parents in a place that wasn’t.
Lighting was low, pooling on the red tablecloths tucked into cozy
mahogany nooks, and low murmurs of conversation whirled around the
room. The air smelled like red wine, perfectly cooked steak, and the
kinds of perfumes that if you have to ask the price, you can’t
afford it.
“Brian’s certainly moving
up in the world,” my dad put in, fairly bursting with steak and
pride. Mostly pride. “I think this company will really be the
right fit for you. Really make use of your talents.”
“Oh yes, all those others were
completely wrong!” my mother agreed. “Do you remember,
that simply awful man who told Brian he didn’t even care that Brian had graduated top of his class in Harvard?”
He’d told him that because Brian
had fucked up a business meeting so hard an entire convent of nuns
couldn’t have unfucked it, but you’ll notice that little
detail got left on the editing room floor of my mom’s story.
“Always been obvious the boy’s
talented,” Dad said with a misty look in his eye. “Ever
since he was a little man. I knew we could expect great things from
him.”
I needed a distraction before I puked.
Would it be too evil to ‘accidentally’ set a table on
fire with one of these crystal candlesticks?
“It’s just such a pity that
Kate hasn’t applied herself to finding her true potential—”
And yep, there it was, right on
schedule. I tried for a tight-lipped smile but I could feel it
failing on my face under the harsh glow of their disappointment.
When I was in elementary school, they
told me to take ballet class; I took the money and the permission
slip, and signed up for hip hop dance instead. They told me they
didn’t see any reason I should have to move out of the house
for college; I explained the concept of a party to them and then took
on two extra jobs to pay rent on my own apartment. Senior year they
took me aside and told me that they would pay for another two years
of college if I would just switch my major from studio art to art
history, since that would give me a much better chance of “attracting
the right kind of man”—I swear my mom time-traveled that
advice right here from the 1950s. I didn’t have the heart to
tell her that most of the guys who expressed interest in me were more
interested in getting a hand up my shirt than hearing a short
discourse on the use of color in Caravaggio canvases. And yet here I
was, single and unemployed, with the weight of a lifetime of unspoken
‘We told you so’s heavy on my shoulders.
“We just want to see you
settled,” Dad said, and it took me a second to mentally rejoin
the conversation that was going on in the present. Probably because
it was so identical to so many conversations we’d had in the
past. “Comfortable. Don’t see why you had to break up
with that nice Steven boy. He would have seen to you.”
“Yes, Steven was delightful,”
my mother added. “Are you sure he won’t take you back?
Perhaps if you explained things and apologized—the male ego is
a fragile one, and you aren’t always most delicate, dear, with
your words…”
I couldn’t believe this; I had
explained the break-up with Stevie to them a hundred times. “Uh,
he was fucking terrible. He showed up yelling at me at work!”
“Language, dear.”
“He was the worst!” I
edited. “He didn’t trust me around other guys, he whined
constantly about his thesis, and he blew up over the smallest
things!”
“Oh, surely it wasn’t that
bad,” my mother said lightly. “If you really look back at
it, I’m sure—”
“And he lied! When we first
started dating, he said he admired my passion for design and my
ambition to start a business, but five months later he was making fun
of me to my face and pressuring me to quit so I could work more hours
to support him!” And that was what had really stung. That not
only didn’t he trust my heart, but he didn’t trust my
mind—didn’t believe that I could really
Lighting was low, pooling on the red tablecloths tucked into cozy
mahogany nooks, and low murmurs of conversation whirled around the
room. The air smelled like red wine, perfectly cooked steak, and the
kinds of perfumes that if you have to ask the price, you can’t
afford it.
“Brian’s certainly moving
up in the world,” my dad put in, fairly bursting with steak and
pride. Mostly pride. “I think this company will really be the
right fit for you. Really make use of your talents.”
“Oh yes, all those others were
completely wrong!” my mother agreed. “Do you remember,
that simply awful man who told Brian he didn’t even care that Brian had graduated top of his class in Harvard?”
He’d told him that because Brian
had fucked up a business meeting so hard an entire convent of nuns
couldn’t have unfucked it, but you’ll notice that little
detail got left on the editing room floor of my mom’s story.
“Always been obvious the boy’s
talented,” Dad said with a misty look in his eye. “Ever
since he was a little man. I knew we could expect great things from
him.”
I needed a distraction before I puked.
Would it be too evil to ‘accidentally’ set a table on
fire with one of these crystal candlesticks?
“It’s just such a pity that
Kate hasn’t applied herself to finding her true potential—”
And yep, there it was, right on
schedule. I tried for a tight-lipped smile but I could feel it
failing on my face under the harsh glow of their disappointment.
When I was in elementary school, they
told me to take ballet class; I took the money and the permission
slip, and signed up for hip hop dance instead. They told me they
didn’t see any reason I should have to move out of the house
for college; I explained the concept of a party to them and then took
on two extra jobs to pay rent on my own apartment. Senior year they
took me aside and told me that they would pay for another two years
of college if I would just switch my major from studio art to art
history, since that would give me a much better chance of “attracting
the right kind of man”—I swear my mom time-traveled that
advice right here from the 1950s. I didn’t have the heart to
tell her that most of the guys who expressed interest in me were more
interested in getting a hand up my shirt than hearing a short
discourse on the use of color in Caravaggio canvases. And yet here I
was, single and unemployed, with the weight of a lifetime of unspoken
‘We told you so’s heavy on my shoulders.
“We just want to see you
settled,” Dad said, and it took me a second to mentally rejoin
the conversation that was going on in the present. Probably because
it was so identical to so many conversations we’d had in the
past. “Comfortable. Don’t see why you had to break up
with that nice Steven boy. He would have seen to you.”
“Yes, Steven was delightful,”
my mother added. “Are you sure he won’t take you back?
Perhaps if you explained things and apologized—the male ego is
a fragile one, and you aren’t always most delicate, dear, with
your words…”
I couldn’t believe this; I had
explained the break-up with Stevie to them a hundred times. “Uh,
he was fucking terrible. He showed up yelling at me at work!”
“Language, dear.”
“He was the worst!” I
edited. “He didn’t trust me around other guys, he whined
constantly about his thesis, and he blew up over the smallest
things!”
“Oh, surely it wasn’t that
bad,” my mother said lightly. “If you really look back at
it, I’m sure—”
“And he lied! When we first
started dating, he said he admired my passion for design and my
ambition to start a business, but five months later he was making fun
of me to my face and pressuring me to quit so I could work more hours
to support him!” And that was what had really stung. That not
only didn’t he trust my heart, but he didn’t trust my
mind—didn’t believe that I could really
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