“I like her. She’s a good one. Are you going to marry her?”
—exactly that.
“She’s amazing, but she’s just a friend.”
“Well, make her more than your friend. I want grandchildren.”
“Mom . . .”
“I do! Think of how beautiful your children would be. Your eyes, her hair and skin. Beautiful!” This must be how Bri feels all the time. Such a bold comment to make knowing nothing about Bri’s health or desires. “She deserves a good man who will make her a wife before giving her a baby, so you should propose before—”
“Mom, that is not what’s happening here. She’s my friend. We’re not getting married and having babies together.”
She tuts. “That’s not what May said she saw at your apartment.”
That snitch. I cast a glare over my shoulder, hoping my sister will feel my eyes burning a hole into her cheek, to no avail. Bri still has her audience captured.
“What is the point of having a good job if it isn’t to provide for a family? You have been alone for so long, and now you aren’t. Why can’t she be more than a friend to you?”
Mom’s line of questioning doesn’t have a truthful answer that will satisfy her. In all honesty, I would love to be more than friends with Bri—officially. I’d move her in with me, pay for her school, erase her medical debt in a heartbeat, but she would never let me. Her independence is important to her. My issues can’t be solved by chasing another woman whose life doesn’t align with mine.
To say that stops me from wanting Bri is a lie. I want her. Bad. But loving her means letting her be who she is.
Loving her?
“I like her. That is all I’m saying.” Mom cuts into my thoughts.
“You’ve said much more than that.”
She pats my cheek, dismissing me from the dishes and my attempt to argue.
Before I step out of the kitchen, I overhear Bri talking. About me.
“He’s such a good man, down to his core. You have an amazing son,” she says to my dad, then turns to May. “And brother.”
“Yeah, I know,” May says, nudging her shoulder against Bri’s. Of course they are fast friends. Even if May wasn’t into women, she would still be just as entranced by her. Bri has that effect on people.
Dad doesn’t respond, but there’s a grin on his face, as if he’s proud. If he is, he’s never told me. He likely never will. And for some reason, I keep letting that bother me.
“Ready to go?” I ask Bri.
~
Back in Seattle, Bri is in good spirits, tummy ache or not. Meanwhile, I’m deep in my feelings, dealing with a different ache in my gut. My mom wormed herself into my brain like mothers do best, bringing up all sorts of guilt without even trying. I want to defend Bri, to keep my parents from damaging her the way they have me, but my dad being her best friend sent me back into my shell. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he said more to her in one night than he’s said to me in months.
Bri returns from the bathroom, dressed in a pair of my sweatpants and the one long-sleeved shirt she brought. She was cramping after last night. The addition of rich foods probably didn’t help.
“Feeling better?” I ask.
“Yes. Overdid it on the cobbler, I think.”
“We all do.”
She sits next to me on the couch, curling up against my side. “Your family is so nice.”
“To you.”
“It’s always like that, huh? Everyone is on their best behavior for a guest.”
