Chapter 40
40
The journey home is a daze. It’s like I’m bleeding out and slowly losing consciousness.
It is only when I take out my keys that I realize that I left my dress at the shop. What does it matter. I won’t be going to the gala anyway. Wale wouldn’t want me there.
I slip off my shoes, tutting at the thin streak of light coming from the living room. Well , that’s going to bump up this month’s bill.
I push the door open.
‘SURPRISE!’
It’s Mum and Dad. They’re standing with jazz hands under a massive CONGRATULATIONS banner, a few stray balloons by their feet. Mum pulls a party popper while Dad beams behind his phone, recording my reaction.
I look between them. Then at the ridiculously cute cupcakes on the table. I feel my lips quiver and I burst into tears.
It’s been over a minute since telling my parents the book deal is off. We’re all sitting on my one sofa, me in the middle. I feel as though I’ve just confessed to a crime. I had to tell them everything, including the fact that Wale is both my ex-boyfriend and my celebrity client.
I wish they weren’t here so I could mourn in peace. But they used their spare key to slip in when they realized I wasn’t at home. It’s hard to know what they’re thinking. They’ve been awfully quiet.
‘Why did you take the job in the first place?’ Dad says finally, trying to understand my logic. ‘And you should have told your agent the truth before you accepted the publishing deal.’
‘ And you should have been honest with Wale,’ Mum says in a disapproving tone. ‘I know he hurt you, dear, but how would you feel if it was the other way around?’
I push my glasses up, pressing my fists against my eyes, my blood heating under my skin. I don’t need to be told what I should have done. I already feel like a monster.
I lurch to my feet. I’ve had enough.
‘Okay! I get it!’ I flail my arms. ‘I’m one big disappointment. I know!’
‘We’re not saying that—’ Mum begins.
‘But you’re thinking it. Just say it! I’m a disappointment of a daughter.’
Mum stares at me, aghast. ‘Why would you say that, Temi?’
Dad puts his hand on her forearm – a quiet signal to allow me to speak.
So, I do. Every rooted belief roars out of me. Everything that has built up from when I was a kid. I talk at one hundred miles per hour while looking down at them, my arms everywhere. I tell them how sorry I am that I never became the child that they hoped for, and how sorry I am that they wasted their hard-earned wages to send me to a top private school. I tell them how sorry I am that I’m not like Rosemary. That I’m sorry for chasing a pipe dream.
By the time I stop, tears are rolling down my face. My throat aches from all the yelling.
Mum and Dad stare up at me in silence. Neither of them seem ready to speak.
‘How long have you felt like this?’ Dad says finally.
I wipe a stray tear with my sleeve. ‘I dunno.’ I sniff. ‘Since I was a kid. I just feel like I’ll never be good enough, no matter how hard I try. And even though it’s inspiring seeing how successful you both are, I also feel a lot of pressure, you know?’ A tear rolls down my cheek. ‘I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me; I will always be. But I can’t help but feel it’s all conditional. Maybe it’s all in my head. I was kinda hoping that becoming an author would put an end to that.’
There’s a beat of silence. The anger dissipates from my body. I’ve gotten everything off my chest but I don’t feel any lighter.
‘Come. Sit.’ Dad pats the space between him and Mum, still sunken from my weight.
The second I return to my seat, they immediately wrap their arms around me. Mum strokes my hair while Dad angles his body towards me.
‘First of all, we love you,’ Dad says.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I think of Wale and his dad and how desperately he craved that word.
‘You are our daughter, and we love you not for what you do but for who you are . If we made you feel like a disappointment, then your mum and I are sorry – we’re your parents. We’re not always going to get it right.’ He pauses. ‘Did I ever tell you about the time I got fired?’
I lift my sunken head. I’ve never known my dad to be out of a job.
‘You may be too young to remember but that time I had the entire summer off—?’
‘So, you weren’t on sick leave?!’ I can recall the summer as if it was only yesterday. I was about six or seven and Dad had said he would be home because he had hurt his knee. I was convinced he had pulled an extensive sickie because he walked around the house just fine. At the time, I thought he just wanted to stay at home to play with me.
‘And it took me eight attempts to pass my driving test,’ Mum says, grimacing as if she doesn’t want anyone to hear her secret.
‘Seriously? Eight times?’ I swear the woman can drive with her eyes closed.
She nods and then her expression changes to something more sober. ‘And I’ve nearly had to fold my business a couple of times,’ she adds quietly. ‘It’s honestly miraculous that it’s still going.’
I wrap my arms around them and, with happy tears welling, I sink into their warmth. It’s so easy to forget that my parents are flesh and bone.
‘We’re not perfect and we don’t expect you to be.’ Mum nestles her head against mine.
‘And clichéd as it sounds –’ Dad puts a hand on my knee – ‘we just want the best for you. And we’re proud of you.’
‘Oh, yes. Very proud,’ Mum says. ‘It takes a lot of courage to go after your dream.’
To lift my spirits, Dad suggests that we eat some cupcakes. It doesn’t take the heartache away, but I welcome the red-velvet flavour. Then, step by step, they help me hash out a plan of action. I’m so lucky to have them.
‘Okay, tonight, get some rest. Then first thing tomorrow I’ll email Mayee saying I need to speak to her urgently,’ I recite. ‘When I speak to Mayee, I’ll explain everything, apologize, take full accountability, answer any questions. As for Dionne –’ I let out a long exhale – ‘Mayee would probably want to speak to her.’
‘Just so you’re mentally prepared –’ Mum takes my hand in hers – ‘Dionne may never offer you another book deal.’
I swallow the burning lump in my throat. ‘I know.’ My voice cracks. ‘Don’t worry. I’m expecting the worst.’
The worst being that I’ll lose my editor and my renowned agent. That I’m blacklisted in the industry and no major publisher will want to work with me. It’s an excruciatingly painful pill to swallow, but I’ve brought this all on myself. I have to face the consequences.
My parents must have read the worried look on my face because they hug me again.
‘You’ll bounce back,’ Mum whispers.
‘And as always,’ Dad says, ‘we’ll be here.’