“I love a lot of things too,” my mother says. “And I never even dared to make them a career. You need to stop living in this fantasy land and start living in reality.”
“Your mother is right,” my father says, voice all low like he’s really getting down to business and throwing his man of the house card around. “The minute you graduate, you’re getting a steady, respectable job. I don’t care where it is but it’s not going to be based on some half-assed dream of yours. Very few people in the world get to write for a living. You have to be pretty damn special to be one of them.”
“Oh my god!” I cry out. “You haven’t even read my stuff! You have no idea at all if it’s any good.”
“You know, it’s pretty acceptable nowadays,” Aunt Sylvia says, sloshing her martini around as it splashes over the sides of the glass. “One word: Ellen Degeneres. She’s a big deal. Oops, I spilled my drink.”
“I’m sure you’re good, sweetie,” my father says, changing his tone. “But having talent and being good at something doesn’t mean you’ll get far in life. Stick to what’s dependable. You know. Alan’s getting pretty serious with a new girl…”
I frown at that. Really? Already??
My father goes on, “Apparently she’s going to be a genetic scientist. But you know, if you want him back, I’m sure I could put in a word for you.”
“Jesus Christ, I don’t want Alan back!” I yell.
“Amanda!” my mother cries at me. “You do not use the Lord’s name in vain in this house, in any house.” Her hand goes to her chest and she looks like she’s having a heart attack. “You are just taking a turn for the worst. I think you better start coming to church with me again.” She makes a faint sign of the cross.
“When I was in college, I had a very good girlfriend,” Aunt Sylvia notes.
“Amanda,” my father warns. “You better shape or ship out. I’m serious. You need to get a hold of yourself and act like an adult, or we’ll stop paying for your education. You won’t survive very long on the government’s loan.”
I try to breathe in deep but it’s hard. My whole chest feels thick, like I’m drowning on the inside. No matter what, they still have this fucking noose around my neck.
“What did we do wrong,” my mother says to my father, shaking her head slightly. “After Dahlia threw her life away, I had such high hopes for this one.”
“One night my girlfriend stole some barbiturates from her mother,” Aunt Sylvia continues, finishing her martini. “Boy, did we have a wild night. I had rugburns on my knees for days.”
I pause mid-chew. Now she has my attention.
“Amanda,” my father says. “Just promise me that you’ll think about it. About taking him back. Or at least letting us set you up with one of the Birmingham boys. All of them are going to law school now.”
I don’t say anything. There’s no point.
Aunt Sylvia sighs dreamily. “Sometimes I wished I had run off with her to Mexico like we’d planned. I would have never had to marry Seth.”
“What?” Uncle Seth asks her.
“Yeah, what?” I repeat.
Surprised, Aunt Sylvia looks up at us with glazed eyes. “What were we talking about?”
“Never mind,” my father grumbles. “Let’s just try and eat the rest of the meal in peace.
And that’s how lunch went with my parents. Not only do I think Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Seth are getting a divorce now, but I’ve learned just how much my parents don’t believe in me.
It makes me realize how badly I want this book to succeed, to prove them wrong, even if in secret.
It also makes me realize that there’s no guy I want to be set up with, none that I would be interested in dating. There’s only one guy for me at the moment.
And after last night, the thought of him scares me more than anything.
***
By the time I get back home, I’ve pushed my parents out of my mind and Blake’s found his way back in. I’m a nervous wreck again. Fortunately I have the place to myself again so I have time to stew over shit in silence.
Blake hasn’t stopped texting me.
Let me know when you’re free to talk – Turd Ferguson.
Give a shout when you can – Homer Sexual.
I just booked the editor for this weekend – Yuri Nater
Seriously, I’m not good at this game. We need to talk books. I promise I won’t kiss you – Hugh Jass.
Call me for the sake of your future – Mike Rotch.
The last one has me laughing, even though I can’t take a threat from Mike Rotch seriously.
I text him back.
What up?
He calls me.
I knew it.
I pick up the phone. “Why can’t you just text me?”
“Why can’t you use your mouth?” he answers smoothly.
Tread carefully. “I’m better at writing things out than saying them.”
“Oh, you mean you’re socially awkward and prone to saying the wrong thing all the time? You don’t say.”
“Shut up. What do you want?”
He snorts in amusement. “What do I want? As your business partner I’m here to remind you that we’re on a deadline. We only have a couple of days to finish the book and then it’s off to the editor and then it’s uploaded to Amazon. Release day, baby.”