Page 42 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
"What's that slight accent I detect?" Dad asks.
"Probably the southern twang. My parents are from the South."
"Sounds plebeian," Mom says without looking up from her magazine. "Were they poor?"
Jenna stiffens.
"No, my parents aren't poor," she responds slowly, a sure sign that she's getting annoyed. "They're working middle-class people. My father used to be a farmer, but then he sold his farm when we moved to New York and started working as an accountant instead. Mom was a full-time, stay-at-home mother."
That last detail seems to get my mother's attention. She finally looks up.
"And what do you do?" she asks.
"I own an event planning agency."
"Event planning?" My mother purses her lips in thought while my father fires out with a, "How much does your father make a year, on average?"
"Oh, um… I'm not sure. Somewhere around sixty to eighty thousand dollars, I guess."
My parents share a look. They're both snobs, and sixty to eighty thousand to them is poverty.
"What school did you attend?"
"Hanesfield Preparatory Academy."
For the first time, the pressure lifts. My parents look surprised.
"How could you afford that?" my father asks. "Hanesfield costs about a quarter of a million a year."
"I was given a scholarship," she says, "and I graduated top of my class." It's clear she mentions that last part to win them over, but my father shakes his head.
"That's not hard," he says. "Franklin's son goes to that school, and the boy is as dumb as a sack of rocks. They'll let anyone in for the right money."
Jenna's face falls.
"Sorry to be rude, dear," my mother says, even though she doesn't look sorry at all. "It's just that our dear son sprung this on us, and so I haven't had time to order the routine background check we run on any potential family members." She places careful emphasis on the word "potential," as if to make sure I know that my candidacy for the role of wife to her darling son Grayson is by no means a settled matter. "We'd rather get the basics out of the way first, and decide whether or not you're suitable, so we don't waste all our time."
"Of course." Jenna's smile tightens at the corners.
"What's your opinion on prenups?" Dad asks.
"Love them," Jenna responds without missing a beat. I raise my eyebrows because I'm not sure if she's just saying that for their benefit, or if she truly believes in them. Sounds convincing, though. "Around fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. It's only smart for both parties to have an agreement ready, so that the couple can split as amicably as possible without dragging expensive lawyers into it any more than necessary."
"Divorce?" Disapproval drips from my mother's voice. "You're not even down the aisle yet, and you're already talking about divorce."
My father grins smugly, and Jenna's eyes flare, stunned at falling into their trap.
She blushes, and I'm tempted to step in to defend her, or somehow tell her not to be embarrassed. My parents used to set me up like that all the time, too. It's their favorite pastime. Jenna hesitates for just one second, but before I can say anything, she recovers herself and goes straight into the attack.
"Actually, Mrs. Wolfe, it was you who brought up the topic of prenups, not me. You asked me a question, and it would have been rude of me not to answer." My God, this girl has balls! "And of course, it's no good thinking about prenups after marriage, is it? That's the whole point, of a prenup, right? You agree to it before you get married, not afterwards. So yes, I have thought about it, but no, I don't dwell upon it. In my opinion, it's good to think about these things ahead of time, and it's not a sign that you're not committed to the relationship or that you want it to fail. No one wants to get into a car accident, but we still have car insurance. Hopefully, you'll never have to use it, but just in case, it's–"
"Practical," Dad nods, looking amused.
"It's not practical," Mom counters. "It's pessimistic. She's already thinking about what she's going to get out of this marriage when she abandons our son."
"I'm not planning to abandon anyone," Jenna clarifies, "I love your son very much." She's a better liar than I thought, because she doesn't even flinch when she says it. Her eyes don't twitch, and her expression remains smooth, not showing any of the telltale signs of a clear untruth.
I definitely picked the right woman for this. So far, she's handling herself with aplomb. I'm almost proud.
