Page 12 of Class Act

“Hailey,” Aryn drew us all back to my problem, “your parents are the evolved parents. They’re really great at open and honest communication. If you don’t want to let people assume you’re together, talk to them about it. Maybe you could all sit down with Leonard and explain how unfair it is to both you and Ford.”

Aryn had a point. My mom was a practicing psychiatrist, and Dad was a professor of psychology at the local university. I’d been raised in a home of open communication and ongoing efforts at improvement. Thankfully it had been done in a way that kept my family close, but we also functioned very differently than normal families. It had sometimes made me into an outsider, the girl on the playground always asking others ‘how did that make you feel?’ or ‘have you tried some breathing exercises?’ It wasn’t until high school that I’d learned to blend in and shut off what other kids called the ‘psycho babble.’ I hated that phrase and found it very offensive, but I understood well that I couldn’t control anyone but myself.

Still, there was one problem I was having a hard time overcoming. “Okay, I’m going to be really honest here,” I said. They all sat up a little straighter and leaned in. It was highly unusual for us to be analyzing me. I knew they saw me as calm and cool, always supportive but rarely spilling my guts. They were delighted with the way I was opening up. “The thing is that because my parents are who they are, I didn’t go through the parental disappointment thing like everyone else. They understood every phase of my mental and physical development and encouraged me at every turn. Our family dinners held discussions of healthy thought behavior. Emotions were worked through. When I felt grumpy, they accepted that. When I was nasty, they held firm but patient boundaries and never engaged with me. It was a very peaceful environment. So, this is kind of the first time I’ve ever heard them say they were worried. It’s the equivalent of most parents saying, ‘You’ve really let me down, and I cry myself to sleep every night over you.’” I sighed and deflated. “I’m not processing that feeling very well.”

Ruby was sitting closest to me, and she reached out a hand to squeeze my shoulder. “You’re not a disappointment at all.”

“Thanks,” I said, knowing in my mind she was right but fighting off the emotions.

“Man, that’s rough,” Meredith added. “My dad did not understand any of my phases, but I still wanted to please him.”

“Okay.” Lizzie hopped off her desk and said her two favorite words. “Let’s brainstorm.” She grabbed a white board marker and marched to the front of the room. “Pros and cons to the one big question. Does she go on a date with Ford or fess up to her parents? That decision will be the basis for everything else moving forward.”

“How do you mean?” Ruby asked.

“I mean if she decides to play Leonard’s matchmaking game, then she has to call him and listen to him gloat about it. If she doesn’t want to date Ford, she has to call her parents and Leonard and get them to back off.” Lizzie popped off the cap and pivoted, making her riotous curls swirl around her head. “Either way, she’s facing down Leonard and possibly casting her comfort zone into the river.”

“I’m not afraid of Leonard,” I muttered. “Ford and my parents are the real issue.”

“At the risk of stealing your joy, Lizzie, I’m not sure we need a full brainstorm over this. Hailey just has to make a choice,” Aryn spoke up.

Lizzie looked over her shoulder and pulled a fake pouty face before turning back to the board and writing the words pro and con anyway.

A second wave of silence filtered through the room, and I realized Aryn was right. I had to be the one to answer that. “I’m probably overthinking it, yes. But it doesn’t feel like a simple phone call, because now my parents’ hopes and dreams are involved. Maybe. I don’t know.” I put my face in my hands, took a breath, and then dropped my hands back to my lap. I didn’t dare mention that the idea of dining with Ford was straight out of my Fake Ford playbook. They had no idea he existed. “Is this what spiraling feels like?”

“This decision is harder because he’s hot.” Meredith stated with another smirk.

“No, the decision is harder because he doesn’t want to date anyone,” I replied, but they ignored me.

“He really is,” Lizzie surprised me by giggling as she turned back to face the group. “I looked him up online.”

“I saw him in person. His pictures online don’t do him justice.” Meredith said. “The man’s a fox.”

“Wait, I want to see him,” Ruby pulled her phone out of her back pocket. “Where did you look him up?”

“Here,” Lizzie walked over, her hand out for the phone. “I’ll show you.”

“You guys!” I cried. A scuffing sound announced that Aryn had scooted her desk over to see too. This was ridiculous. “His looks have nothing to do with this. I’m not that shallow.”

Or maybe I was that shallow. If his looks hadn’t captured me in those first online photos, would I have kept hunting down pictures and information about him and then formed this entire fantasy world with him as the star?

Oh boy. I was a disaster. My parents would have a heyday analyzing this traitorous part of my mind. Would I be eighty and still giggling over images of the cute guy at the bingo table, never having a fully matured brain?

“Oh,” Ruby breathed when Lizzie handed her phone back. “Goodness.”

Aryn leaned in, and her eyes grew large before she looked directly at me. “You should have him for dinner . . . and dessert.”

That cracked everyone up, and even I had to let a giggle bubble up as they passed his picture around and compared him to a hot blond brownie with ice cream and caramel syrup on top.

“And hold the knife, waiter,” Ruby hooted, “because that jawline can cut anything.”

I playfully rolled my eyes even though my worries were lifting with their banter. “You guys are terrible, and we are too old for this.”

“What, we don’t have eyeballs?” Meredith stated. “We can’t appreciate fine works of art?”

“Or hormones?” Ruby cracked. “We are women in our prime, and our biology will always encourage us to seek out the best specimen so we can . . . you know . . . propagate the species.”

The amount of whistling and ogling that went on after that threw me back to high school and listening to other girls gush over boy bands and celebrities. I’d never understood the boy-crazy mentality; the girls who cried at concerts and wore t-shirts with handsome faces on them where alien to me. But I could understand the draw to a man who made your heart pound a little too hard.

---