What happens when your best friend tricks you into unwittingly submitting a successful audition tape for hot new reality dating show 'Enlisted'? For Mia Benson, the answer is contemplate friend-icide, at least until she catches wind of the $10,000-p...
Mom's been driving the same Honda Pilot since 2005. I don't know why. She's not wealthy by any means, but my father has to pay a lot in alimony because he really just left her high and dry. I'm not sure how much, but I'm pretty sure she can afford a newer model. Maybe not something brand new, but I guarantee she could splurge on a vehicle from the last decade.
The silver crossover—Honda Pilots are full-blown SUVs now, but in 2005, they were crossovers—pulls up to the arrivals curb with its windows rolled down. "Mia! Max!" Mom shouts. She's not trying to get our attention. I'm waving, and we're both walking towards her, clearly aware she's here. She's just excited.
We pile our luggage into the back and slide onto the leather seats. Max is in the back, while I'm in the front, which is all sorts of awkward, but how else are we supposed to sit?
"I would have gotten out to say a proper hello with hugs, but you know how those pesky officers get." Mom grimaces into the rearview mirror. "Remember last time, Mia? The man nearly gave me a ticket on Christmas Eve."
"I remember." Mom held up traffic because she ran out of the car to hug me when I walked outside. I get where the officer was coming from, not that I'll ever tell Mom. Besides, we have more important things to discuss. "Mom, this is my fiancé, Max. Max, this is my mom, Laurie Benson."
In case you're wondering (I would be), Benson is Mom's maiden name. We legally changed our names together when I was ten. Before that, we had my father's last name, Finnegan.
I'll probably hyphenate when I get married. Either that, or just leave the Benson. Seems like a lot of work to update my passport and all those other important documents.
"Ms. Benson, it's a pleasure to meet you," Max says.
"Oh, what a charmer! Mia, you picked a good one. Call me Laurie, dear. It's a pleasure to meet you too. Let's see the ring."
"Mom, you're driving," I remind her.
"It's a straight road."
It's not. We're coming up on a curve. Mom's a terrible driver. I don't know how the Pilot has made it this long.
Mom asks Max a trillion questions over the course of our hour-long drive. About half relate to his profession. Remember when Mom talked about downloading cable? Yeah. She's not great with technological concepts. "Can you cancel my Netflix subscription?" she finally asks.
"Of course," Max replies, grinning.
"He's not the I.T. guy, Mom," I groan. "I'll cancel it for you."
"I'm going to leave this one to the professionals," Mom says.
Max smirks.
It's going to be a long three days.
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I'm sitting in the middle of Mom's sofa, a bottle of Riesling on one side, my fiancé on the other. Fun fact: Max doesn't drink. Luckily, he doesn't care that I do. He's one of those 'you do you' guys, which is good because I'm going to need alcohol to get me through the six hours of Enlisted we're about to endure.
