Page 109 of Kissing is the Easy Part
“Sure,” I say, nodding slowly. “I’ll tell Sean the only way to solve our problems is to have a baby together.”
My mom kicks me. “Hey, what did you mean when you said you rely on him for everything?”
I swallow as I check out the potted orchid on the table, trying to focus on something else. My parents are my heroes, and they’ve given me so much. I never want to accuse them of anything.
But they’ve also unknowingly wounded me countless times over the years. “Mom . . . did you know you and Dad spend more time traveling than staying at home?”
My mom winces and her nose scrunches up. “We’re definitely thinking of cutting down. I’m—”
“I don’t need you to choose me over your career. I’m proud of how you and Dad have fulfilling jobs and so many sources of meaning in your lives, and I’d never ask younotto prioritize that. But I want you to be proud of me too.” My voice thickens. They never say it. They never really show it either. “When you’re here, why do you only ask me about my relationships?”
Her mouth opens, then closes.
“Sean’s the only one who values my opinions. It’s like no one cares about what I want to do, or believes I can actually do it. He’s carrying the entire weight of my future on his shoulders.”
I want him to be my love, my friend, my parents, my mentor, my validation, my confidence—all while we’re still very different people. I’m suffocating both of us.
“I understand,” I say, taking a deep breath, “that Jeremy’s the golden child in this household, but every now and then, it’d be nice if you asked about how I’m doing at school too. You asked Sean so many questions when you met him at dinner. I can’t imagine what kind of wisdom you could give me if you helped me with my college applications. You say you believe in me, but I don’t want passive support. I want to be challenged. I want you to be involved, to ask me what I’m working on, to help me figure things out.”
My mom stays quiet for a long moment before she responds. “Your dad and I, we want to believe we’re doing the best we can. We recognize we’re absent a lot, and we get lost in our work, but we convinced ourselves that the autonomy and problem-solving we experience in our jobs were valuable lessons for you too. We assumed since Jer’s fine, you’d be fine too. I didn’t realize . . . I’m sorry. And I’m sorry you didn’t feel comfortable bringing this up sooner. We should’ve noticed you wanted more. We were so focused on giving you freedom we overlooked when you needed guidance. That’s on us. I don’t want to keep making that mistake.”
Red rims circle my mom’s eyes. For once, she doesn’t look like she’s in total control, and I immediately want to make her feel better. “Well, I’m fine most of the time.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s not fair to you. And Jeremy isn’t the preferred child. I admit we’re more familiar with the path he’s taking, and we didn’t want to pressure you with your grades, but you’re right to call me out on it. You can do anything you want to. Fashion, right?”
I smooth out the wrinkles on my sham pillow. “You don’t think it’s irrelevant?”
“Of course not. If I didn’t ask more, it wasn’t lack of interest but not knowing enough to comment. But that’s still an excuse. I’m going to hold myself accountable and try to do better.”
“Mom, that means a lot.” I exhale, feeling a weight lift.
A few months ago, I wouldn’t have said any of this. I would’ve laughed it off, convinced myself it didn’t matter. But it does. I was raised to keep the peace, to respect my parents and be grateful, but I’m learning that honesty doesn’t mean I love them less.
“Your dad needs to hear this too. Do you want to talk to him, or should I bring it up?”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Okay. I’ve got an idea for a start.” She sits up. “Idoknow where to find the best tiramisu in town. And it’s still open.”
* * *
When we get back from our vacation, I head over to see Sean at his house. After days of missing him, when we finally meet up, it’s like playing a song after hitting Pause and then realizing I’ve forgotten the tune. Something feels off. He smiles at me, but I’m back to staring at him through thick ice.
I’ve brought the photos we took in New York. Sean wasted a lot of storage space shooting meaningless stuff, but I printed them all out anyway. We sit on the floor with our backs against his bed, flipping through the pictures together. I manage to look horrendous in most of them, especially when I laugh and my features twist like I’m midsneeze.
I swat him on the shoulder. “You caught me at my worst moments!”
“You’re cute.” He pauses on a picture of me standing on the beach in St. Bart’s. “That one looks amazing. Was it fun?”
“Not really. Sorry for text-yelling at you so much.”
He shrugs, smiling. “No worries. I can’t sleep without you yelling at me before bed anyway.”
Sean isn’t one to make a big deal out of things, but I must’ve made his vacation terrible. How long can he put up with this before he reaches his limit?
I wasn’t planning on saying anything, but the moment I open my mouth, the words tumble out. “Look, something happened there,” I begin, and I don’t stop until I’ve told him everything. He listens, not interrupting.
“And then I told him I had a wonderful boyfriend. And then I went back to the hotel room and cried.”
