

Peter, you’ll be a better father!”

***

“What the fuck was that?”

“For the love of Jesus, don’t swear, my son.” Responds Peter’s father as if he wasn’t listening all along at all. Totally uncalled-for.

“Monica, tell me, hon, what is going on?” Peter rushes to his fiancée and tries to help her get up.

“Nothing.”

“This is nothing? You're fainting and this douche... what exactly is nothing?”