My parents look extremely out of place in Beverly Hills. My mom is wearing a brown blazer. She looks like a lesbian— the bad kind—as she always does. Her hair is a drab, mousy brown streaked with gray she doesn’t bother to color. She wears unstylish glasses and a rusty silver necklace. I feel sad looking at her. My dad too, but he can pull off shabby more easily. He looks like a nerdy professor, which he is. My mom too. I think that’s why they are so obsessed with my “potential.” They want me to get rich and save them from Riverside City College.

“I’m so happy to finally meet you both,” Thomas says after we order our drinks. I wanted to order a Shirley Temple but thought my parents might find this juvenile, so I said, “Let’s order a bottle of white,” and picked one that was extremely expensive. Thomas jabbed me under the table because we had agreed on a price limit. But I promised him a blow job and I plan to deliver this time. And I know for this reason that the terms of our deal are not set in stone. I have him in the palm of my hand.

“I am such a fan of Emily,” Thomas continues, “and I’ve always wanted to see where she came from.”

My parents look confused. I’ve never introduced them to a boyfriend before. I’ve never had a boyfriend before, not a real one, not even now. Like being friendless, being single is also my choice. I know I’m not the prettiest person in Los Angeles, but I am a Scorpio stellium and therefore possess an innate sensuality that is frankly undeniable. My life has seen a series of Thomases—eager men who chase and chase. I crave their attention, but I also hate it. Flattery is a demonic social practice, a trick, sure to disappoint. When I settle down, I know it is going to be intense and all-encompassing and forever.

That’s why meeting—or, I guess, discovering—Beau is such a big deal. He is the first person I’ve ever been able to see myself with. Just thinking his name fills my whole body with warmth. I can’t wait to introduce my parents to Beau. But they probably won’t get it. By the time I’m with Beau, I probably won’t be talking to them anymore. I’ll be living in Tribeca or le Marais, where I’ll star in off-Broadway plays or indie movies and invite Jessica to premieres for charity. I’ll take care of my parents financially, of course—I’m not a monster. But I won’t speak to them.

“We’re not quite sure where Emily came from,” my dad says.