The confession that failing isn’t a guarantee, because Grant has led me to a story worth a passing grade, dies in my throat. I don’t need to tell them. Either way, I’m a daughter who made my parents proud. That’s more than enough for me.
I sit with them, wondering how I got so lucky to have a family like this, when my dad pokes me in my side.
“Actually, we need to punish you for making so many selfless decisions,” he deadpans, again, with a smile on his face. “Tell us something you want and we’ll give it to you. That’s your punishment.”
“What? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Don’t argue.”
“Dad-”
“It’s a punishment!” He jabs my side again and I shoo his hand away, my mom laughing. “Everything we’ve done was because we love you. I don’t think you’ve ever asked for something before. So for your punishment, you have to ask. And when we make it happen, you can’t pay us back. Just accept it for what it is.”
I scrunch my face in confusion. My mom shrugs, still laughing, probably just as confused as I am. We don’t try to make sense of my dad. He does and says what he wants, usually thinking he’s outsmarting or outwitting one of us, and we let him run with it.
He insists again, pushing me to choose something I want from my parents. From his smug grin, he might be thinking too highly of himself. This weird request is supposed to be a teaching lesson for me, I think.
Unluckily for him, there is one thing I’ve wanted from them for what feels like forever. If he’s giving me the chance, I’m taking it. As much as they claim to have experienced a fulfilled life seeing me succeed, I know there’s one place they belong more than anywhere else.
“I want you to move back to Hawai’i.” When they don’t move and don’t say anything, I continue. “I’m serious. I’m older now. You’ve given me everything you could’ve and I’m so grateful.” I smile back and forth between them. “But I want you to have that for yourselves. You should go home.”
My dad chuckles. It’s hollow, and does nothing to mask the choked up sound of his voice.
“Sweetie-”
“It’s a punishment.”
Mom doesn’t laugh. She purses her lips together and squeezes my bicep. My intuition says it’s a silent rejection. Her trying to tell me that they’ve resigned to staying in Boston forever.
If they can insist I live my life for myself, I can insist the same for them, too.
“Not right at this moment. I know you probably need to figure things out after giving up your retirement plans. But I want you to start working towards move back. Permanently. You deserve to grow old where you grew up.”
I don’t love the idea of my parents being an ocean away. It’s hard to imagine a life where I can’t come back to this house and look around at the memories these walls hold. But I’ll consider this the last hurrah to repaying my mom and dad’s kindness. The last attempt at compensating their sacrifices.
Wiping away a tear falling across my mom’s cheek, I repeat myself.
“You should go home.”
They don’t vocally accept the idea. They don’t reject it, either. Knowing what I know, and recognizing how I’ve carried myself throughout the years, I think they must be fighting with themselves. So used to putting their family first, the thought of prioritizing their own happiness is foreign and scary. I relate to it too well.
The three of us—my family—can change to put ourselves first. Slowly, but together, in our own ways.
My dad doesn’t go back to his suitcase of souvenirs. Instead, he asks me what my plans are now. What steps do I want to take towards chasing my own happiness We sit on the couch for hours, talking about my dreams of publishing a novel one day and having my own house in Boston.
When they ask for more short-term goals, I tell them about Grant. I watch their faces morph into amused shock when I explain how we reconnected, then take time sharing details about him. His passion, his plans, his place in my life.
I’m not nervous anymore. I know now my parents only want what makes me happy, and more than anything, Grant makes me the happiest.
twenty-eight
GRANT
The GPS installedin my car says it’ll take a little over an hour to get to Brown University. I haven’t thought up what I want to say to Locke when I show up to his school.
Heath suggested I write something down. Anything I can think of, even just a general idea of what I want to say. I spent more time than intended asking my cousin for advice on how to approach this.
While strapping Clem into her car seat this morning, the only answer he had for me was, “Locke is your brother, not mine.”
