The Do-Over(71)
Author: Suzanne Park

 

Jake tugged on the belt tie of my robe. “I can’t wait,” he murmured.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Six

 

 

My parents showed up at my apartment the day of graduation with a box of oranges, a Hallmark card, and my old commencement gown from ten years ago.

 

I hadn’t invited them. I didn’t think they’d want to come.

 

“Why didn’t you tell us which day is your big day? We ask your sister. Sara tell us you graduate today.” Umma clucked her tongue and looked at my dad as if to say, “Youngest daughter. She’ll never learn.”

 

As annoying as it was that they showed up unannounced with a heavy box of citrus from Costco, I could see it was their own way of showing their love.

 

My mom and dad marveled at the farm decor. I’d gotten so used to it that I had forgotten what my initial reaction had been. They held hands and said a prayer in Korean, blessing my home. After taking off their shoes, my mom and dad wandered around, examining each room.

 

Dad fell into the recliner and leaned back, then flipped on the TV.

 

“Just make yourself at home, Appa,” I joked.

 

He muttered, “Your sister kids, they are too much work. We are tired grandparents. We need a break.”

 

My mom nodded vigorously. “They asking so much. ‘Help me, Halmoni!’ Cry all the time. Picky eating.” She shook her head. “Make us realize how easy you were. Your sister too.”

 

Had they . . . softened by becoming grandparents? It had never occurred to me that they could change at all. Even so, they always managed to cause some degree of drama, and on this graduation morning, that was the last thing I wanted.

 

“I don’t have graduation tickets for you, I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone other than Mia and—” Shit, they didn’t know about Jake.

 

“And God.” Good one, Lily.

 

“God is everywhere,” Mom agreed.

 

I wiped my brow with the back of my hand. “Indeed, He is,” I said.

 

Dad said, “We tell everyone you working at Solv now. That’s good company.”

 

I’d started my job at Solv virtually, with the goal of transitioning to the NYC office at the start of summer, and that had temporarily put me in my parents’ good graces. But that was just it . . . it was only temporary. I knew to not let their opinions dictate who I was, not anymore. I had thought their love was what was most important. It was a well-meaning love, but too callously brutal and unhealthy to become fixated on. It wasn’t the only type of love in the world.

 

Self-love was what I needed most. And I had that now.

 

I extended an olive branch. “Maybe we can grab a late lunch after graduation, or tomorrow. You can buy me that steak you promised me,” I joked.

 

Mom held up my old gown encased in a thin dry-cleaner plastic bag. “It’s okay if we don’t go to ceremony. We saw you do before anyway ten years ago. Maybe if you wear this one you can give other one back for refund. Save money.”

 

I laughed and examined the material. It hadn’t faded at all. They’d brought it all the way from Virginia, where they lived now to be close to the grandkids. Bringing this gown was their way of showing they cared. Why not wear it?

 

I pulled it over my head, and luckily it still fit. The cap did too. “How do I look?”

 

I immediately regretted the open invitation to discuss my appearance. This could go in any direction, and the odds were 75 percent bad, 20 percent neutral, 5 percent good, with a margin of error of 5 percent.

 

My mom stifled a yawn and took an off-center photo of me in my gown, then shared it with my sister. Neither parent said anything about how I looked. They were too tired and probably forgot what we were discussing. But this was a much better outcome than I had hoped. I didn’t dare ask a second time.

 

My mom’s phone dinged twice. “Your sister write back.” She handed me her cell.

 

 

Tell her we’re all proud of her

 

Congratulations!

 

 

 

I beamed and made plans to meet my parents later in the day at my favorite café. They went back to their hotel to rest while I finished getting ready.

 

As I glided on the finishing touch of lip gloss, I noticed a white shirt box on my bed. At first, I thought it might be a graduation gown accessory from my parents, but it was too heavy. Lifting the lid and peeling back the tissue, I uncovered a plum-colored T-shirt with WORLD CLASS STEMINISTA in white lettering across the front with a card from Mia and Beth. I couldn’t wait to wear it.

 

Also enclosed was a scrapbook from Jake, with “Lily’s Greatest Hits” on the cover. Inside, he had filled it with photos and news articles from the last ten years, showcasing all my professional accomplishments, leaving blank pages in the back to add more. Creating a bound portfolio of my successes was something I had been meaning to do one day, to reflect on my personal and professional wins so I didn’t focus so much on all my screwups. So Jake wasn’t joking about his most recent scrapbooking endeavor. It was skillfully crafted, wonderfully curated, and, most important, thoughtful. This project must have taken him weeks. Maybe even months.

 

Flipping through page after page, I blinked back tears when I saw collages of photos and articles from my past and present, including old and new pictures from campus, my 30 Under 30 award, and an official book announcement for Type A Minus in Publishers Digest. By the time I got to the last page, the waterworks were unrelenting. The worst timing too, because I’d just finished all my makeup touch-ups. Luckily, I’d worn water-resistant eyeliner and the powder and blush were easy to reapply.

 

I ran out the door, thinking unironically how this was already turning out to be the best graduation I’d ever had.

 

I had officially graduated in December, but I had the option of walking with the rest of the senior class in May, which I gladly did. College graduation the second time around was just as exhilarating as the first. Beach balls bounced back and forth from the student body to the spectators. A few NSFW inflatable women and men were passed back and forth among the graduating class. Airhorns blared and noisemakers rattled. Ethan, Grace, and PJ brought bottles of vodka under their gowns and snuck occasional sips.

 

Walking the stage again as a real graduate felt especially important this time. When I shook Dean Balmer-Collins’s hand, she held it a little longer than expected. “I wanted to say how sorry I am about everything. Ten years ago I was so caught up in getting ahead and getting promoted that I—” Her voice hitched, her words catching in her throat. “You were right. I was selfish and made so many mistakes that I regret deeply. I owe you a huge apology. I will try to do better, I promise. By the way, I preordered your next book and will be following your journey.”