Fred sniffs, burrowing into his sulk. “I should’ve let them baby you.”
My eyes soften. “Fred,” I call, regaining his attention, if reluctantly. “I appreciate you. And I love you.”
He rolls his eyes.
“I don’t much care for being made out to be a villain,” Dad cuts in, frowning at us. “We’re not your enemies. It’s not us against you. It’s usforyou.”
I bite my cheek and glance at Mom, who agrees verbally, but her eyes…
“Mom?” I ask.
Her hands twist in her lap. “I… We’renotyour enemies, right?” she asks. “You guys know that we love you? That we’re only doing our best to make sure that you have the best lives you can?”
Dad’s brows furrow as he turns to her. “How could they not know?” he asks before we can answer. “It’s all we’ve ever tried to do.”
“Iknow that,” Mom replies. “Andyouknow that, Scott, but… I don’t know. Don’t you remember what it was like to be young? When the world didn’t seem so scary and it felt like our parents didn’t know anything at all?”
“Yeah,” he answers. “And I remember when we realized theydidknow a thing or two after all, and that we could’ve avoided a whole lot of trouble if we’d justlistenedto them.” His attention slides to me. “We love you. We love you so much, but we were barely twenty years old when we had you, and neither of us had ever been around babies before. We didn’t have a clue what we were doing. We thought our love would help us figure it all out—not the wisdom of our parents or the resources they tried to point us to, but ourlove.” He scoffs. “Love can do a lot of things, Lia, but it can’t teach a man what to do when his wife has mastitis and his baby is running a fever of a hundred degrees and he’s too stubborn to ask his parents what to do.” He shakes his head. “And there were a lot of nights like that. Nights whenwe needed help but wouldn’t ask for it. Nights that our parents never even knew about because after so long of us not listening, they gave up on trying to tell us anything. It took years for us to work up the courage to ask for help and then accept it. Years of struggle that in the end were pointless. We could’ve had everything we needed straight from the start, if only we’dlistened. If only they’dkept talking.”
Mom’s hand lands on his shoulder, and he reaches up to cover it with his own.
“We don’t want that for you or your brother,” he continues. “We never want to be the parents who stop trying. We never want to be the ones you feel like you can’t ask for help. And if that means sometimes we take it a little farther than you think we should… well, I’m okay with that. I’d rather be overbearing than underwhelming in my care.”
I blink against gathering wetness, gripping the pen in my hand so tightly that the plastic groans in my grasp.
“I didn’t know all that,” I say, more than a little ashamed. I’ve been so focused on myself and how the way they are makes me feel, I never thought to wonderwhythey are that way. As if I don’t know that a person’s character is greatly affected by their intentions. A bad guy is only abadguy if he has ill-intent. Without it, he’s just a misguided man in need of some character growth.
My parents are notbadguys. Not that I thought they were, exactly, but…
Well, I didn’t think they only needed character growth, either.
Fred, notably less moved, grunts. “There’s a whole lot of space between overbearing and underwhelming,” he points out. “Is there some reason you can’t aim for somewhere between the two?”
“Don’t you think that’s what we’ve been doing?” Dad asks.
“Not really, no,” Fred answers.
“Fred.” Archie’s tone demands attention, and my brother’s eyes dart to him, obeying. “Communication only works if everyone involved is open to hearing what everyone else has to say and willing to extend grace, compassion, empathy, and compromise as needed. Communication is not simply saying whatyouwant to say until your counterpart feels sufficiently guilt-ridden and willing to do what you’d like them to do. You must listen. You must at the very leasttryto understand where the other party is coming from. You cannot set up reasonable boundaries with your parents if you don’t hear them out to find out whatreasonableactually is. They’re being vulnerable right now and doing something many parents do not—explaining the source of their anxieties and the thought processes behind their actions. Your response is not only disrespectful, it’s unkind.”
Archie’s eyes slide to my parents, and he whammies them next. “Your past has shaped you,” he says. “And I think we can all understand that. But even as it shapes you, you cannot let itdefineyou orcontrolyou. Can you honestly say that you’re enjoying your lives wrapped up in worry and anxiety all the time? Are you enjoying yourchildren? How much time have you wasted worrying about what-ifs instead of celebrating the things that are right in front of you? How much time have you wasted not trusting yourselves or the way you’ve raised your children—not trustingthem?” He pauses, letting his words have a moment to sink in before finishing, “If you can let go—if you can allow yourselves to breathe in the life that you’ve built instead of dragging it heavily on your shoulders—I promise you, you’ll find the beautiful lives you so dearly want for your children, and you’ll actually be able to appreciate them.”
Fred blinks at Archie.
Mom blinks at Archie.
Dadblinks at Archie.
I scribble furiously at a tiny otter.
IOU, it reads.Redeem this foronethree make-out sessions at the times of your choosing.
I shove the paper into my husband’s pocket as my brother regains the ability to speak.
“Sorry,” he mutters, glancing at our parents.
Mom lets go of Dad to wrap her arms around Fred. “No,” she asserts. “We’resorry. You’re right, finding the middle ground is important, and clearly we’ve missed the mark.”
A drop of something splashes in my chest, feeling an awful lot like hope.
