Twenty-Two
Stacy
Playing cards fall to the floor as Atticus and my father get into a passionate discussion about the rules of the card game Bullshit . Voices are raised ever so slightly, I think I hear an expletive, and I haven’t seen the vein bulge in my dad’s neck like that in years.
“I misspoke,” my dad emphasizes for the fourth time.
My brother-in-law scoffs. “It doesn’t matter, Jeff! You have to pick up the cards, you got caught bullshitting us.”
Dad leans back in the wooden dining chair, crossing his arms over his argyle sweater-clad midsection. “I’m not taking them.”
Clearly, game nights are taken very seriously in the Dunn household.
“Happy birthday,” I mutter over to my sister. She giggles in return, enjoying the show while she shovels another bite of strawberry cake into her mouth.
“Are they always this intense?” Reece asks, his voice low in my ear.
It elicits forbidden goosebumps.
Damn Reece Taylor. Damn him and his thoughtful ass coming over to comfort me during a thunderstorm. How on earth does one man have the audacity to be so fucking charming and completely unattainable? Why does he have to be so confusing ?
Instead of asking these asinine questions, I nod and say, “You should see them when we break out Monopoly or Trivial Pursuit. ”
Reece grimaces before flinging his arm over the back of my chair. “I think I’ll have to pass on that.”
“This is everything I’ve ever wanted for my birthday,” Char mutters, rubbing her nearly flat belly as the men continue to bicker.
My sister’s barely out of her first trimester but is geared up and ready for this baby to make it’s appearance already.
They’re waiting to find out the sex, wanting it to be a surprise at birth, but they’ve already nearly finished decorating their gender-neutral, nature-themed nursery and have onesies for days.
Even my parents seem nearly ready for the baby’s pending arrival, transforming their spare office space into a cozy room with a bassinet, changing table, and rocking chair for when the baby stays the night.
Something pinches inside of my chest. I’m pumped to be an aunt, truly excited to meet this baby and spoil them the way cool aunts are supposed to.
But I can’t help the twisting feeling in my gut when I think about how my parents have never reacted to anything going on in my life with such fervor.
And, sure, first grandkid? Huge deal. I know nothing I’ve done so far can compare, but the problem is, even when I one day do come to my parents with exciting pregnancy news, I doubt it’ll be received with such excitement.
Charlotte’s baby gets a whole room and my first kid will probably get a dusty cot in the partially finished basement.
Because Charlotte’s the golden child and I’m second best. And nothing ever changes.
“Alright, enough ,” my mom finally cuts into the boy’s argument, turning on her best lawyer voice as she clears cake plates off the light wood dining room table.
“Honey, he’s saying—”
“Enough,” Mom interrupts Dad, shooting him a sharp look before bringing over a bottle of wine to top off everyone’s glasses. She glances over at Reece, her face softening. “Sorry about them, sweetheart.”
Okay, maybe Reece is the golden child now.
Reece smiles good-naturedly, scooting his chair closer to mine and sending a hot flash across my body. “All good, Sheryl. A Taylor game night could give the Dunn’s a run for their money. My sister flipped over a Clue board on Christmas once and wouldn’t talk to anyone for the rest of the day.”
“ Clue is banned in our family,” Charlotte explains as she nods empathetically.
“Stacy was cheating!” Dad cries in outrage as the rest of the table stifles a laugh.
“I wasn’t cheating,” I protest. “I knew it was Professor Plum because you have a horrible poker face.”
Atticus smirks at my dad. “Which is exactly why you’re also terrible at Bullshit .”
Dad narrows his eyes at his son-in-law. “First, you impregnate my daughter. Then, you come into my house and disrespect me. ”
My mom pats her husband on the shoulder. “Game’s over, Jeff.”
“Sheryl—”
“Game’s over,” she says again, leaning over to plant a kiss on my dad’s cheek. Dad thins his lips and I don’t blame him.
Being married to a lawyer must mean losing every argument consistently.
Mom turns back to Reece, brilliant smile back in place. “How are the applications for PT school coming, honey?”
Reece moves his hand from the back of my chair to my thigh and I feel my body go rigid in response.
He squeezes my leg like he’s completely at ease, chatting with my mom like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and meanwhile, I feel like I’m being burned to the ground from the inside out.
Whatever white, hot, dangerous thing was coiled up in my stomach at the football party has returned with a vengeance as Reece casually goes on and on about the programs that he’s considering.
“… Maybe Ohio State, but I’m considering University of Cincinnati, too.
They’ve all got killer programs but it just depends on whether or not I want to move home.
” I catch the tail-end of Reece’s explanation, but I’m only half listening because Reece is stroking the denim of my jeans with his thumb.
“Very impressive,” Dad commends, nodding his head and sipping his red wine.
“Grad programs are the way to go,” Mom agrees while Charlotte gets up to rummage in the fridge for yet another snack.
The margherita pizza, cheesy bread, Italian salad, and cake were apparently not enough to satiate my pregnant sister’s second trimester hunger.
I try to focus on my sister pouring a bowl of Cheerios instead of my mom’s comment about graduate school.
I’ve never expressed any interest in pursuing an education beyond undergrad and I know my parents haven’t necessarily been keen on that.
After attending medical school, law school, and birthing a medical legacy, I’m sure they thought their youngest would do something impressive in academics.
Say pharmacy school, a law degree of my own, a masters in business administration or economics perhaps.
Instead, my post-graduate plan to simply enter the workforce is just another disappointment to Jeff and Sheryl.
I feel myself shrinking again. I feel myself getting small before Mom even says, “Stace, have you thought anymore about what you’re wanting to do after graduation, babe?”
I look up from my lap to find all the eyes in the room on me.
This night has suddenly shifted from Charlotte’s birthday celebration to another chance to put me down for my life choices or lack thereof.
I’m getting smaller by the second and the only thing keeping me grounded is Reece’s firm hand on my thigh, like an anchor.
I clear my throat. “No. Not yet.”
I hear Dad sigh as Mom rolls her lips. “You’ve really got to start thinking about your future. When Charlotte was your age, she was already accepted into her top choice for medical school.”
And there it is.
“I know,” I grind out. “I’m just exploring different avenues of business.”
Dad tuts. “If you were wise, you’d apply to a couple of post-grad programs, Stacy. ”
Heat rises in my cheeks as Reece’s fingers squeeze my leg reassuringly. “I don’t want to go to grad school, Dad. I just want to start working.”
“But where?” Mom presses on. “What sector of business, Stace? Finance? Marketing? Operations? You’ve got to start getting serious about your life, honey.”
Heavy silence descends on the room as my whole childhood flashes through my mind.
I wanted to take horseback riding but Charlotte played the piano so horses weren’t good enough.
I wasn’t good at most sports but Charlotte was a killer soccer player so I had to try even though I just wanted to dance.
Charlotte was in all AP classes in high school so I had to kill myself to get through AP classes as well, even though my time was stretched thin between school and my comp cheer team.
I can’t sing for shit but Charlotte was in choir in school, so I had to try out.
Why can’t you be in a Capella like your sister?
You need to do something else besides cheerleading.
Why did you get a C in AP science? Charlotte never struggled in her AP classes.
Charlotte’s soccer team is going to state.
You should try out for a sport. I know you’re involved in cheer, but is it really a sport?
The words are ringing in my head, making me nauseous and dizzy as I feel my family evaluating me. Even if I wanted to, I’m not sure I could respond to my mom because my chest feels tight, like someone’s got a vise grip on my lungs.
I’m seconds away from tears when Reece speaks up.
“You know, I saw the other day that supply chain and logistics has a really high job growth projection. Stace and I were actually just talking about it yesterday and we started looking at what types of jobs she can apply for in that industry. Whatever she does, I know she’ll be amazing.
” He leans in and presses his lips to my temple and I feel most of the tension drain from my body.
My family makes me feel small. They make me feel like I’m never enough, never smart enough, never good enough, never big enough.
But Reece always makes sure to remind me that that’s, for lack of a better term, simply bullshit.