A window in the rear of the limo rolled down. “Language. We talked about that. Everything was fine except for the f-word. There is no need to say that. In fact, if you need to add another word, might I suggest the 2016 Paul Auster’s Getting Married Heck Yeah Super Bachelor Party?”
“Oh my fuck,” I said.
Nana tilted the chauffer’s hat back on her head and cackled.
“Didn’t I just say something about the f-word?” Dad asked, leaning his head out the window.
A second window rolled down next to the first, and Mom stuck her head out too. “Hush, dear. You know how he gets when he’s surprised. We should just let this one slide this time. And look at him. He’s wearing a tiara. If there was ever a time for someone to curse, it’s when you’re a man being forced to wear a tiara.”
“I didn’t curse when you forced me to wear a tiara.”
“I know,” she said. “But, to be fair, I didn’t force you to do anything. You wanted to wear it because you said that it made your eyes sparkle.”
“I did look very nice, didn’t I?” Dad said. “Okay, I’ll let it slide this one time. But make sure to keep it clean from here on out. My, that is a rather large penis on that sash you’re wearing, son. Impressive. I wonder why it is that African-American men often have large penises?”
“I suppose we could ask Corey,” Mom said, “but I think that might be racially insensitive and inappropriate, given that he’s technically our son and daughter.”
“It’s more often true than not,” Nana said. “You know how I always say once you go black, you never go back? That’s the reason.”
Corey fist-pounded Nana.
Helena posed as Jessica Rabbit in my driveway.
Mom and Dad waved at me.
“Oh my fuck,” I said again, sounding sexier than ever.
This was going to end in jail time and/or a choreographed dance down 4th Avenue.
I didn’t know which was worse.
I SAT in the limousine at one end. Mom, Dad, Helena, and Corey were all seated at the other end, staring at me. Nana was in the driver’s seat, the partition lowered. (“So I can make sure you don’t talk crap about me!”)
“Mom,” I said, “you look nice.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, smoothing down her dress. “It feels nice to dress up fancy every now and then.”
“Dad,” I said, “you look handsome.”
“Appreciate that, son,” Dad said, trying to fix his crooked tie. “S’not every day I put on a noose and go out.”
“Nana,” I said, “I don’t want to know where you got the limo, do I?”
“The Italians owed me a favor,” she said. “And no, I don’t mean the mafia.” Then, she whispered, “Or do I?”
“Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” I said, spreading my legs out in front of me, slouching down in my seat so I looked like a model. “What the balls is going on?”
They looked at Helena. “Did he forget it’s his bachelor party?” Mom asked, confused.
“No,” Helena said. “He absolutely knew it was the bachelor party tonight. We were pregaming.”
“He had Jager,” Corey said.
“Ah,” Mom said. “That explains the sunglasses he’s wearing even though it’s dark out.”
“I’m not wearing sunglasses—holy crap, I am. How did these get back on my face? I took them off!”
“Then you put them back on,” Helena reminded me. “And said that it was hard for any one of us to understand just how it was to be a sexy beast.”