Chapter 5
Claire
“Hey guys!” I call out, kicking off my shoes in the foyer of my parents’ house. It’s Friday afternoon, and they asked me, Zach, and his parents to come over for burgers tonight. That’s a pretty standard Friday night over here—a comfortable hangout with the friends that feel like family.
“In the kitchen!” Mom calls back.
I make my way to the back of the house, where Dad watches an old concert of his favorite band from the seventies, Rush, on the TV. Mom is chopping up a salad in the kitchen and waves at me.
“Still playing that DVD?” I ask Dad.
“It’s the best. Alex Lifeson really rips it on this riff.”
I snort a laugh and plop next to him on the couch. “It’s the same as it was last time you watched it.”
“So why take a risk on something new?” he asks.
It’s always been the same with my dad. He and my mom go out to dinner at the same restaurant every Saturday night, and he orders the same thing—New York steak with mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli. Mom likes to switch it up a little bit here and there, but overall, they enjoy their routines.
I don’t blame him for it. But I wouldn’t mind some different background music when I walk into the house.
We watch a few more minutes of the concert together, my dad occasionally bobbing his head along with the music, and I smile.
It’s comforting, coming home and knowing things will always be the same.
“How was work this week?” Mom calls out to me.
I stand and head over to the kitchen, sitting on one of the stools they have lining the counter. “Good. I have so many students getting help with their algebra skills during my office hours. I still can’t believe the state made us cancel all those prerequisite classes.”
My mom hums in agreement. “It really is a shame. So many students benefited from those basic classes. But you don’t have to tutor them in your office for free, Claire. They can get tutoring at the library.”
“I know. But they’re more comfortable with me, and I know exactly what they need. The tutors are great and all, but…”
“I know. You’re a really good teacher.” She scrapes the last bits of tomatoes into the salad bowl, wipes her hands on the towel hanging from the dishwasher, then holds her hands out to me in a “gimme” gesture.
I put my hands in hers, and she sighs dreamily while looking down at the ring. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah.” I let her admire the ring, but I wouldn’t say I love it.
It’s been uncomfortable to wear, constantly getting in the way of my daily tasks.
Even writing on the board has been awkward.
I guess most people wouldn’t notice, but I’m left-handed, and whenever I try to write on the whiteboard, I feel like the students can’t see from the glare.
The first class I taught on Monday couldn’t focus until I told them all about how I got engaged.
One student saw it on TV. I feel like my life is entertainment for all my students.
Which reminds me of the weird reaction Ryan had when he came in on Monday morning and acted like he didn’t know I was engaged. Wasn’t he watching the game? I know he said he probably took a bathroom break, but it seems suspicious.
All week he’s been distant, and I can’t help but feel like it’s intentional.
Our usual random conversations are almost nonexistent.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, our office hours overlap, and we usually chit-chat across the aisleway about the latest shows we’ve been watching.
But this week, he told me he was holding office hours in the library to make sure he had enough room for all his students.
I feel the gaping hole where my best friend usually is, and it makes me more uncomfortable than I like to think about.
Ryan’s friendship has always been a constant for me. So why does it feel like it’s changing now…like a variable?
I hear the front door open, and Julie’s voice echoes in the entryway. “Hellooo, we’re here!”
“Come on back!” Mom calls out. We hear them kick off their shoes and make their way into the kitchen.
“How’s everyone doing?” Mike asks, carrying a case of beer. Julie and Zach follow behind.
“Good, good,” Dad says.
Mike catches a glimpse of the TV. “Oh, this is a good one. Lifeson kills this riff.”
“That’s what I said,” Dad agrees, and I shake my head.
Our dads have a mutual love of seventies rock, not to mention their similar looks with dark hair and mustaches.
It’s like they were meant to be friends.
Mike sets the beer on the kitchen counter, then plops down next to my dad and watches the concert on TV.
Zach stands at the counter, rubs me on the back, and kisses the top of my head as a hello, then digs into the chips.
Julie sits on a stool on the other side of me and squeezes my shoulder. “How’s our bride-to-be?”
Bride-to-be. That’s a new one. “Doing good,” I reply.
“I’ve contacted a few vendors,” she says. At my blank stare, she clarifies, “For the wedding.”
I should’ve known she’d already be on top of this. As an event planner, Julie has all the hookups for flowers, venues, cakes—you name it, she’s got it covered. She’s every inch the classic wedding planner, with her blonde hair always up in a French twist, makeup perfectly done, and poised posture.
But even though I would have expected her to jump on the wedding prep, something about the reality of this, where Julie is actually making plans for a real, live wedding, sits weird with me.
“Whenever you want to start talking about it, I’m ready,” she says with a big grin.
“Oh, yeah, for sure,” I stammer. My right-hand fingers find my engagement ring and start twisting it around. “I’ll be able to do that in a bit. Work is just extra crazy right now, so I’m super busy.”
“I’m sure you are.” She beams at me. “You’re so diligent.”
“Thank you.”
She looks over at Zach, who’s dipping a Ruffles chip in the French onion dip, and sighs. “One day, this one will figure it out, too.”
“Hey.” He shoves the chip in his mouth and chews for a few moments. “I’m working hard on my app. You’ll see.”
I let go of my ring and rub his shoulder. “I know.”
But…do I? Is this app actually going to be useful? I think most people can find parking spots on the street without an app.
It’s been hard being the supportive girlfriend for years to these harebrained ideas when I’ve put in the hours, done the hard things, and carved my own path to being a math professor.
Sure, I had my parents’ support, but so does Zach.
The fact that he hasn’t made anything work and still lives with his parents can be a little discouraging sometimes.
Well, it’ll be nice to have him working from home, right? He can work on laundry and cook and do dishes…
All things he doesn’t exactly know how to do now, because his mom does them…
I press my lips together. Where are these thoughts coming from?
I’ve known these things about Zach my entire life, and they didn’t bother me before.
We’re supposed to be together. This is everything our parents have dreamed of for years.
Pull it together, Claire. Change the subject to something other than your future.
“I talked to Annie today,” I blurt out.
Mom’s eyebrows rise. “Oh? What did she have to say?”
Well, that was stupid. I should’ve known better than to bring up Annie. My thirty-year-old sister is my parents’ eternal disappointment.
It’s odd to say that a successful artist is a disappointment to her parents, but she is.
I guess that’s what happens when a family of math professors cannot compute the fact that their daughter just doesn’t like math.
They haven’t spoken to her in years, but I reached out a few years ago and have been enjoying our rekindled relationship.
I think that makes it clear why I can’t talk to my family about my own creative endeavors, like the YA dystopian book I’ve been secretly writing for the last year. Annie kind of burned that bridge for both of us. Anything that’s not math-focused isn’t worth our time and energy.
But I started down this path, so I need to say something to my mom. “She wanted to congratulate me on the engagement,” I finally say. That’s…not exactly true. Here’s how the conversation actually went:
“So…you’re engaged?”
“Yes!”
“And…you’re happy about this?”
“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?”
Silence. “No reason. Love you, sis.”
“Love you, too.”
That was pretty much it.
Even though we’re in contact, our conversations these days aren’t super lengthy. We’re not an emotional family, although Annie always had a sensitive side that seemed to irritate my parents. Meanwhile, my parents and I keep our feelings inside.
“Well, that was nice of her!” Julie says, filling in the awkward silence.
“It was.” I pat my hands on the table. “Need any help, Mom?”
Mom’s tight smile relaxes into something more neutral, and then she actually grins at me. “Yes, please. You can slice some tomatoes for the burgers.”
I slide out of my seat and join her in the kitchen. Zach keeps eating chips, and I grab a cutting board from under the sink and get to work.
It’s a snapshot of the rest of my life, and it’s the way things have always been. Comfortable. Predictable. Which should make me happy.
So why do I feel so…unsettled?