Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“What job?” Dad asks that with the ultimate caution. They both tense up like I’m going to tell them that I applied to wrestle squid in the murky depths of the river—I don’t believe any squid actually exists there—or that I’m going to become a professional stuntwoman with zero experience.
“Playing piano at a lounge.” I take a deep breath, gearing up for the next bit. “My boyfriend actually offered it to me.”
“No! Kevin is a bum,” my mom grumbles.
“You’re right. He was. We broke up a while ago, but it had been over for a long time before that. Maybe as soon as it started.”
Mom rolls her eyes without looking the least bit sympathetic. “I told you that—”
“You did,” I interrupt before she can get going on a lecture that will take us way past dessert and teatime. Not that they’ll have ice cream cake. They’ll both politely decline. “I should have listened.” I set the corncob down and reach for my napkin, then fold my hands in my lap. “You’ll probably say that now because what I’m going to tell you sounds like the worst-case scenario, but you’re going to have to trust me. Please.” I flick my tongue behind my front two teeth, certain I have a huge piece of corn stuck there.
“Your life is yours to ruin if that’s what you want to do,” she huffs, graceful to the last.
“I haven’t even said anything yet!”
“Yes, but you have history.”
If I’m good at counting to ten internally, I would do it, but I’m not. It’s also bullshit. I don’t have to sit here and let anyone tell me that I can’t make mistakes and grow. That I have to be perfect. And by perfect, she means a direct copy of her. That because I have different passions and I like different things, I’m wrong, and I’m always going to be wrong. That my feelings and emotions aren’t valid.
I’ve let my parents have a pass on this since the dawn of fucking time because I know they don’t mean it. I’ve always told myself the same thing. They love me. They care about me. They want what’s best for me.
But is love constantly putting someone down? Making them feel ashamed, belittled, and invalidated? Is love covering up wounds until they scar over, over and over and over again?
“I do have a history of making bad decisions,” I state with more calm than should be possible, given the way the corn I just ate is churning in my belly. Maybe I should have followed my mom’s example and had this conversation on an empty stomach, but I spent hours cooking, so just…nope. “I have a history of not coming to you first because I feel like you don’t really care, and even if you do, you want to just make me a mini copy of you.” Her lips part to defend herself, but I steam on, or I’m not going to be steaming at all. “I’ve always been a great disappointment to you both, and the rest of the time, I haven’t been seen. I’m doing me the best way I know how, and that’s constantly evolving with every single thing I learn. Yes, it’s messy, and I know you hate that, but I’m not you. I’m never going to be you. I’m my own person, and I think you both need to realize that and make your peace with it. If you can’t love me as I am, then I’m not really sure what to even say.”
I didn’t mean to go that far.
It’s eerily silent.
Even the happy flamingos on the wall suddenly look distinctly uncomfortable, like they want to take flight and get the heck out of here.
I’ve never seen my parents look so uncomfortable.
They share a look, a whole silent conversation passing between them.
Dad breaks first. “You’re not invisible. We see you.” At least he manages not to sound insincere.
“I know you do. I just sometimes feel that you don’t.” I drop my eyes to my folded hands. “Almost always.”
“No!” Mom whispers, so horrified that my gaze shoots back up. “No! I never…we never…that’s the last thing we want you to feel. We see you, and we love you. We’ve just always wanted what was best for you.”
“I know. But the amount of pressure you’ve put on me to be the best version of both of you versus the best version of who I am is insane. I can’t live up to that.”
Mom blinks quickly. I’ve never seen her even borderline close to tears before, and the shock reverberates through me like stubbing your toe judders all the way up your leg. “We were just trying to keep you safe. You’re our only child. I can see you’ve felt pressured, but we want to protect you. We know what’s out there in the world. We want to see you succeed, not be hurt repeatedly or have to struggle because you’re not financially secure or because you’re with someone who doesn’t value your worth.”