Mom is the most dramatic person I know. I always chalked it up to her growing up gifted with the name Barbie. Had to have been hard on her.
“Did you stop in here just to ask me about the equation?” I let the coffee pot work as I lean against the counter.
“We wanted to get out of the city for a while. Figured a day trip to check on you would be nice.” My mom forces a smile.
She really wants to see where I am on solving the problem. She’s not opposed to me cheating to win, I’m sure. Imagine my surprise when I turned in a paper my sophomore year in high school and my teacher pulled me aside to talk about plagiarism, only for me to find out my mom had switched her paper for mine during the night. Talk about feeling inadequate.
“I’m not showing you the problem,” I say, pouring her a cup of coffee.
“Then let’s take this time to talk about some of your life decisions. Like you working from home in order to care for your delinquent roommate who crashed his motorcycle, probably from driving recklessly.” She sips her coffee. “This is too strong. Do you have milk?”
I stand and pull the milk from the fridge.
“Do you have almond or soy?” she asks.
“We’re not Whole Foods,” I say, grabbing the regular whole milk.
My mom has a specific look when I’ve annoyed her. So far, I’ve seen it three times in this short visit. I like to count because the child inside me enjoys pissing her off.
“Are you dating him?” my dad asks, which is surprising. He didn’t even come out of his office when I went to prom.
“We’re friends, and I’d rather not talk to you about it right now.” I sip my water.
My dad pats my hand. “Okay, sweetheart, but I will agree with your mother. A man like him might be easy on the eyes, but he’s going to be hard on the bank account.”
I stare blankly, and he chuckles. Another stupid joke.
“He runs his own tattoo parlor,” I say.
“Rian, you cannot be serious. Is this some phase you’re going through? You need to be with someone with goals and dreams and… money.” Mom nods the entire time like a bobblehead. Barbie the bobblehead. No one would buy one because they’d be nauseated by how much it bobbles.
“I told you I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s not an option. We’re your parents,” my mom says.
“And I’m not twelve.”
There’s the look again. We’re up to four times now.
“What on Earth do you talk about? Surely you have nothing in common.” My dad continuing this line of conversation makes me want to bash my head on the table.
“Another topic please,” I say.
My dad looks at my mom and they nod in agreement, but it won’t be the last they have to say about Dylan.
But if they can’t talk to me about the math problem or Dylan, there isn’t a ton left.
“Looks like you haven’t baked in a while?” my dad says, scanning the counters. He wants a sweet since my mom limits them as though he’s a child.
“Not in a few days.”
My mom exaggerates leaning over as she examines my body in the chair. “You looked thinner over there.” She motions to the wall that Dylan had me pinned against.
Reliving that moment, my body warms like I’ve sunk into a hot bath. “Is that a compliment?”
“You’re very touchy today. I think you’re probably getting your period,” Mom suggests. “Johann is going to beat you if you don’t start making smart decisions. I feel like we raised you well.”
And here we go. Same old same old.
She stares at my father with her trembling chin. He puts his hand on hers on the table, leaving the apple core in the middle.
“We did great,” he says. “She has a job and supports herself. What else can we ask for? I think we knew at three there were no Nobel Prizes in our future.”
Cue my mouth drop.
I must make a noise because both of them look at me as though they’re surprised I’m in the room. My dad’s other hand reaches for mine and I’m too dumbstruck to care.
“No offense, sweetie. It’s like winning the lottery.”
I stand so fast my parents’ eyes widen. “Did I miss the part where the two of you won a Nobel Prize? Is it hidden in a box somewhere?” A strangled laugh erupts out of me, which is good because at least they won’t see me cry. “You two get off on how smart you are. Well, I’m sorry that two smart people didn’t make an uber-smart person, but I am smart. And if I choose to write textbooks for a living, then so be it. And if I run out and marry Dylan, then that’s my choice.” I point at myself. “Me, because I’m an adult.”
“I doubt Dylan is the marrying type. And even if he did, he screams cheater.” My mom rolls her eyes.
My hand flies out, pointing at the door. “Out!” I inhale a deep breath. “Out. Leave.”
“Sweetie, you’re overreacting,” my dad says.
“We’ll talk after you’re done with your period,” my mom says, standing and tucking in her chair. “You’re obviously emotional.”
My arm drops and my fists clench at my sides.
“It wasn’t a knock on you,” my dad says, but my mom pushes him toward the door.
“You’re lucky to have us, and you need to realize that one of these days,” my mom says. “Poor Sierra would probably love to have her mother here.”
It’s game over. All I see is red. Words and phrases flash in my mind. I could use the classic fuck off, or I could go into detail about how she’s the worst mom ever.
“Just please leave before I say something that would hurt you like you’ve hurt me all these years,” I say in a calm voice.
That sentence makes her stop. “Rian.” She sighs.
I shake my head, swallowing the lump and pushing back the tears.
The apartment door opens, and my parents rear back, the door barely missing them. Jax slides by, nodding his hello but never stopping to converse.
“Who’s this?” Mom asks, but I don’t answer.
Jax looks at me standing near the kitchen table and stops on the way to his bedroom. His gaze flickers from my parents to me and back to my parents. For once not one smart comment comes out of his mouth.
“Just go, Mom,” I say softly.
My mom looks at Jax. “Just another horrible decision. Let’s go, Larry.” She squares her shoulders and walks out the door.
“Bye, sweetie. We love you. I never meant—”
“Larry!” my mom screams.
“Call us after you’re done menstruating.”
He shuts the door and I collapse into a chair, throwing the apple core at the door. My head falls into my folded arms and I weep for everything I’m not in my parents’ eyes.
“Hey,” Jax says, running his hand over my back. “You okay?”
I sit up and wipe the tears from my eyes. “You know, you and Dylan think your lives are so hard because you don’t have parents, but not all parents are good people.”
He slides the chair beside me out from the table and lowers himself into it. “I get that.”
“They expect me to be perfect. I was valedictorian.” I swipe a tear. “I was dean’s list every semester in college. I never did anything bad. Never got arrested or in trouble. I respect my elders. I’m polite and courteous to everyone I meet. Do you think any of that is enough for them?” I point toward the door. “No, because all they care about is whether I get some award they can brag to their friends about.”