Chapter 10 #2
“Honestly, I’m not really sure why I should be saying anything to you guys yet because a coffee date and a brunch date don’t even qualify as ‘dating’—” I use finger quotes to emphasize my point, “And I’m an adult and can do what I want—”
And here Mom and Dad exchange a glance again. That married telepathy look.
“But, there it is. I went on a date yesterday and I’m going on another one Tuesday.” I lock eyes with Margaret. “Good enough?”
My sister smiles at me, but it looks a bit strained, like she’s not sure if things really are good. In fact, both she and Merrick glance at my parents as if taking a reading.
My eyes narrow. What are they waiting for? Do they know something I don’t?
I frown and look back at my parents. “What?”
Mom and Dad share another look. Longer this time. Mom gives a little tilt of her head in my direction, a cue my dad is supposed to follow.
“What?” I insist.
This time Dad sighs, leans forward, and sets his elbows on his knees.
“Hats, honey…” He’s frowning, but it’s one of those frowns I’ve only seen him wear when he has to break bad news.
Like when I was six and he had to tell me our dog Barkley had been hit by a car.
Or when I turned eleven and none of the five girls I’d invited to my sleepover birthday party accepted the invitation.
“Telling us about your friend was the right thing to do, but…”
He pauses, and a little ball of panic forms in my stomach.
“We need to meet him,” Dad says, looking determined.
The panic ball swells.
“We’ve had one date and scheduled a second. It’s way too early,” I argue, scowling.
Dad arches a brow. “Is it, now? I’m of a mind that too early is better than too late, but—”
“No but,” I say loud and clear. “I shared this with y’all because Margaret said I should. Don’t make me regret sharing things with you guys.”
I can almost feel Margaret and Merrick lean in closer. Like they’re silently urging my parents to listen. And, man, am I glad they are here.
But then again, it was Margaret’s big idea to do this, so—
“We don’t want you to regret sharing things, Hattie,” Mom says, giving a tight shake of her head. “But it’s more complicated than that.”
Complicated?
This confuses the hell out of me because, no lie, spending time with Beck—whether in person or texting or on the phone like we were for hours last night—feels like the least complicated thing I’ve ever done.
“Say more words,” I tell Mom. “You’re confusing me.”
Mom and Dad share a long look, but it’s Margaret who finally speaks.
“She deserves to know, guys. You’re not being fair.”
This is when the panic ball in my belly cracks open and searing hot fear gushes out.
“Kn-know what?”
Mom starts. “We have—” I watch her visibly swallow. “We’ve been putting this off for a long time.”
“P-putting what off?”
The certainty that this cannot be a good thing makes me want to call for help. And even though Margaret and Merrick are here, and I feel like they are here to support me, whatever this is about, they knew.
They knew and they didn’t tell me.
Margaret didn’t tell me.
And even though I’m in my home and surrounded by family who love me—and I know they really do love me—I’m so scared.
It’s stupid. It makes no sense, I know, but, God, I really wish Beck were here.
And it’s the thought of him—the recognition of how much I want him near me—that fractures my control, and the tears slip free.
My Dad’s face twists up. “Baby—”
“D-don’t call me baby—” I gulp out. “I’m n-not a baby—”
My face and neck are hot. I dash my knuckles across my eyes.
“That’s not what I mean,” Dad defends, shaking his head, looking like I’ve hurt him. And fuck, this is what I was afraid of.
Why is it so hard to talk to them? Why don’t they listen? Why haven’t they learned that the way they talk to me—the way they respond to my feelings—almost always makes everything worse, not better.
I mean, if they haven’t learned by now, will they ever?
The despair of that thought turns streaming tears into shaking sobs, but I try—I try so hard—to get through to them. “J-just… Just tell me… Fuck!... What are you saying?”
Dad clears his throat, frowning, and I wonder for a second if he’s about to cry too, but that’s impossible because I’ve never seen him cry.
And, fuck me, if he’s about to cry, then this is really bad.
Mom and Dad look at each other, and it’s Mom who turns to face me.
“Harriet, honey, we’ve tried to do our best by you.
Even when you were a toddler, we knew you were different and would need different things.
” She shakes her head, looking pained. “We’ve never been sure exactly what that would look like as you got older. ”
I feel my face scrunch up. “What do you mean what I would need?” The room suddenly seems too bright with the four of them all looking at me. “I don’t need… too much.” But my lips feel like Claymation as I say this.
I am too much. Everybody knows it.
More tears leak from my eyes.
I gulp back a sob, shaking my head. Pulling away from this truth. “I mean—I need wh-what everyone else needs. Maslow’s hierarchy,” I say defensively. “I don’t need more than that. I don’t need more than anyone else.”
“No,” Margaret says, her voice breathy and her eyes brimming. “Of course you don’t.”
We lock eyes, and even though I see that she’s hurting with me, that she’s here for me, I still feel like she’s the earthling and I’m the extraterrestrial.
“It’s not—” Dad clears his throat again, harder this time. “It’s not that you need more than anyone else, my love. It’s more a question of providing for those needs.”
Shame is a sinkhole ready to suck me down.
Too much and not enough.
I am the one in this family who is both at the same time.
I dash away more tears and swallow hard. “You mean because I… don’t have a job or anything?”
Both of my parents wince. Dad exhales a sigh.
“We know you’ve tried, Hats. Believe me, I’d like nothing more than to take you on at the office if it was something I thought would make you happy—”
“It wouldn’t.” Not only because every time I’ve gone to work with him, the office—which shares a back wall with the machine shop and the warehouse—smells like WD-40 and Skoal. The phones in reception ring non-stop. He employs five women, and they are either front-facing or lower tier accounting.
None of them are machinists, engineers, salespeople, or senior staff.
If I worked there, my dad would pay me an outrageous salary to answer the phones or help with payroll. And I would hate it.
Dad nods. “I know. Honestly, I’m not sure what kind of work environment would make you happy.”
I swallow hard again, hating the new surge of hot tears.
“I don’t either.” My voice cracks because I really don’t know. Every job I’ve tried has been confusing, overwhelming, and exhausting.
My work history has been a series of mini-disasters. Even good days left me nearly comatose. My mom’s friend Marilyn has this adorable clothing boutique, Modiste. Everyone—including me—thought I would love working there.
I loved the clothes. My God, did I love the clothes. And Marilyn has always been a kind, safe person for me.
But Mom’s-Friend-Marilyn and Boutique-Boss-Marilyn are two totally different people.
And I get that they have to be. Business is business.
And you can’t have a shop assistant hiding in one of the three plush changing rooms because the sound of a customer’s voice is like an immersion blender to her cerebral cortex.
Misophonia is not an acceptable reason to go AWOL while on the job.
Dad chuckles sadly. “If I thought you’d be happy opening your own alterations shop, I’d help you start one tomorrow.”
“Really?” I sniffle, my heart bobbing at the prospect. It’s not exactly something I’ve thought about. Sewing all day? Yes, I’ve thought about that.
But taking in other people’s clothes or hemming their pants? For money? Five days a week? That doesn’t sound so fun.
“I don’t think I’d be a very good small business owner,” I say wetly. “And I’m majoring in business.”
Which, when I say it out loud, sounds ridiculous. So ridiculous. I laugh and cry at the same time. “I don’t even know what I’m doing in school. I-I really hate it.”
Saying it out loud feels like confessing a crime. The truth of it is, they are the reason I haven’t dropped out. Because I know how disappointed they’d be. Not just disappointed, but hopeless.
But I think they’re already hopeless, based on how this conversation is going.
I break down and cover my face because it feels like the whole world is looking, even though it’s just my family.
Then Margaret is kneeling at my feet. She pats my shoe to tell me she’s there, and fragments of her whispers make it through my sobs.
“...Alright… as you are… love you…”
I appreciate that she respects my boundaries, but right now, I need a tight hug. Arms banded around me, grounding me.
The way Beck held me yesterday.
For the second time, I wish so fiercely that he was here. The thought of him seeing me like this should be mortifying, but somehow, it’s not.
I reach down, clasp Margaret’s wrist, and tug her. She squeezes in next to me in the double rocker, and when I mumble a snotty, “Hug me tight,” she does.
Margaret is smaller than me, but she’s strong. Just not as strong as Beck. So the hug feels good, but not nearly as good as his.
I don’t know how long we stay like this, but no one speaks until my sobs quiet, and I rest my heavy head on my sister’s shoulder.
“You’re worn out,” Mom says gently sometime later. When I glance back at her and Dad, they look worn out too. And their eyes are red. Dad’s got his arm around Mom, holding her to his side.
Shit. Have I made them cry too?
“We can take a break. We don’t have to figure out your future in one afternoon.”
I gulp. “M-my future?”
Dad nods. “What’s best for you. What you’re going to need as… as we get older.”
This feels like a sentencing. And I know. I know what they’re going to say next.