Method(74)

“So, where are you from, Mr. Walker?”

“Ma?wenn, please call me Lucas and I was raised in West Virginia.”

I lean in, letting her have this round even though I know it’s wrong.

“And your parents?”

“They’re still there, I think.”

“Oh?”

Lucas pats his mouth with the napkin. “I cut all ties when I got to California.”

She sips her wine. “I see.”

“Seriously, Mom? This line of questioning is a page straight from the script out of every meet the parent’s movie conversation ever had.”

“Then he’ll be able to easily follow,” she turns and flashes Lucas a sickening smile.

I white knuckle my fork.

“So, Mila tells me you worked for the press?” Lucas asks, taking the reins. I lean in and whisper to him so only he can hear me. “I love you. Great battle tactic, kill, kill, kill.” The corners of his mouth lift and he grabs my hand under the table. I’m pretty sure his palm is sweating.

“Yes, I worked with the press. But I got out when I realized the type of circus I was supporting.”

My father clears his throat with a sharply whispered, “Ma?wenn,” before he picks more pistachios from his loaf.

“Are you in the union?” my mother asks as casually as a fire alarm.

“Yes,” Lucas grins proudly. “I got my card when I was nineteen.”

“What job got you that paycheck?”

“Mom, money talk is rude. You taught me that.”

“It’s interesting, Mila, and a different line of questioning. That should please you.”

“A commercial,” Lucas referees easily passing me the salad bowl with a wink.

“Oh, would I have seen it?”

“It was an awareness commercial.”

“Oh, for what?”

“Mom, your food is getting cold.”

“Herpes,” Lucas says, clearing his throat and I can’t help the nervous laugh that escapes me.

“I see,” my mother says dryly.

“Cut it out, Mom, we haven’t taken five bites.”

This time my father inadvertently asks the million-dollar question. “So, Lucas, where did you go to school?”

Lucas gives him a scene-stealing grin. “Ever heard of Hard Knocks?”

My dad laughs, and my mother scowls.

It’s then I find some small ray of hope.

“Come on, Mom, loosen that bun, you’re looking a little stressed.”

I’m trying to make light of the situation, but I can still feel the tension brewing.

“Well, you’ve done well for yourself, considering,” she says, eyeing him like he’s a disease.

I drop my fork.

“Considering,” I grit out, “Considering what? He’s made more on his last movie than you have your whole life.”

My mother turns to me as if we’re behind closed doors. “Looks fade, Mila, what are you going to talk about in twenty years? This is ridiculous. You must have low self-esteem.”

“Ma?wenn!” My father says, finally showing up to the battle.

But it’s already too late. She doesn’t stop there, she goes straight for the jugular turning to her husband as if we’re being ridiculous. “She’s highly educated in art and graduated summa cum laude with a double major, and he has a degree in herpes.” She turns back to me with shrewd eyes. “You honestly expect me to give you my blessing?”

“I don’t give a damn about your blessing, I’m twenty-seven years old!”

I’m partially lying. Of course, I want her to like him and thought her acceptance would be a little hard-earned, but this I was not prepared for. I have no idea what has gotten into her that brought her to this point, to go to these lengths, but I refuse to subject Lucas to another minute.

Before I get a chance to say a word Lucas pushes away from the table. “I’m full. Thank you for dinner. I have an early morning.”

“Please,” I whisper, grabbing his hand. “She’ll apologize. She will.” I glare at my mother. “Why, why, why would you do this?”

“Because this man is not your match, Mila, and he knows it.” Their eyes meet in a silent standoff over the table. As the seconds pass, I can see a wordless understanding relay between them. My mother speaks up never taking her eyes off his. “He’ll be the one marrying up, Mila, not you and he knows it. He’s got you fooled now, but later it will be impossible.”

I stand, throwing my napkin down as the gauntlet. “I’ll never forgive you. Lucas, let’s go.”

My parents are arguing before we close the door. Heat radiates off him as we make our way toward his SUV. I’m mortified. “I’m so sorry,” I say as tears fall down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Lucas. Please,” I cry, and he looks over at me, shaking his head.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, I can take it. I’ve had years to learn how to deal with rejection.”

His words gut me as we round his truck. “Please don’t take her words for truth. She just doesn’t know you.”

We both slam our doors, and he wastes no time turning the ignition and speeding off. A few quiet minutes pass and I apologize again.