Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
My parents haven’t let go of each other’s hands.
They’re both fighting back tears.
Too soon to say if they’re tears of joy or anguish just yet.
I give Austin’s hand a squeeze, then let out the rest: “So that’s why I plan to leave with Austin and go on tour with him.”
My mom’s eyes flash open.
Dad’s, too.
Maybe I gave them a tad too much credit and no one, in fact, guessed the twist ending of my story ahead of time.
This is when the explosion comes.
And maybe the real reason I dragged Austin into this with me.
With him here, maybe I’ll just get part of the explosion. Or a watered-down version. My dad will intensely ask me who else he can possibly hand the business down to after retirement. My mom will cry about this house being empty forever. I will be the reason everyone is left unhappy, our legacy falling to pieces, all because of my selfish desire to exist.
My mom’s hand on my leg catches me by surprise.
And silences the fears.
“Are you sure?” she gently asks me.
I stare at her, as if not hearing the question at first.
Am I sure?
I have an option to not be sure?
“Because if you are,” she goes on, “then I suppose we … need to start thinking about what that’s gonna look like. And how your dad and I …” She glances at him, then back at me. “… can best support you moving forward.”
I blink.
This isn’t an explosion. I don’t know what the hell this is. It’s almost scarier, the understanding in her voice, like they knew.
“We’re surprised,” says my dad, chiming in, still holding one of Mom’s hands. “Of course we are.”
“This isn’t a small choice,” Mom picks up. “It’s a big deal. And of course it matters. This is your future we’re talking about.”
“And ours, in a way,” agrees Dad.
“But we want to support you no matter what.”
“No matter what.”
I’m at such a loss, I nearly let go of Austin’s hand, forgetting that I’m holding it. “That’s it?” I blurt. “You’re not furious?”
“You think we never noticed?” my mom goes on, then lets on the slightest smile. “All of these summers you’d come home from school … already halfway gone again. We’ve been watching you try to fit into a life that … didn’t quite seem to fit you, dear. Would you grow into it? Would you never? … We didn’t know.” She tilts her head as a tear that’s been sitting there lets loose. “We were giving you time, sweetheart. All the time you needed.”
I wipe at something tickling the top of my cheek.
I realize belatedly it’s a tear of my own. “Mom … Dad …”
“I didn’t raise my son to live someone else’s life,” she says, then leans in even closer. “I raised you to decide for yourself. And if you’ve got to … chase Chase to find it—excuse the silly pun—I think you owe it to yourself to do it.”
“And to your granddad,” says my father with a wistful smile, his eyes on my wristwatch.
Something lets go in the room.
Something that was so tight, I couldn’t breathe.
Now there’s all the breath in the room. All the air. Possibility. Freedom. Understanding. Harmony.
The next moment, I’m to my feet. Mom and Dad, too. Then I’m caught in a hug between both of them, sandwiched by my parents, and I’ve never more appreciated their smothering love than I do right now when I need it most. I feel my mom wag her hand, and then there’s a fourth body with his arms wrapped around us all.
This isn’t the end of my story. It’s not an ending at all. It feels like standing at the edge of something I can’t quite see yet, with no idea where it’s going to take me—and not being afraid for once.
Because I know I’m not doing it alone.
When we finally untangle from the hug, my mom hangs on.
“I’m gonna need a minute, babe,” she says, suddenly laughing through her tears. “Or ten or twenty. Or the whole damned day.”
“Come here, honey,” says my father, taking over—and gently releasing her iron-tight grip on my arm. Which is great, because I was losing circulation. “Let’s get some coffee in you. You still look hung over.”
“I don’t hang over, I just droop, and I don’t need coffee, I need liquor.” She swats my arm and then snaps her fingers at Austin. “I require both of you to drink with me today, because I am not done partying with my wonderful son. Oh, and you had to go and do this on Independence Day,” she suddenly realizes. I wonder from her slightly elevated pitch if she isn’t still a little tipsy from last night. “It’s now my son’s independence day, too, claimin’ your own independence from Queen Cissy.”
My dad is holding back laughter. “Let’s go, honey. Give the boys a minute. Afternoon alcohol awaits.” He winks at each of us, his eyes lingering on me a touch longer, before my parents are out of the room. My mom’s still talking, whether it’s to me or Dad or Austin, I have no idea.