That was the thing extroverts never quite got: introverts weren’t quiet because we had nothing to say—we were quiet because we overthought everything. Of course I came off as quiet. It took me ten minutes to think of something funny to contribute to a conversation, and by the time I worked up the nerve to say it, the moment had already passed.
But as I’d learned, friendship didn’t have to be built on sameness. Sometimes, it was the differences that made it work. I’d even argue they were what helped us become better versions of ourselves.
“Sorry.” I held the cup close to my chest. “Like I said, long day.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m guilty of under-appreciating quiet.”
There was something else there, too—a hint of an apology for her attitude during our last conversation, when I felt judged for the lack of a sex life between Xavier and me.
I reached over the counter to squeeze her hand. “That’s why we balance each other out.” The jingle of bells on the door indicated another customer’s presence, so I let go and stepped back. “Hopefully, they’re your last customer.”
“We close in a few minutes, so they better be,” Britney muttered under her breath, waving as I left.
There was one additional reason for the late latte, one that I didn’t want to get into with Britney right now. Every Friday at 5:15 p.m., like clockwork, my mother called. Usually, I didn’t require caffeine to handle Hana Park, but my anxiety had been through the roof recently.
Yes, I was aware that caffeine made anxiety worse. No, I didn’t care.
The sky had started bruising a deep indigo, and I attempted to hype myself up by downing half of my drink. I had only made it down the street when “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” started playing. The ringtone I’d linked to my mom years ago.
“Hi, Mom.” My earphones were in, so I dropped my phone in my purse.
“Kira, honey, it’s been too long.”
Without fail, my mother would say it’d been too long since we last spoke. Even though each week we had the same amount of time between phone calls.
“How’s Dad?”
Last month, Dad was diagnosed with arrhythmia, or irregular heartbeats. He had described a flipping sensation in his chest for months, but it took a while before the proper diagnosis came in. Fortunately, it was manageable, but it was effects like shortness of breath and dizziness that made it difficult to manage day-to-day tasks.
“He’s doing better,” Mom said. “This new medication is working well. He even went for a long walk around the neighborhood yesterday.”
Where Mom was the pushy, challenging force, Dad was the lackadaisical one, like the parent who promised to help you with your science fair project but ended up just holding the glue gun while you did everything else.
“Oh, good.” I turned a sharp corner, avoiding nearly colliding with someone. “I’m glad to hear that. Tell him I’ll come visit soon.”
I had grown up in Chicago, but a few months after my move to the college dorms, my parents had also decided to make a move of their own. All the way to Michigan. They’d been arguing over the best Great Lake ever since.
“Don’t worry, honey, we know you’re busy. But I’m sure he’d love that.” A new hunger for information oozed out of her tone. “How’s work? Did you get that promotion?”
One deep breath. Two sips of sugary goodness.
“Work is work. I’m under consideration for the promotion, but I won’t find out until the start of the new year.”
“That’s not a good sign, honey. If they wanted to promote you, they would.”
I shuddered. Not from the cold, but from the eerie likeness to the dating advice I often read:If he wanted to, he would.According to my mother, that also applied in the workplace.
“It’s all a formal process, Mom.”
“Well, maybe if you work a little harder and put in more hours, they will.”
I sucked in a breath in time with the next gust of wind. A part of me wanted to disagree, to explain to my mother that that wasn’t how the world worked anymore. But no matter how old I got or how much success I had, I found it was a bad idea to talk back to my parents like that.
You could put in tons of labor and extra hours at work, but your employer would still fire you if it benefited them.
You could put in tons of work and extra hours into a relationship, but your boyfriend would still leave if it benefited him.
Some people would sayleave before you get left, but unfortunately, I wasn’t very good at the leaving part either.
