Take A Picture (It'll Last Longer)

Amy had been gone for two weeks and Ben and I were planning on going out that evening to celebrate our three month anniversary. My mother had been calling me up a lot at work lately, asking if Ben and I were thinking about kids and she was e-mailing me coupons for diapers and baby food, as if I wasn’t getting the hint. I kept having to delete those e-mails because Ben has an annoying habit of reading things over my shoulder and I really didn’t want to have to explain to him my mother’s sudden menopausal urge to have grandchildren.

Ben had brought me lunch of some weird chicken and rice thing he had picked up on the way back from a shoot involving street performers on the Miracle Mile and I was nervously digging into it, wondering exactly what was in the pasty concoction of rice. Ben had happily eaten all of his in a matter of seconds and was now chugging the remainder of the pitcher of iced tea he had gotten to go with our two meals. I was staring at him speculatively.

“Ugh,” Ben said as he swallowed the last of the tea. “How do you yanks stand this stuff? It’s bloody horrid!”

“Yet you drank all of it and whenever we make tea at home, you usually put an ice cube or two in it,” I pointed out.

“Only because you make it too hot,” Ben insisted.

“I’m sorry my cooking abilities are not on par with Martha Stewart,” I frowned.

“Come on, Catt, we all know that she doesn’t actually bake that stuff on her own,” Ben rolled his eyes. “The shows totally fake.”

“How many times have you seen it?” I asked him quizzically.

“Enough I’m not going to disclose such classified information,” Ben replied airily.

“Mail,” Starla said to me, placing it down on my desk. “There’s some for you two Mr. Dawes.” She turned and left as Ben picked up his mail, rifling through it.

“Photography Magazine, camera catalogue, lens catalogue, camera catalogue, tripod catalogue, photo editing catalogue,” Ben said as he flipped through it. “Northwestern asking for an alumni donation…”

“Already?” I snorted. “Like they really need the money! I haven’t even paid off my student loans from them yet.”

“Oooh! An advert for an Elvis commemorative collectors cup…” Ben said.

“No,” I said to him threateningly.

“But you push the button and his pelvis swivels to the tune of ‘All Shook Up’! Please! Pretty please Catsie!” Ben begged.

“Maybe for your birthday. If you’re very good,” I replied thoughtfully. Ben frowned and threw his mess of catalogues in the trash. He looked at another letter he had just received terrified. “Not from Immigration is it?”

“Worse…” Ben said nervously. “My mum…”

“What does it say?” I asked him, a little apprehensive myself. He tore it open and out fell two plane tickets. To London.

“She says… she says that we better be in London in two days or she’s calling up Immigration and telling them enough shit about me to get me permanently deported…” Ben said sadly. “Amy’s done her worst.”

“Worst? Her worst is forcing us to go talk with your parents?” I snorted. “That doesn’t seem that bad.”

“You don’t know my parents, Catt,” Ben shook his head. “Did you ever think that maybe I’m trying to avoid going back to England for a reason?”

“What? Did they like lock you in a basement or something?” I snorted.

“That would have been preferable to having supper with them,” Ben snorted.

“I think you’re over exaggerating,” I said. “I mean, they had you so they can’t be that bad, right?”

“You have no idea,” Ben sighed. “Well, I suppose that tonight we should eat, drink, and be married because when we get to London, my mum is going to kill us.”

“So you’re actually contemplating going?” I rolled my eyes. “Honestly, Ben, is there anything that terrible about you that your mother could say that would result in your instantaneous deportment? You haven’t committed some deplorable crime you’ve never told me about.”

“Yes, Catt. I’m Jack the Ripper,” Ben said sarcastically. “No, I haven’t done anything worthy of deportment, other than fibbing a little and some driving tickets, but my mum has the ability to turn making an illegal left hand turn into committing a mass murder. She could make it seem like I’m the worst person in history and they’d believe her because no mum in their right mind would make up stories like that about their kid. Of course, they don’t know about my mum…”

“So we’re going?” I said to Ben curiously.

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Ben sighed. “At the best it’ll be a brief meeting and they’ll let us go home…”

“What do you mean ‘let us’ go home?” I asked him worriedly. “They aren’t like crazy hostage takers, are they?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Ben muttered.

“Not helping here,” I frowned.

“What am I supposed to tell you? That my parents are the King and Queen of Magical Sunshine and Lollipop Land and that I grew up with all the fairies and leprechauns?” Ben said.

“At least that story sounds cheery,” I replied.

“I suppose we can have a last hoorah tonight, pack tomorrow, and then seal our doom and fate some time tomorrow evening,” Ben sighed.

“Why are you making this sound so difficult?” I snorted.

“Catt, visiting my parents is like being asked to find the One Ring, slay a dragon, chase down the Holy Grail, save the world from alien invasion and nuclear holocaust, and find the Ark of the Covenant all before noon using only a paperclip and a rubber band,” Ben replied dramatically.

“Then you better get to work, MacGyver,” I replied. “Those things aren’t going to discover and solve themselves, you know.”

“You could be a little more supportive,” Ben said pathetically.

“I’m plenty supportive,” I snorted. “I recall being very supportive to you yesterday night.”

“Supportive and limber are not the same thing, Catt,” Ben smirked before giving me a kiss and heading off with his letter. He turned over his shoulder before he walked out completely. “One more thing, it would be great if you could pretend along with that story that Amy told about us being madly in love since we first met…”

“What else do you want me to do?” I snorted. “Pretend that I’m pregnant?”

“Well, that would make my parents less likely to force us into an annulment or divorce,” Ben shrugged.

“What do you mean? Force us into a divorce?” I said horrified.

“Just trust me on this,” Ben said with a smile. He disappeared and I pulled up my e-mail, which I had been looking at before he came in but then had minimized.

The first e-mail was from my mother with the tagline: So you want to get pregnant.