Prologue: That Time I Married RoboCop
1991
“MOM,” I said. “I need help. My wedding is today and I don’t have a thing to wear.”
My mother, Matty Auster, looked up from where she was styling her bangs in the bathroom she and my father shared. I tried not to flinch away at the sight of her, given that her hair was undoubtedly the biggest thing I’d ever seen. She set down the hairbrush and the can of Super Hold Unscented Aqua Net, adjusted the shoulder pads of her dress that made her look like she’d just walked off the set of Dynasty, and then turned toward me. “Run that one by me again?”
“My wedding,” I said, speaking slowly, knowing then even as a seven-year-old that sometimes, adults were stupid, “is today. And I don’t have anything to wear.”
She nodded solemnly. “This is a terrible thing that will be remedied immediately. Though, I must admit to being a little surprised at hearing you’re getting married. I didn’t even know you were engaged.”
I rolled my eyes and played with the stretchy waistband of my parachute pants. “It’s a new thing. Please don’t make a big deal out of it.”
Her lips quirked, like she was trying not to laugh. “All right. Since you asked, I won’t make a big deal out of my only son finally getting married. Now, what’s wrong with what you have on?”
I looked down. In addition to my orange-and-green parachute pants, I wore my black-and-white BKs and a KISS T-shirt. I didn’t quite understand what KISS was exactly, but Dad said that Gene Simmons was a god, so I tried not to question it. It probably helped that Mom thought Mr. Simmons was also a god, but that had to do with his tongue more than anything else. That led to Mom and Dad whispering and giggling to each other like they sometimes did, while I stared at the both of them, trying not to be grossed out by my parents, but also feeling a little warm and fuzzy at the sight of them.
I looked back up at Mom. “It’s not wedding clothes.”
“Oh. And what are wedding clothes?”
“You know. Like… big hats. And veils.” I actually knew what a wedding was supposed to look like, having seen photos of Princess Diana’s wedding in one of Mom’s magazines, but didn’t want to have to put my parents out too much. I didn’t think asking for a horse-drawn carriage was something they’d go for.
“Big hats and veils,” she said, taking me by the hand and leading me toward the closet in the bedroom. “I see. Well, at least we have a place to start. Who are you marrying?”
“RoboCop,” I said promptly.
She started coughing. “RoboCop. The speak-and-play doll Nana got you?”
“He’s not a doll,” I said, sounding outraged in that way that only children can sound. “He’s an action figure. Who quotes the movie.”
“Right,” she said. “The action figure. You’re marrying your action figure.”
“Yes.”
She frowned as she opened the closet door. “I don’t know how your father is going to feel about this. We haven’t even met RoboCop yet. I think we should get to meet your future husband before you get married, don’t you think?”
“Mom,” I said, slumping against the wall, feeling the weight of the world on my chunky little shoulders. “Don’t embarrass me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said. “But you could have at least invited him to dinner.”
I mumbled as I scuffed my foot against the carpet.
“What was that?”
“I said that I didn’t want to make a big deal about it.”
“Really. You didn’t want to make a big deal about something. Oh child. My perfect, special little boy.” She started sifting through the clothes in the closet. “Well, maybe I’ll let this one slide if you answer some questions.”
“Fine,” I groaned.
“Why do you want to get married?”
I shrugged. “Because it looks like fun.”
“And did you ask RoboCop or did RoboCop ask you?”
“I asked him.”
“Because you love him?”