Chapter 4: Percy

Laura and I dated for six months. We became exclusive. I learned that Laura’s favorite color was blue and she loved to dance in rain. We loved to curl up together and watch movies. She preferred romantic movies and used to fall asleep during action or superhero ones. She loved cats, plants, and flowers. We both loved onions and pizza.

We used to talk for hours. She was a fantastic listener. When I was with her I felt life was a good thing, and I felt like it might just go on and on this way.

One Friday night, Laura asked me to pick her up at a fancy neighborhood address. I used to pick her up at her apartment, so the change of place surprised me. Maybe she was visiting a friend.

When I arrived there, I discovered with horror that it was her parents’ home, and we were going to have dinner with them. I wasn’t even dressed properly. Ambush, anyone?

The house was a two-story structure, painted yellow with brown trim. It screamed wealth with its polished white-marble floors and subtle gold accents.

Honestly, I didn’t think our relationship was at this stage. You know, meeting the parents is both a sign that you’re taking the relationship seriously and a test to see if you and your partner’s parents will get along. What was Laura trying to pull?

I gave Laura a puzzled look when I greeted her, but she was too nervous to notice.

My first impression of Laura’s parents wasn’t good. They looked like snobs of the worst kind. The kind who put you down with just one look. They were country club people, I certainly was not. They gave me a cold welcome.

“Dad, I want you to meet my boyfriend Percy,” Laura introduced me to her father, a short stocky man who never smiled.

I offered my hand to him, “I’m Percival Wittmore. Nice to meet you, sir.”

I rarely used my full name, but I thought I might impress him. My mom was a fan of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. She used to call me Sir Percival.

He looked at me as if I were an annoying insect. I dropped my hand when he didn’t offer his back.

Her mother simply looked at me as if I was something she scraped off her fancy shoes.

Laura did her best to alleviate the uncomfortable moment. She kept looking at me, apologizing with her eyes.

During dinner, her parents gave me the third degree. They interrogated me about my politics, my religion, my social position, my diet, my community involvement, my job, and especially how much money I was making a year. My answers got shorter and shorter with each question, and I refused to answer the last ones.

It felt like that nightmare where you dream you’re back in high school taking a test you haven’t studied for.

At some point, Laura tried to stop them, “You don’t need to interrogate Percy like he’s a criminal or something.”

However, her parents would have none of it.

“I’m in my right to know if this young man you brought to our home can provide for the lifestyle you are used to,” her father said in an affected tone of voice. “We have social obligations. We need to know if he’ll fit.”