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“Is that acceptable, honey?” he asked finally.
Mom was crying silently, but she just nodded. “I need to meet the man.”
“I was hoping he could come for Thanksgiving. His mother will be in town as well, and we can all get together and…”
“His mother?” Dad interrupted.
I nodded.
“Owen said she’s a little difficult sometimes, but she’ll be here soon and she just kind of comes as part of the package until she goes back to New York.”
“Gran will be there,” Mom said quietly. “She’s not going to understand this, honey.”
“Gran will have to understand. What you have to say about him means a lot to me, but even your disapproval won’t stop me from seeing him.”
Dad just gave a curt nod and opened his paper back up.
I was kind of surprised.
“That’s it?” I asked him.
He didn’t even look at me when he said, “Does it matter? You’ve informed us that our opinions don’t matter on the subject, so I don’t see the point in continuing to talk about it.”
I took in a sharp breath, processing the sharp sting his words left. It would have been better if he’d yelled, cried out, or even cursed. The callous, flippant words tore right through me in a way none of the others could have.
Mom didn’t say anything either. She just silently wiped tears from her cheeks as we three sat in silence again.
Taking that as my cue, I hurried back toward the door to leave.
Nobody stopped me.
I got back into my car and drove home, back to the dorm which was empty more often than not lately. Clea was with her boyfriend Howard a lot lately, which gave me way too much time to think. But, instead of thinking this time, I flipped open my laptop and opened my manuscript and poured everything I had left onto the pages.
Line after line appeared under my fingers. Every moment my heroine felt the strain of judgment for her choices and many boyfriends, I felt it personally to my bones. I didn’t have many boyfriends, but I did have one that the most important people to me scoffed over. Listening to Mom cry about something that made me so happy was…
Before I knew it, tears were dropping down my cheeks and wetting my hands over the keyboard. I stopped writing for a minute, then went back and read what I wrote, which made the tears come harder.
Ugh, I needed a break.
Pulling out my phone, I sent a text to Owen just to update him.
Me: So, I told them. We’ll be going to my parent’s house on Thursday for Thanksgiving.
It didn’t take long for him to write back. When his name popped up I smiled. I needed to change his contact name.
Professor Harlo: How did it go?
Me: It could have been better. It was about how I expected, to be honest.
After sending the text, I went in and changed his name.
Owen: Do you want to come over? We can talk about it.
Looking around my dorm and, seeing the empty space, I let a smile bleed over my face as I answered.
Me: I need to see you. But do you want to come here? My roomie is gone, and we’ve never christened my bed.
There was a long pause before my phone rang.
