The first Saturday in October marks the beginning of me having three blessed days off in a row, and it’s an amazing feeling. My parents are on their way to visit me, which isn’t really how I wanted to spend my day off, but I’m hoping I can hang out for a few hours and then get on with the rest of my weekend.
My mother greets me at my door wearing a sweater, pants, and handbag in various shades of beige, though it looks expensive. Her butter-yellow hair is styled and hair-sprayed, as always. My dad follows with his customary nod toward me. He’s gruff and pink-cheeked, as usual, and sporting a pinched expression as though he’s just smelled something unpleasant. I think I get my too-serious demeanor from him, but I hope to God I have a better sense of humor.
My mom hands me a clear container filled with what looks like pasta, and my heart thaws despite my ambivalence about entertaining them today. She reaches up to hug me, and I bend down to her.
“Thank you,” I say.
She looks around. “Is your roommate here?”
I glance around myself as though he might pop out from behind the couch. “He’s working.”
“Ah. Well I hate we missed him.”
My parents never understood why I wanted a roommate. To them, I’m too old to “live like I’m still in college.” Still, my mom has this Southern quality where she pretends to bedisappointed by someone’s absence when I know she wouldn’t want to sit and make small talk with Adam.
I offer them some tea I made for their visit, and they accept. They sit at the kitchen barstools while I chat with Mom.
“Traffic was terrible,” my dad says at a lull. It’s the first sentence he’s spoken to me, and my skin already prickles with irritation. Louisville’s big, but they act like I live in New York City or something.
“I thought we could go to lunch,” Mom says as I put the pasta in the fridge.
Dad’s still not done, though. “You really want to live here long term?”
Are we doing this already? A diesel engine outside rumbles in the ensuing silence, the squeal of its brakes sounding at a stop sign, the wan October sun filters in from the large, adjoining living room window, and a small branch ticks against the glass in a rhythmic dance with the breeze. Inside my apartment, though, I’ve managed to get irritated with my parents in the span of less than two minutes.
I take a deep breath. “I do, actually. Or somewhere like it.”
My mom wrings her hands on to the counter. She’s watching my exchange with Dad like she wants to interject but knows it’s a losing battle. We’ve had this conversation multiple times.
“I’m not moving back home,” I say. “I just don’t think it’s the place for me.”
The finality in my voice rings in the air. No one says anything. Maybe I’ve finally made myself clear.
“I thought you had considered somewhere closer, though?” My mom’s voice is small.
“Mom.” I rub the bridge of my nose. “I don’t really want to move to a small town. Lexington is as close as I’ll get to home, but it’s really up in the air for me. And lately I’ve been thinkingabout doing some charitable work too. There are some good organizations I can work with.”
She perks up at that. “If your problem is wanting to work with people in need, then wouldn’t somewhere in Appalachia be perfect?”
I sigh. She does make a good point, but she’s not listening. I can’t believe we’ve been together for such a short time and we’re already having this confrontation again.
“I feel like y’all aren’t really hearing me.”
My father starts to protest this, but Mom rests a hand on her chest and speaks before he can say anything.
“We are,” she says. “I’m sorry. I just think it might be better if you at least considered your options.” She huffs. “And I hope to have grandbabies someday. It would be nice if we were close to them.”
What the fuck? Where did that come from? I think briefly of how Kendall said she might not want any pregnancies, not that we have a future at this point. Still, my face warms with my rising temper.
“I know you aren’t dating anyone right now,” she continues. “I’m just saying, is all.”
My mother could win awards for her passive aggressiveness, I swear. Dad doesn’t speak; he just sits there with his arms crossed as if to say, “Well?”
“I am seeing someone, actually.” What? Why would I say that? My rational brain is screaming at me to stop talking, but my flight or fight response has taken over, and I guess I’ve chosen to fight. I can name the part—it’s called the amygdala, and right now it’s in charge.
“Oh.” Mom brightens. “You never told me that. Who is she?”
Shit. She knows Kendall, and I can’t go around telling people we’re dating or it will get back to the woman in question.
