Page 19 of Kissing is the Easy Part
“Are you doing well at school, Jer?” my dad asks, a Kindle in hand and a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon on the coffee table. Every so often he stops to highlight a sentence.
Jeremy barely looks up. “Uh-huh. Fantastic.”
“And you, sweetheart?” My mom is swiping through emails on her company phone, deleting one after another. Despite the tired redness in her eyes, she still manages a smile. “How’s your dating life? How’s Sean?”
“He’s dreamy. He tells me everything—what he’s been up to, what his calls are about if he answers in front of me. I never have to wonder where he is, he doesn’t disappear for hours without responding. And if he’s driving and a text comes in, he asks me to read it for him. It’s like he has no secrets.”
“I love that.” My mom nods. “Reliability is undervalued these days. Your father’s the same. He tells me everything, sometimes more than I need to hear. Honestly, there are moments I wouldn’t mind a little silence.”
“But I want to tell you!” my dad says.
“He studies a lot, though,” I add. “He says normal people don’t have time to date on weekdays. He volunteers to tutor online, but he also takes on loads of paid sessions to save for college.”
Sean is, technically, not under desperate financial pressure. Sure, he may think Great Wolf Lodge is peak luxury and a Costco run counts as “splurging,” but his parents have solid jobs, nonprofit admin and city maintenance management. He just likes to help out where he can. Save for a decent laptop, cover some tuition, and, occasionally, a preppy shirt that makes him look like he summers somewhere.
“Good thing we’ve got you covered,” my dad says, but he doesn’t ask me where I want to go to school, which is just as well because I have no idea. It’s always been the same—Jeremy, the obvious prodigy with his ironclad career goals, and then there’s me.
Growing up, my mom wanted me to feel comfortable, to blend in, and maybe that’s why I always feel like I’m supposed to be fine, like they don’t need to worry about me because I’ll figure it out eventually.
My mom sets her phone on the coffee table with a resolute thud, a sign she’s decided not to check her emails anymore.
“We had an interesting meeting this morning.” She picks up my dad’s glass and takes a sip, frowns, and sets it back down in favor of her own mug of genmaicha. “We were reevaluating how to streamline our mentorship program. The issue is that some mentees struggle with relationship building and effective communication. Typically, we match them with someone higher up the ladder—ideally, someone who’s done the same role before—to help them navigate challenges through firsthand experience.”
My dad lowers his Kindle, already engaged. They love talking to each other, and work-related topics rank high on the list, right up there with strategizing ways to maximize our passive income.
“That makes sense,” he says. “I tend to connect high-potential talent from our affiliates with global counterparts in the same function. It sharpens their technical skills and expands their network at the same time.”
“True, but that can lead to siloed thinking,” my mom counters, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Sometimes pairing someone in a technical role with a managerial role offers a fresh, outside perspective.”
“But there’s a risk.” Jeremy cuts in from the leather swivel chair, eyes still on his phone. “Someone from the commercial side won’t always grasp the nuances of a medical role, and that disconnect makes the mentorship ineffective.”
He’s such a smart-ass.
“Good point there, Jerry,” my mom says, and I wish I’d come up with that myself. They continue the debate for a while, making valid arguments as smart people of this family.
No one asks my opinion.
“Is this mentor-mentee thing set in stone?” I say finally. “You all make it sound like an arranged marriage, but it should be like speed dating—let mentees talk to several mentors and see where the chemistry is. There’s no guarantee that you’ll match with someone of the same function, sometimes opposites attract. People will only be willing to share when they like each other.”
My mom laughs, and Jeremy snorts under his breath. “Morganite, is dating all you think about?”
“That’s certainly an unconventional perspective. Very interesting,” my dad says in thatI’m a professional marketer and I’ll humor youtone of his, the one he uses when he hears something stupid.
“I just remembered I have to finish a paper.” A sharp sting creeps behind my eyes. I get up before anyone can say anything else and head to my room to call Sean.
* * *
Sean picks up on the second ring. “Hey.”
“What are you doing?” Two weeks ago, I never would’ve imagined calling him whenever and basking in the certainty that he wouldn’t mind. Sean would get it. He’d laugh at my speed-dating idea, but in that kind, amused,you’re smarter than people give you credit forkind of way.
“Doing my math homework. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, just needed to hear your voice.”
A pause. “How are your parents? You finally getting some quality time together?”
“Wait till you hear this. They’re—” Now that the perfect opening is here, the words snag on the edge of my throat. “We’re hanging out at home. It’s nice having them back.”
