“Pffft. You never break your promises. Not since Grandma Chen.”
I deflated like a balloon. The last promise I broke was to Grandma Chen. I’d promised to make more time to spend with her, but I was a self-absorbed freshman in high school. She unexpectedly passed three weeks later. Since then, no matter how big or small, I swore to uphold my promises.
Liza folded her arms over her sweatshirt with the words, “Keep calm and stethoscope on.”
I huffed a defeated breath. Liza was right. I was better than this. And even though my parents hadn’t changed,Ihad. I’d loved and lost too many people to risk losing Liza.
“I promise I’ll try,” I said.
Running past the aerobic classroom, I barely make it to the Pulse Fitness lobby before accepting Mom’s call with a stab.
“Hello?” I pant.
“Katherine! I didn’t expect you to pick up.”
“Then why even call?” My nostrils flare as my chest heaves, but I force the irritation from my voice. “I mean, what’s up?”
My mother’s brisk tone continues like nothing happened.
“Are you coming to our Christmas Eve banquet tomorrow evening?”
Only Vivian Rochester-Chen would call a family dinner a banquet.Andhyphenate her name. As if she couldn’t bear to abandon the Kentucky Rochester family legacy in any capacity. Even though the words taste like rotting garbage, I force holiday cheer into my voice.
“Of course I’ll come. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
I must have overdone it, because Mom stretches that inch into a hundred miles.
“That’s lovely to hear, Katherine. I’d also like to touch base about Tanner Evans.”
I hang my head back and silently curse at the bougie ceiling fan. It’s one of those ultra-modern ones that looks like if it fell on you, you’d get sliced and diced like a cheese grater.
Tanner Evans is this ghost of a man—an idea, really—that Momkeeps forcing. Something about an Ivy League graduate, blah, blah, doctor, blah, blah, established family, blah blah. I’d rather go on a blind date with a slice of wonder bread and a glass of milk.
Imagine the sizzling chemistry.
“Nooo thanks,” I say.
“Katherine. Be reasonable. For heaven’s sake, I introduced Elizabeth and Cameron, and look how happy they are! Don’t youwantto be happy?”
And there it is. The subtle art of manipulation from the aficionado herself.
Liza and Cameronhavebeen dating for over a year. While it seems like the real deal, I refuse to give credit to my mom. As if anyone could meet Liza and not fall head over heels for her warmth and kindness. Plus, Cameron is a good guy. A bit boring by my standards, but he treats Liza like a queen. Good thing, too, or we would have words.
“I’m happy on my own. I don’t need anyone.”
“No one is happy on their own, Katherine.”
I blow out a long breath. “You don’t need to understand my choices to respect them.”Thank you, self-help podcast number two-hundred and four.
“I refuse,” she snaps. “Especially when you’re too stubborn to admit I’m right. Honestly, Katherine. And at your age? It’sdisappointing.”
My stomach kicks me in the shins at that word, and all bets are off.
“This conversation is over.” I end the call as rage fills my bones.
In a millisecond, I’ve been turned into a teenager again. A hurt, pissed-offteenager who can’t seem to do anything right. Who pushes herself to her limits for a breadcrumb of affection. The anger feels nostalgic, so I settle deeper into it.
Why? Because it’s much easier to hate your parents than hate yourself, but I’m fairly sure I’m doing a little of both at the moment.
