Portia MacIntosh - It's Not You, It's Them

I gasp.

‘Mum, I can’t believe you’re saying that.’

‘What? She was an old bag. She suggested I put you on a diet when you were two years old. God rest her soul,’ my mum hastily adds.

‘Whose soul are we resting?’ my dad asks, carrying a tray of mugs into the room, Mark not far behind him with a plate of biscuits.

‘Your mother’s,’ my mum replies, taking a cup of coffee from him.

‘Aw, if only she knew how missed she was,’ my dad says wistfully with a smile.

‘If only,’ my mum replies with a smile of her own.

I’d always kind of figured that my mum and my gran didn’t really get along that well, but I never realised she made comments like that to my mum. Is the urban legend of the evil mother-in-law not a legend at all? But that can’t be true. Sure, that’s the way things are in movies, and maybe my gran did make a few remarks to my mum, but maybe her outfit was rubbish, and I was a chubby toddler – I still am, in some ways.

My mum, ever the actress, is obviously embellishing – but with perfect comedic timing, as usual. Growing up with actor parents was interesting, to say the least. For one thing, their poker faces were flawless. When I was misbehaving, and they would pull up alongside the local children’s home saying they were going to give me away, I believed them! They really sold it, and I would instantly cease whatever I was doing that was causing them stress. Their easy confidence wasn’t always my favourite thing either, especially when it came to having friends around or school events. It was like they were always performing, always the centre of attention, always cracking jokes. It did have its plus points, too, though. They definitely told the best bedtime stories when I was younger, often working together to put on a performance at the end of my bed, and they were the ‘coolest’ parents a teenager could hope to have.

‘So, what did Gil make of the news?’ my mum asks.

Gil, a serial player, has never been big on the idea of monogamy, and he couldn’t hide his disappointment when I ‘caught it from Mark’ as he so beautifully put it. While he does adore Mark, and has always been happy for the two of us, we might have a problem…

‘Shit!’ I exclaim. ‘I forgot to tell him.’

‘You didn’t tell your best friend?’ Mark laughs. ‘That makes me even for not telling my parents.’

‘You haven’t told your parents?’ my mum echoes. ‘Why ever not?’

‘I want to surprise them,’ he replies, that cheeky smile of his more persuasive than ever. I don’t know if it’s the cute dimples planted perfectly on his handsome face that just give him this look, like he could get away with murder exclusively because you forgave him, just because he smiled at you. Mark’s smile will be my downfall, I’m just weak for it.

‘Well, that will be a nice surprise for your future mother-in-law,’ my mum tells me. There’s a smug look of warning in her eyes.

I metaphorically bite my lip.

‘I need to call Gil and tell him,’ I say, grabbing my phone.

‘Call him on loudspeaker,’ my dad insists. ‘We miss him.’

As instructed, I call Gil on loudspeaker so that everyone can talk to him, because everyone loves Gil. I find this especially hilarious, because other than me, my family, his family and a very small percentage of his friendship circle, Gil hates everyone. Perhaps it’s an actor thing – and, if it is, it’s very telling of how talented he is – but Gil has the ultimate fake smile, and he uses it to get away with saying whatever he wants, straight to a person’s face, and it confuses them so much, they don’t even realise he’s offending them. I remember when I lived with him, and I was dating this guy who had a bit of a body odour problem, and Gil just couldn’t keep quiet about it. He would spray him with deodorant, that big smile plastered across his face as he did it, asking him if he liked the way it smelt – multiple times, just to make sure he got an informed opinion from him. One time the smelly guy (as Gil has always referred to him behind his back) said that he was tired, so Gil told him to go home and have a nice, long bath. An insult, if you really think about it, but coming from Gil everything sounds charming. I guess you should never underestimate the power of a good smile.

‘Hello, stranger,’ Gil answers.

‘Hey, mister, how are you?’ I ask, holding back my exciting news as best I can for as long as I can.

‘Same old, same old,’ he tells me. ‘You?’

‘Mark asked me to marry him,’ I squeak.

‘Roxie, that’s amazing,’ he replies. ‘You said yes, right?’

‘Erm, obviously,’ I laugh.

As I exchange glances with Mark and my parents, I can not only tell that Gil is sincerely happy for me, but that everyone else that matters to me is happy too. Nothing could ruin this perfect moment.

‘I should’ve known you’d say yes,’ Mark continues. ‘Remember that time you called me up and said he’d made you orgasm, like, eight times in a row? I knew then that you’d never let him go. Plus, when you told me how well-endowed he was…’

I quickly hit the button that takes my phone off loudspeaker, cutting Gil off, but still very much shutting the stable door after the (well-hung) horse has bolted.

I laugh awkwardly.

‘Anyway, call you later,’ I babble, hanging up.

Mark, bless him, looks mortified, but my parents see the funny side. Not only because they’re used to Gil, but because – I told you – they’re cool.

My dad slaps Mark on the back playfully, laughing wildly.

‘I can’t believe you find this funny,’ Mark says, his body still looking a little stiff with fear. ‘Shouldn’t you be punching me in the face?’

‘Why?’ my dad laughs. ‘You clearly make my daughter very happy.’

I laugh, but I still find this embarrassing. I should’ve known the loudspeaker was a terrible idea.

‘Man, you guys are great,’ Mark says, relaxing. ‘My parents aren’t like you guys at all.’

I feel a pang of panic. I’ve been brought up around my parents; they’re the only kind of parents I’m used to.

‘Why? What are you parents like?’ I ask. I can’t believe I’ve never asked, but you know what it’s like when you start dating someone. As fast as things were moving, I still didn’t want to seem like a psycho, asking loads of weird questions.

‘The opposite to yours,’ Mark laughs. ‘You guys are so cool and easygoing. The way you laughed about what Gil said – my parents would not find that funny at all. They’re quite traditional, they don’t swear – I don’t swear when I’m around them. My dad would blow his top if he heard me swear, even now.’

I wouldn’t say that I swore excessively, but I do swear both often and casually – on autopilot, really.

‘So I shouldn’t swear in front of your parents,’ I reiterate.

‘It would be better if you didn’t,’ Mark laughs. ‘Don’t look so worried, you’ll be fine. You have a real adult job where you function perfectly,’ he reminds me.

‘Except I don’t,’ I tell him, anxiously. ‘I know I’ve had a good day at the office if I’ve written some fire dick puns. And I don’t need to worry about swearing in front of my boss because, one time, she genuinely shouted across the office at me to demand I write a top five list of things to put up your butt during sex.’

‘I’d be interested to read that,’ my mum whispers softly, leaning over to me – see what I mean about her perfect comic timing?

‘You don’t need to worry,’ Mark stresses, grabbing a biscuit from the table.

I think for a moment. If he isn’t worried, then why am I? Because he knows what his parents are like, and he knows what I’m like – better than I know myself – and if he thinks I’ll be fine around them, then I’m sure I will be, right?