"Dad this looks fantastic!" Monica says with a giant smile as she places her napkin in her lap.

"Yes Mr. Cavalieri, this looks f-... absolutely delicious." I cough to cover my almost slip-up.

The meal really does look fucking delicious though. Mr. Cavalieri had prepared for us some homemade chicken parmigiana. Everything was apparently made from scratch, including the sauce. My mouth is watering just looking at it.

"Thank you." He cuts into his food, looking at me as he continues. "Sean, please feel free to call me Gio." He gives me that familiar grin, the one that reminds me of Monica's. I can't help but respond to him in the same manner.

"Short for Giovanni." Jenn chimes in from my left.

"Yes," he nods across the table at his youngest daughter. "Well, I hope the two of you have brought your appetites with you."

I look across the table at Monica as she puts a fork full of food in her mouth. "Monica had a snack earlier but I'm sure she's still plenty hungry."

Monica nearly chokes in front of me. I shove a pile of food in my mouth so that I don't end up laughing hysterically. She glares across the table at me as she takes a giant sip from her glass of water. I want to make a joke about how she usually has the capability to swallow properly but I keep my inappropriate mouth shut. Instead I give her a large, lopsided grin which makes her roll her eyes at me.

"So Sean, tell us a bit about yourself." Gio looks at me pointedly. 

How about I don't... "What would you like to know, sir?" I have a feeling that I'm going to fucking hate where this conversation ends up.

"I hear you're a bartender and managed to get my daughter a job at the same establishment as a cocktail waitress."

Establishment.

She's clearly not told him it's a seedy nightclub. Guess I'll just be vague, probably for the best. "Yes, my best friend owns a place in Southie. I mean, uh, South Boston." I correct myself because I have been trying to cover up my Bostonian accent the entire time I've been here. Monica doesn't really have an accent and neither does anyone in her family it seems.

"Ah yes, South Boston. That is where the two of you live correct?" He takes a bite of food.

"Yes, sir." I'm trying to be polite by saying the word sir but the word feels unnatural coming out of my mouth.

"Monica tells me that the two of you will be moving in together next week."

Oh for fuck's sake, Monica.

I shoot Monica a pointed look across the table and she nods. I had no idea she had told or was even going to tell her father we were moving in together. It was true, my lease had come to an end and we spent the nights with each other anyway. We figured why pay two rents when we could just pay one.

"Yeah, that's the plan." I don't know how else to respond to a man that now knows his daughter will be sharing a bed with me every night. She did anyway but now he knew about it. Thank god he didn't know what was going on in it.

"I see." He chews a piece of food thoroughly before he regards me again. "Well, since you're the man my daughter has chosen to start a future with I'd like to know a bit more about you."

I cough, choking on the food in my mouth. Start a future with? Yes, I suppose that's what we're doing but what does he mean by that? Where does he see this going? Where does Monica see this going? Has she told him she wants a future with me? If so, what all does that entail? Jesus Christ, how many times in one evening can someone feel like they're going to hyperventilate?

"Dad!" Monica exclaims. "Really?"

"It's fine, Monica." I mean, not really but let's just get what's about to be a fucking train wreck over with. "What else would you like to know, sir?" Please say nothing. Please.

"So son, where are you from?" No such luck.

"Born and raised in Boston, Massachusetts."And I'm probably going to fucking die here too but let's not get too morbid.

He nods his head, "I had gathered as much from your accent."

And here I thought I'd done a pretty decent job of trying to hide it. People like Monica's father, people from neighborhoods like this one, typically look down on people like me. Affluent people, like this, typically don't affiliate with people like me. Trevor had money, his family had money, but he was just as fucked in the head as me, which is probably why we got along so well.

"The girls grew up here in Cape Cod," he sips at his water. "Monica wanted to move into the city once she started going to college there though. Which I was initially fine with until she dropped out a few years ago. Hopefully she decides to go back and finish her degree." He aimed the last portion towards Monica.

I know his words are not meant maliciously because Monica had dropped out when she'd found out her mother was terminally ill. She had stage four liver cancer and passed away only a few months after being diagnosed.

"Maybe one day, Dad." Monica is now somberly looking down at her plate, playing with her food. I want to pick her up, stick her in my truck, go home, and fuck her sadness away until she couldn't walk straight. I hate seeing my beautiful girl upset.

"How about you, Sean. Did you attend a university?"

Go to college? I had barely graduated high school because I was such a fucking mess. "No sir."

"What are your plans for the future?"

To fuck your daughter every day until I'm fucking six feet under...

"Well, I do pretty well at my current place of employment. I help my best friend run the place, he's actually thinking about opening up another establishment. He's talking about me running that one, but we'll see." I'd probably do a fucking shit job of running things, which I had told Trevor, but he didn't seem to care. Responsibility and I just don't seem to get along.

He nods his head, "that's very nice of your friend."

"Trevor is like a brother to me. We've been friends nearly my entire life." I respond automatically.

"Speaking of brothers, do you have any siblings."

"No." I hate talking about my family. Fuck me and my big mouth for uttering the word brother.

  "How about your mother and father, let's hear about them. What are they like?" He takes another bite, looking at me intently.

How about we don't fucking go there.

"Both of them are deceased." It's a lie but I'm not going down that long and depressing road. I can feel my demons slowly clawing at the back of my mind, just itching to get out.

"Oh son." He pauses giving me a sympathetic look, the type I loathe. "I'm so sorry to hear that."

Stop calling me son and stop looking at me like that.

"It is what it is." I look down and stare at my plate trying to make my face look as unaffected as possible. It's like a slow, long, torturous mental death just thinking about my family. I'm not about to talk about them with strangers even if the strangers are related to Monica. I feel like I'm being enveloped by quick sand as this conversation progresses.

"Death is never easy is it?"

Life can be infinitely harder. But I don't say that, I say, "No." Short answers are the best way to go about this entire situation, at least I think it is. I've never really been in this situation. I'm finding that the role of boyfriend at a family dinner is not my favorite role to play.

"What's your heritage?"

What the fuck?

"Really, Dad?" Monica says in irritation. "Sean, you don't have to answer that."

"My mother was of Italian descent but I'm not sure about my father. She was first generation American." I really knew very little about my father, well, other than the fact that he was a complete and utter dick and probably the worst role model of all time.

"See, I knew there was something I liked about you." Mr. Cavalieri says with a chuckle.

"Really Dad?" Monica rolls her eyes heartily at him as she lets out a large sigh.

"What?" He shrugs. "He's got Italian blood! Your mother would've been happy to know her future grandchildren are still going to be, well, mostly be, of Italian heritage! That is when you guys get married though, which I would've preferred before the two of you moved in together but soon hopefully." He directs the last part at me making me want to run right the fuck out of the front door.

"Dad!" Monica exclaims, dropping her silverware loudly onto her plate in mortification.

"Dad, you did not just say that. You realize this isn't 1950, right? People don't need to settle down and have kids at the age of 24." Jenn looks at Monica and whispers, "Although Mon, he's sexy as hell. I'd want to have his babies."

Did she just say she wants me to impregnate her?

Monica's mouth is just hanging open, staring at her sister like she has twelve heads. I, myself, feel like someone just threw me in front of a Mack truck driving full speed down the interstate.

"Who wants dessert?" Monica's father states loudly, with a large smile plastered on his face. "It's Tiramisu!"