“You do not have the right to spy on me and I will not allow you to do it anymore. From now on, I will not have Tristan protecting me. I understand where your fears stem from, so I will have a bodyguard, but I get to choose who that will be. Their contract of employment will be with me, I will set the parameters of that contract and they will answer to me, not you. Your needs don’t come into the equation.”
“I think this is something we can work with, although I would prefer it if you would still use Tristan but set the ‘parameters of that contract’ with him. We would also prefer it if you didn’t see Jackson Smoak,” my father says like he’s negotiating a billion-dollar deal.
“At what point do you think you still have a say over any of this? You are not in a position to make demands.”
“See reason, Em,” Tristan surprises me by using my nickname, “At least wait until you’ve reached your prime before starting anything with him. If you have any concern for your own self-preservation, you’ll see it makes sense to wait until you’re immortal before potentially putting yourself in danger. There are still supernaturals who see relationships between Guardians and Avidites as race-mixing – why paint a target on your back before you’re strong enough to weather the fallout?”
He has a point.
He knows he has a point.
I know he has a point…I hate that he has a point.
If I agree to this, how much damage will it do? How badly will I hurt Jackson? How badly will I hurt me? Would he wait? Would this just be another way in which I concede control to my overbearing parents?
I look to Dee for guidance.
“We’re in this weird maturity limbo; we can’t say with any finality either way, that we are or aren’t immortal. We may have already hit our prime, then again…maybe not. The six-year maturity guide line gives us a timescale we can depend on. What Tristan said makes sense in a very black and white way, but there’s a whole spectrum of gray area that exists where feelings are concerned. This is a decision that can only be made by you because you’ve come to your own conclusions, without biased input,” she says, looking pointedly around the room.
“Dee’s right. I can’t ignore the point you’ve made, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to do what you want. The crux of this whole argument is my ability to choose without your interference or fearful prejudices; Jackson is another part of my life where you can have no say. I make that call, if and when.”
No one, apart from Dee, is pleased with this. My mom looks between my father and me with a lost, terrified expression while my dad stares me down, measuring my conviction.
I stand my ground.
“I agree that you should be allowed the freedoms you want and I appreciate your attempt to understand our perspective –”
I can feel the but coming…
“– but it is unrealistic of you to think that we’ll suddenly be able to cut-the-apron-strings and let you run off into the world unprepared. I know we haven’t done ourselves any favors by omitting certain information and I know we can’t compel you to cut contact with Mr. Smoak, but I’m hoping we can find a compromise?” asks my father.
“I’m listening,” I answer warily, still bristling at his presumptuous tone.
“We would be comfortable giving you the freedoms you’re demanding if we knew that you could protect yourself. Therefore, would you be open to joining the Corps?”
Demanding?!
“It is my liberty to live free from parental interference; that’s not a demand, it’s a civil fucking right. The sooner you grasp this very simple concept and acknowledge that the only people at fault are yourselves, then the sooner when can start to rebuild our now tattered relationship. That being said, I could be open to a career in the Corps,” I say slowly.
The ‘Corps’ is a covert government department comprised entirely of supernaturals employed to combat issues arising from misbehaving immortals. A sort of supernatural police force.
It works closely with elements of the CIA and FBI that have a high enough security clearance to know the truth about our kinds.
Its headquarters is located in San Francisco, so it’s not a surprise that if I won’t willingly separate from Jackson my parents would try and negotiate my relocation to the other side of the continent.
Dee is already signed up to start training with the Corps following graduation, but I haven’t made a decision on what I want to do post-college.
I know I don’t want to join Dad and work for ‘Stellar Enterprises’ just yet – especially after this.
I’ve been toying with the idea of joining Dee in the Corps, but now my parents are souring that idea by making it more about what they can ‘deal’ with and less about a choice I’m happy to make.
“Obviously, we only expect you to undertake an intelligence-based role,” squeaks my mother, clearly shaken by me calling our familial relationship tattered.
“Deal breaker. If I sign up, I will go into whatever role my aptitude scores suggest would be best. I’ve excelled in self-defense classes so I could see myself being suited to a more front-line position.”
That’s the truth and I tell it to her…I’m not pandering to my mom anymore. “And given that I would be very well trained in that role, there would be no reason for me to have Tristan, or any other bodyguard, following me around. There are probably rules against having a human accompany a supernatural on covert operations anyway.”
“But what if you are suited to a position that doesn’t give you combat training?” asks Tristan in a steely tone.
“Then I’ll be in a building with a lot of people who do have it. You wouldn’t be able to protect me any better than those already trained by the Corps. Either way, your presence isn’t necessary.” I say to Tristan before turning my attention back to my parents. “If you want me on the other side of the country, then the job I do will be my choice and I won’t be babysat by a security detail.”
My mother can sense she’s losing this battle, but I’m frustrated to see her steely determination flash vibrantly in those brown eyes of hers; she thinks she has a plan.
“Fine. No security detail, but you give me your phone right now along with the note that boy wrote his number on. We’ll have a replacement phone for you within the hour,” she says with annoying self-satisfaction.
I give Tristan my best death stare; obviously, he heard my conversation with Jackson through the door last night and ratted me out. There’s no other way my mom would know about Jackson’s note otherwise.
“You untrustworthy asshole, Tristan. I thought with all your military training you’d at least have some integrity, but you’re just an unscrupulous–”
“Em, I’m so –”
“I’M NOT FINISHED! This is not a negotiation; this is my life. I will choose whether or not I join the Corps, I will choose which job I do if I join, I will choose whether or not I see Jackson again, and I will not surrender my phone to you so that you can prevent me from contacting him. This is how I’m living my life; get on board or get out. There’s no place in my life for people who don’t support me.” I fume.
I am bone-shatteringly tired of this conversation; why is it so hard for them to accept that I’m an independent young woman and they are in the wrong?