"Believe me, we're trying to change the world, but we can't do it if the world doesn't want to change."
I laughed, thinking about how much would change over the next ten years. How marriage equality would be legalized, how representation would improve, how conversations would shift. It wasn't perfect by any means, but it was progress. If only he knew how much easier things would become over time, he wouldn't be so pessimistic and guarded now.
But maybe that guardedness was necessary. Maybe it was what would help him survive in a world that wasn't ready to accept him yet.
"Shall we start from scratch?"
He looked at me with mock indignation. "Of course not. Starting from scratch means trying to ignore that this conversation happened, and I do want to remember that we had adisagreement and were able to work through it. That's how great relationships are built."
How could this guy say something so profound and insightful?
"You know what? You're absolutely right," I said while we started walking toward the exit together.
"I'm always right."
"Of course you're not."
"Most of the time."
"Sometimes."
"Someday, you'll agree with me completely."
"I hope I don't have to."
When I finally made it home, the house was eerily quiet. My parents hadn't said a word when they saw me slipping in through the kitchen door at 6 AM. My father had barely looked up from his coffee, and my mother had been too focused on getting ready for work to notice anything unusual.
They'd probably assumed I'd just gone for an early morning run, which was fine by me. But part of me wished they'd at least asked where I'd been. That they'd been more concerned about their son disappearing overnight than they were about whatever silent war they were currently waging against each other.
I wished they were more attentive to their children than they were consumed by their own problems. But that was the thing about parents in failing marriages, they got so caught up in their own misery that they stopped seeing what was happening right in front of them.
"Aria?" I called out, dropping my backpack by the door.
"In here," came her small voice from the living room.
I found her curled up on the couch, still in her schooluniform, her backpack on the floor beside her. She was watching TV, probably hadn't eaten anything yet, and her homework was barely touched.
"Hey, what are you doing home alone? Where's Mom or Dad?"
She shrugged without looking at me. "No one came to pick me up from school. I had to walk home by myself."
I feel like I've been punched in the stomach. Aria's school was nearly two miles away. She was twelve years old, and she'd had to walk home alone because our parents were so wrapped up in their own drama that they'd forgotten about her.
Even though it wasn't my responsibility, I felt guilty for not being there for her. "I'm so sorry, Ari," I said, sitting down beside her and pulling her into a hug. "That shouldn't have happened."
"It's not your fault," she mumbled against my shoulder. "You were at school too."
But I felt it was in a way.
I'd left for Australia and abandoned her to deal with our parents' deteriorating marriage alone. And here I was, given a second chance, and I was still prioritizing everything else over being there for her.
"Did you call Mom or Dad?" I asked.
"I tried. Mom didn't answer, and Dad said he was in a meeting and couldn't leave. He told me to walk home and that someone would be there soon." She pulled back, wiping at her eyes. "But no one came."
This was why Aria had left for college on the opposite coast the moment she turned eighteen. This was why neither of us came home for the holidays if we could avoid it. Because our parents had forgotten they had children who needed them in our most vulnerable moments.
"Hey," I said, tilting her chin up so she'd look at me. "I'mhere now, okay? And I'm not going anywhere. How about I cook something, and you can tell me about your day?"
