Average American Male by Chad Kultgen

you don’t like, but can you just eat something and pretend to like it for me? I mean, she is going to be your mother-in-law in a few months. It would be nice if you could just pretend that you can eat breakfast with her at her favorite place in L.A. and not make a big deal about it.”
    I want her to shut up. I say, “Okay.” It doesn’t work.
    “And don’t be rude and order something that’s not on the menu.
    The last time we went there, you asked the guy if they could make you a plate of scrambled eggs with nothing else in it. How embarrassing. If you want scrambled eggs, just get an omelet or something and cut it up.”
    When we get in the terminal we find out her mom’s flight is fifteen minutes late, which Casey insists is a perfect amount of time to go look in the gift shop. I flip through an issue of Hustler that someone has already taken out of the plastic and left on the rack. Casey flips through Oprah’s latest issue until she sees me staring at a pair of huge tits and a shaved pussy.
    In a forced whisper she says, “Put that down.”
    I pretend not to hear her and flip the page to see another bitch spreading her friend’s cunt open in preparation to lick it.
    Casey walks over to me and closes the magazine while I’m still holding it. A naked bitch on the cover grabbing her own tits is still plainly visible to anyone walking by. Casey says, “How could you be looking at that right now?”
    “It was the most interesting thing on the stand.”
    “My mother’s going to be here in”—she checks her watch—“ten minutes. You can’t be looking at that.”
    “You were the one who wanted to come look in the gift shop.”
    “Just put it back.”
    Even though I decide it’s not worth getting into a fight over and put the Hustler back, the angry dissatisfaction I felt last night hits me tenfold and the thought of spending another second with Casey without fucking her makes me want to kill somebody.
    She puts her magazine back and I walk with her to the baggage claim area, where we’re supposed to meet her mom. I see at least a dozen other guys standing with girls. I wonder how many of them fucked their girlfriends last night.
    Ten more minutes or so pass and Casey tries to explain to me how important it is to choose just the right kind of wedding invitation. She says that even though I won’t be involved in the process of choosing the invitations, it’s important for me to understand why she and her mother end up choosing whichever invitations they choose. She further explains that she wants something new and hip, but still tradi-tional enough that her grandparents won’t think she’s moved to Hollywood and gone crazy. Then she laughs.
    I try to imagine what she’d look like thirty pounds lighter. I can’t.
    Her mom finally comes down an escalator and out to meet us.
    She says, “Give me a hug, Casey. Long time no see.” Then she laughs.
    Casey says, “So did you get a hotel or did you decide to stay at my place?”
    “I thought I’d stay at your apartment tonight so we can talk about a game plan.”
    “That’s a great idea.”
    “So are you guys ready to go get some breakfast?”
    We wait for her bags and drive to the Griddle, one of my least favorite places to eat.

chapter twenty-three
    The Griddle
    I figure Casey won’t be fucking me for at least a few days anyway, so I order the plate of scrambled eggs with nothing else in it that Casey has forbidden me to get. Casey and her mom both pretend not to hear me when I ask the guy if they can make it for me. Even though I’ve already ordered it, before the guy leaves our table I throw in the following knife twist for good measure, “Now you’re sure there’ll be nothing else in the eggs?”
    He says, “No. It’ll just be eggs. I mean, it’s not on the menu, but we can make it for you.”
    “Thanks.”
    Then he leaves. Casey’s mom can’t stand that I ordered a plate of scrambled eggs with nothing else in it. She doesn’t even