Chapter 22
“DEADNAME! Over here, sweetie!”
My cheeks burn as I rush to the table where my parents sit, Mom waving to me.
I didn’t spot them right away among the crowd of other middle-aged white couples at this restaurant, so, of course, my mother felt the need to shout my dead name across the room.
I’m just grateful we agreed to meet in the wealthy suburban neighborhood of Bellbridge rather than somewhere within the Atlanta perimeter, so the chance of anyone relevant recognizing me is slim.
“Hi Mom, hi Dad,” I greet them as I approach.
Mom is all smiles as she stands and opens her arms for a hug.
“So good to see you, sweetheart! We’ve missed you!
” She’s about my height with short, layered and highlighted blonde hair, and round, wire-framed glasses.
She wears all gold jewelry, including a necklace I recognize from last Christmas that holds the birthstones of all five of her grandchildren.
Her Estee Lauder White Linen perfume burns in my nose as she wraps her arms around me—the scent of my childhood.
“Good to see you, too,” I reply, forcing a smile.
“Hey, sweet girl,” Dad says, grunting slightly as he stands to offer me a side hug. His very short, completely gray hair is slicked back, and he sports his trademark rectangular glasses. “Thanks for driving all the way up here for us.”
“No problem. I’m sorry I hadn’t made the trip sooner.”
We all sit down, and I peruse the menu. I checked it online before I left this morning, but my nerves have wiped my memory.
“We’ve brought you here before, haven’t we?” Mom asks, frowning at me.
“It only opened last year, Susan,” Dad says, peering down at his phone.
“Oh, well, you’ll love it,” Mom insists. “Your dad and I come here after church almost every Sunday.”
I nod, habitually opening my silverware roll to drape the cloth napkin across my lap. “That’s nice,” I remark. “Does it get any more crowded than this?”
Mom shakes her head. “Not really. But we’ve befriended the owner, so even if there’s a wait, he can usually pull some strings for us.” She winks at me.
I manage to smile at her before skimming the menu one last time, deciding just in time for the server to take our orders. He brings a plate of freshly sliced bread with tiny cups of seasoned butter, which Dad wastes no time dividing among the three of us.
“So, tell us everything!” Mom eagerly demands as she spreads butter on her slice of bread. “How are classes going? How’s Celeste? Have you met any nice boys?”
A brief image of Oliver flashes in my memory, and part of me wonders whether mentioning him could distract from any reference to Nikki.
We’ll cross that bridge if we get to it.
“Classes are good,” I answer. “I’m still wrapping up my core requirements, but my schedule’s been great this semester.
I’ve got a steady routine for studying, doing homework, and managing my workload.
I even have time to go to the gym a couple of days a week. ”
Mom’s smile widens. “That’s amazing, sweetie! Good for you for making time to exercise!”
“Well done,” Dad adds. “You’re not going to the gym alone, are you?”
I take a sip of my ice water before answering. “I go during the day, so there are always other students there at the same time.”
“What about Celeste?” Mom asks. “You should convince her to go with you!”
“Might be extra good for her,” Dad mutters.
Great, Dad’s already making fatphobic comments about my friend barely five minutes into lunch. Rather than react, I fix my gaze on the two slices of bread left in the middle of the table, focusing hard on keeping my face neutral.
“Bill!” Mom hisses. “Don’t be rude.”
“What?” Dad says, raising his hands defensively. “The gym is good for everyone!”
Mom rolls her eyes but recovers and turns her attention back to me. “How is Celeste, anyway?”
“Good,” I reply, pulling off a small piece of bread and nibbling on it. “She recently joined the school’s newspaper, so that’ll give her some experience and will look nice on her resume.”
“That’s great!” Mom exclaims. “What about you? Have you joined any clubs or organizations? Or do you have any time for that?”
Shit. “Oh, no, not yet. I’ve been trying to be more social this semester, since last year I was…” I struggle to find the right words. Depressed? Betrayed? Emotionally unstable? “…a little too cooped up in my own world.”
“Well, socializing is important, too,” Mom agrees. “And how about, um—shoot, what’s his name? Matt? Mack? Celeste’s little friend?”
“Max.”
“That’s right! Max! He started at Eidola, too, right? How’s that going?”
“It’s been great! We’ve been going to community events together—the three of us and a few of Max’s friends. Movie nights and stuff like that.”
Mom’s eyes light up. “Ooh, are any of Max’s friends cute?”
Despite my best efforts, I let out a small laugh. “Yeah, they’re all pretty cute. But they’re not really my type.”
Mom frowns. “That’s a shame.”
I shrug, taking another bite of bread.
“What about that new friend of yours that helped you out at the grocery store that one time?” Mom asks. “Was she the one in that Instagram picture you were tagged in?”
My stomach drops. Shit, did Nikki tag me in something inappropriate? She knows my situation—she wouldn’t do that, would she? “Which picture?”
“Hold on, I’ll pull it up.”
While Mom looks through her phone, Dad clears his throat. “So, uh, what classes are you taking this semester?”
“Oh, um, I’ve got Intro to Psychology, Elementary Statistics, Intro to Ethics, Global Issues, and one called ‘Art, Society, and Culture.’”
Dad’s face twists with disgust. “Global issues? What is that?”
“It’s a political science credit,” I explain. “It’s basically an introduction to contemporary issues in world politics, like conflict, trade and business relationships, environmental concerns, population, and human rights. Stuff like that.”
Dad flashes a snarky grin. “So, liberal talking points?”
“Bill,” Mom warns without even looking up.
“Sure, I guess you’d probably call it that,” I reply flatly, taking a huge gulp from my water.
Dad grunts. “I suppose I should expect nothing less from a public university.”
“Here it is,” Mom interjects, shoving her phone towards me. “Is that your new friend?”
I eagerly scan the photo and am instantly relieved.
It’s a selfie of Nikki and me, and we’re in an innocent pose, linking arms and laughing at the camera.
Nikki snapped it a few weeks ago at an open-mic night we attended as a date.
The performance was terrible, but we still made the best of it and ended up laughing at our own jokes about the comedian afterward.
“Yeah, that’s Nikki,” I say with a smile. “She’s great! We’ve been hanging out a lot, too.”
“It’s always good to make new friends,” Mom agrees, her tone less enthusiastic. She takes her phone back and starts to put it away, but Dad gives her a light tap, and she wordlessly hands it to him. “Even if—well, never mind.”
I gnaw at the inside of my cheek. I should drop it. I know I should. Clearly, Mom caught herself before saying something rude or inappropriate, so I should let it go.
But my curiosity won’t allow it.
“Even if what?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Mom says dismissively. “I’m sure I’m just being too traditional.”
Before I can ask her to clarify, Dad snorts. “Are all these tattoos and piercings real? Good Lord.”
“Now, come on, Bill, we shouldn’t judge,” Mom reprimands, snatching her phone back from him. “That’s just what a lot of young people are doing these days.”
“How does she expect to get a decent job looking like that?” Dad asks. “A couple of small tattoos that are easily covered is one thing. But she’s got sleeves of ‘em! And did I see one of those pig-snout rings?”
My jaw clenches, but I push through it. “It’s called a septum piercing, Dad.”
“Why would anyone ever get a ring through their nose?” Dad continues. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I just can’t stand how that looks, especially on a pretty girl.”
My hands start to shake, so I ball them into fists under the table. Breathe in. Breathe out. Their ignorant opinions mean nothing. Five more years. Five more years.
“That’s enough, Bill,” Mom snaps. “I’m sorry, DEADNAME. Your dad and I are old school when it comes to things like that. I’m sure Nikki is a very nice girl.”
“All right,” the server announces, carrying a massive tray full of plates. “I have the glazed pork chop with creamed corn and collard greens?”
Dad raises his hand, sliding his glass of Diet Coke over to make room for the server to set his plate. Mom and I receive our plates soon after, and the conversation is officially closed.
The three of us eat in tense silence for several minutes until Mom clears her throat loudly.
“So, I know it’s early, but your father and I would like to nail down some plans for Thanksgiving.
Brian and Steph’s families have already agreed to have lunch at our house on Thanksgiving Day. Will you be joining us?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Good! I simply wanted to make sure. I’ll have Megan create a group chat or something where we can decide who is bringing what.”
I nod, scooping another spoonful of mashed potatoes.
“Will you be bringing anyone this year?”
I nearly scoff at her question. As much as it pains me to face my family alone, I can’t imagine ever burdening anyone with that kind of torture again.
Last year, after I begged Celeste to tag along, she almost got into a screaming match with my bigoted cop brother-in-law.
The year before, I invited Tyler, my boyfriend at the time, and, while he claimed to have a decent time, my family assumed we were destined to get married.
My siblings still ask about him to this day.
Max has a large family, so he’s never available during Thanksgiving.
Even if he were, I refuse to expose him to my family’s special brand of ignorance.