It’s no secret that I’m not very good at this whole being-a-grown-up thing. Occasionally I pay a bill late because I forget to open my mail for a week or two. Sometimes I go to work looking like I got dressed in the dark because… I did. And I’m still trying to figure out why books and beer are usually higher on my list of expenses than, say, food and clothing.
But one thing I’m really bad at is being in an “adult” relationship. Because I haven’t really ever done it. The only things I know about dating in your mid-twenties I either learned from my friends (who are mostly in long-term relationships that started with a random drunken college make-out) or movies. So, basically, movies. Which is why I got really nervous about my mom and my brother coming to visit this past weekend. Clearly, I want Brad to meet the fam, but if there’s anything Hollywood’s told me, it’s that meeting someone’s parents is a huge deal. Even if I don’t think it is.
So I talked to Brad about it last week. I tried to play it cool – Hey, I would love for you to meet my family, but I totally understand if it’s a little overwhelming to meet them so soon…blah blah blah. And of course he wasn’t worried at all. He said he definitely wanted to meet them, I just needed to tell him when and where to show up. So I made plans for my mom, Pete, Brad, and I to have drinks together on Saturday night.
One of my mom’s best friends from college, Marty, just recently moved to Portland, so she was excited to stay with him for the weekend. Pete was going to stay at my apartment on the floor, because Brian’s (awesome) friend Kim was in town and had dibs on the couch, but I decided to stay at Brad’s instead and give Pete the bed. My mom got in late Friday night, so Marty picked her up at the train station and she said she’d call me for breakfast on Saturday morning.
Bright and early Saturday morning, I got a call from my brother saying my mom had called about breakfast and he didn’t know whether it was okay to tell her that I wasn’t actually at my apartment with him. I called her back and told her I had stayed at Brad’s, since there were so many people staying at my apartment and this way Pete didn’t have to sleep on the floor or share a bed with his 25-year-old sister. She responded, “Meg, there are about a million reasons for you to stay at Brad’s, and that is the least of them.”
I told her she and Marty should go pick up Pete and go to breakfast and I’d meet them there. Brad had to drive me home and get his bike, plus I needed to shower and get ready. So, we drove to my apartment and were hugging goodbye in front of the entrance when I looked across the street and saw my mom and Marty, standing in the Park Blocks, waving and giggling at us.
Now, one thing I haven’t told you about Marty is that he’s a photographer. He never leaves home without at least one camera. So he wasted no time in picking up the one around his neck and snapping a few “paparazzi” shots of us.
This was me, being embarrassed and explaining to Brad that he didn’t get to wait until that night to meet my mom. Turns out he was actually excited to see her. I was the only one who was mortified.
Moral of the story: I’m awkward. Brad’s not. My family loved him. And I look absolutely terrible in the mornings.