Page 46 of Meet Stan

“Nice to meet you,” I said. “And here I thought you were one of the sisters.”

“Oh, stop,” she said with a laugh. Suddenly, her father bellied up to the bar, so to speak.

“Hello, Stan,” he said, thrusting his hand out. “I’m Kyle, Ivy’s father.”

“It’s a pleasure and an honor to meet you, sir.”

He grunted. “Anyway, that’s Irene there, taking the casserole dish out of the oven, beside her is Isabelle, and I don’t know where Iris has gotten off to.”

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

I went around shaking hands, except for with Iris, who insisted on a hug. Soon we settled around the dining room table, myself near the foot with my fake girlfriend by my side.

“So, Stan,” Kyle said, chewing a bit of meatloaf. “Where do you see yourself and my daughter in ten years?”

“Daaaaad,” Ivy said with a sigh, hiding her face.

“I don’t know, but I’m looking forward to the journey.”

Dolores melted, looking at me like I was already one of her most favorite people in the universe. Iris rolled her eyes, but the other sisters seemed to kind of nod.

Kyle harrumphed, as if he’d hoped to catch me unawares, and I’d thwarted him.

I’ve heard a lot of shit talk about meatloaf but let me tell you that the stuff Ivy’s mom made was good. Like, really, really good. I went back for seconds, and I’m normally not one for ground beef.

The asparagus had been expertly grilled, and I was surprised at the delicate, sweet texture of the carrot souffle for dessert. I got the impression they’d really laid out the good stuff in an effort to impress. I felt suitably honored.

After dinner, the family gathered in the living room for coffee. To my surprise, Kyle approached me, a silver cigar case in his hand.

“Don’t suppose you’re a cigar kind of guy, are you, Stan?”

“Is the pope Catholic?”

“Great. My wife can’t stand the smell, so let’s take a walk.”

“Sure,” I said, catching the glint in the old man’s eye. I knew he had something more on his mind than just cigars.

He led me down the stairs. Kyle turned sideways, leaning his back against the wall to help descend. Once we hit the open air, he handed me a cigar and thrust the other in his mouth. They’d already been circumcised.

He lit his own with a wooden match, and then offered the same match to me. I leaned in and puffed it to life.

“Not bad,” I said. “Austrian?”

“Vienna. I used to have a guy for Cubans, but he passed away.” He gave me a long, hard look. “So, Stan the Man Timmons. I did some research on you, once I found out you were dating my daughter.”

My heart sank. I hit the cigar to try and give myself a moment to think.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. You’re known for dating a different starlet or musician every week. You’ve never been pinned down with one woman for more than a month at best, and you were quoted in Forbes as saying that marriage is a great institution for those who wish to be institutionalized.”

“I see.” I waited expectantly for him to tell me to leave his daughter alone. However, that’s not what happened.

“Look,” he said with a deep sigh. “I always feared that my youngest daughter might not find a good man, because she’s, well—”

“Unique? Straightforward? Intelligent?”

“She’s belligerent and stubborn, and used to not have much good to say about men at all.” He pursed his lips and considered me for a long moment. “I love my daughter, and I concede that she’s lovely as can be, but why would a man who can literally have anyone be with her?”

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