Boyfriend. I have a boyfriend.
I’ve never felt as if I couldn’t tell my parents things. When it really comes down to it, I trust them with everything. It’s not that I don’t feel comfortable telling them I’m in a relationship.
Rather, I’m afraid of what will happen if they don’t approve of Grant. As dedicated as I am to living my life by their wishes, I don’t know if Grant is someone I could give up if they asked me to. His mind, the kindness he’s shown me, and the dedication he has to the people he loves, is irreplaceable. I don’t think I’ll ever find a man like him in this lifetime or the next.
My parents are admiring the notebooks, gushing over the name embellishment Grant chipped in for, and guilt pushes past my nerves.
“To be honest.” I wring at my hands. “My boyfriend helped with it. The presents, I mean.”
The words are rushed out and I prepare myself for the worst. I’m not exactly sure what the worstis. A dramatic siren firing off? My mom and dad dropping their gifts and falling to their knees in anguish?
The hasty mental preparations are fruitless, it turns out. Nothing like that happens. My mom breaks into a wide grin and my dad pops his hip back out again.
“Since when do you have a boyfriend?” The question is lighthearted, mom practically singing it.
I’m still wringing at my hands, albeit a bit slower. It’s not instant disapproval. She seems amused, even.
Half of my brain asserts that my parents disliking Grant is a very real possibility, and if that were to happen, I need a game plan. The deeper Grant and I get into learning one another, the more convinced I am that I was never meant to experience life without him.
The other half of my brain is screaming there’s nothing to worry about. They haven’t shown a single negative sign so far.Just because every moment until this one was committed to meeting my parents’ expectations, doesn’t mean I should be preparing for the worst.
Neither half sounds wholly convincing. I tug my fingers nervously. I’ll give information I think is necessary and go from there.
“It hasn’t been long.” By technicality, only a few weeks. But in my heart, where the memories of Grant live, my feelings for him have been gradually developing for longer than I’ll ever understand. “His name is Grant. I’ve known him since undergrad. He’s an art student and he’s getting his master’s at Brookstone too.”
It’s weird. I’m excited but scared. Speaking about him and his accomplishments fills me with pride. But mentioning a master’s degree acts as a reminder that my parents’ approval has been my priority for everything.
“I like that he’s getting an education.” My dad nods but doesn’t say anything else. It spikes my anxiety.
“I hope you guys can meet him one day.” I don’t know whether to sing his praises or change the subject entirely. “And I hope you’ll approve of him.”
Grant is a great person—one of the best people I know. He has ambitions and goals and he treats me like I outshine the sun. He’s smart and funny and kind. And I could come up with a million and one reasons why he is the epitome of my perfect man.
Despite that, I feel my stomach drop. I consider every reason my parents would push against him, and I plan out how I’m going to navigate slipping further away from being the daughter they’ve always wished for. Around them, the pressure of that feels even heavier on my shoulders.
Mom sets her notebook on the coffee table, my father’s stacking on top of it, before she smiles.
“Sweetie, you don’t need our approval.”
I blink. Scrunch my eyebrows. Tilt my head.
“Yes I do.”
I can’t think of anything I need more than that. I can’t think of a moment when I didn’t live for it.
There are two laughs, neither of which are mine, before my mom doubles down. “Since when? You do what makes you happy. That includes dating who makes you happy.” They continue to laugh but I’m struggling to find any humor in the situation. “You’ve always done whatever you wanted. Now’s not any different.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Is that how they’ve perceived me?
It’s wrong. Completely wrong.
Dad goes back to the cans of spam laying in his suitcase. Mom returns to the charging cord she’s unraveling. And I’m bolted to my spot in the middle of the living room.
I haven’t felt this blindsided since I failed my first assignment this semester.
“Is that how you perceive me?” I softly ask. It’s the only thought swirling in my head.
Cans are still being unloaded from luggage, but mom pauses to look at me.
