I just wish my parents could be that way, too.
I’mhappy. Why can’t they be happy for me?
Another tear falls, though not as hot. “You guys can meet him,” I offer, unsure what else to say. “Soon. He’s really… he’s wonderful, Mom. You’ll see. You’ll like him.” Probably more than they seem to like me, even. Maybe they’ll be happy forhim.
She sighs. “We’d like to meet him immediately. Then we can talk to both of you about this decision.”
Yippie. “I’ll ask him when a good time is,” I promise, then sniffle while trying not to sound like I’m sniffling, because the last thing I want Mom to know is that she’s reduced me to tears when I’m trying to give Responsible Adult. Nothing screamsI’m a baby!quite like crying every time you have a disagreement with your parents.
“You know we love you, right?” she asks after several seconds of us both listening to me pretend not to cry. “We just want what’s best for you.”
“I know,” I confirm dully. “And I love you guys, too.”
“Sarelia,” she mollifies.
Ah. A tone shift into placating but also somehow guilt triping, meaning we’re now in the portion of the conversation where I am supposed to comfort her so she doesn’t feel bad about the things she’s said to me or how she’s said them.
I believe I’ll take this as my cue to leave. “I have to go. I’ll let you know about when we can arrange a visit. Tell Dad I love him, and give Fred a noogie for me.”
“Sare–”
“I have to go,” I repeat, interrupting her. “I love you. Bye, Mom.”
She hesitates, then bids me goodbye. “Let me know when we can meet him.”
I mumble an agreement, then hang up.
Tick, tick, tick.
“Don’t talk to me,” I grumble. “I’m mad at you.”
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
Yeah, well,it’snot the one who just had to have that conversation, now is it?
I sniff, then reach for a stack of dainty, vintage pink handkerchiefs on the back edge of my desk. The Pine family, it seems, is against the use of disposable tissues.
As I pat away my tears, I can’t say I think they’re wrong. The vision of me dressed in my best princess dress sitting in myveryprincess room dabbing at my face with a lacey, soft handkerchief has me thinking they’re significantly on the side of right, in fact.
I smile through the nexttap tap, adding an extra-princessy flair to my movements, then snort.
The clock ticks.
My eyes narrow at it, then widen. “Why didn’t you tell me what time it was!” I squeak. “Letting me chase morale when I’m running late. Are you kidding me?”
Chimes replace ticks just as a knock sounds at my door, making me jump.
“My princess?” Archie calls through the thick wood. “Family meeting time!”
“You’re the worst clockever,” I hiss as I drop my hankie and gather my lists.
The clock, predictably,tocks.
Rude.
When I reach the door, I take a deep breath, send up a hopeful wish that I won’t look like I was crying, paste a smile on my face, then turn the knob.
“I did it!” I declare, pulling the door back to see Archie’s perfect, beautiful, amazing, mischievous face. “I did my homework, thus not irreparably disappointing you! Yet, anyway.You still have to read the goals.” I frown, glancing at my papers. “They… might not line up withyourgoals for us, and then you might be irreparably disappointed that I would dare to ever have a goal outside of what you think is best, because obviously you know best. And obviously it would be insane of me to think otherwise. And… um… maybe we do your goals first?” I push my gaze toward his and bite my lip. “Do you mind? I’d like the chance to edit.”
