I’m Ella, 29, and I genuinely need outside eyes on this because my brain is still buffering. I’ve been dating my boyfriend, Mike, for a little over two years. Things were steady, warm, and comfortably heading toward that engagement territory where you start casually browsing rings and imagining holiday dinners together. So when he told me I was finally going to meet his parents, I was excited — nervous, but excited.
Last night was the night. We arrived at this mid-range but nice restaurant, the type where you iron your shirt but don’t need to Google the menu beforehand. Mike’s parents were already seated. He introduced me, and I barely got out a polite “Nice to meet you” before he turned to me, completely straight-faced, and said:
“Hope you brought your wallet. We’re starving.”
At first, I thought he was joking — a weird joke, but still a joke. But then his dad stood up like a judge about to sentence someone and cleared his throat dramatically. “If she’s already struggling now,” he announced to the table, “imagine the future.”
I blinked, unsure whether I was being pranked.
His mom gave me this pitying look — the exact expression you’d give a toddler trying to pay bills with Monopoly money. “Honey,” she sighed, “you deserve a partner who contributes.”
At that point, I genuinely thought this was the worst that could’ve happened. I was wrong.
Because then Mike — my boyfriend, a whole adult man with a job and a working brain, allegedly — looked at me and said, “You’ll have to pay for the dinner. It’s a test. I’ll explain later.”
A test.
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