Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
“Taylor. I need you to know something,” she says firmly. “You will always come first.”
“Yeah.”
“Always. You’re my daughter. My only child. We’ve been a team your whole life, and that’s not going to change. I’m still here for you above anything else. And anyone else. If you decide—”
“I’m not going to tell you to stop seeing him,” I blurt out, because I can see where she’s going with this.
“No, I know—”
“I want you to be happy.”
“I know. I’m just saying, if it came to it, I’m always going to pick my daughter over anything and anyone. It’s not even a question. You know that, right?”
But there were times she didn’t, and we both know it.
There were times when she was competing for tenure and promotions, writing books and touring campuses for speaking engagements. When she spent all day on campus then all night locked away in her office or hopping from one plane to another. Forgetting what time zone she was in and waking me up in the middle of the night to call me.
There were times when I wondered if I’d already lost her and that’s just how it was supposed to be: your parents get you walking and talking and able to heat up your own Hot Pockets, and then they get to go back to living their own lives while you were supposed to start creating your own. I thought I wasn’t supposed to need my mom anymore, and I started taking care of myself.
But then it would change. Get better. She would realize we hadn’t had dinner together in months; I’d realize that I’d stopped asking when she’d be back or for permission to borrow the car. She’d notice me coming home with my own groceries while she was eating a pizza on the couch and we’d realize neither of us had even considered checking with the other one. That’s when we’d realize we’d become roommates, and it would get better. We’d make an effort. She’d be my mom again and I’d be her daughter.
But to say that I have and will always come first for her?
“Yeah, I know,” I lie.
“I know you do,” she lies back. And I hear her sniffle as I’m rubbing the blur out of my eyes.
“I liked Conor,” she adds, which makes me smile.
“I do too.”
“Are you taking him to the Spring Gala?”
“I haven’t asked him yet, but probably.”
“Is this serious, or…dot, dot, dot.”
That’s the question everyone wants an answer to, Conor and me included. The question neither of us have wanted to look directly at, instead catching it in glimpses and flashes out of the corners of our eyes. The moving target floating in the periphery of our vision. What does serious mean and what does it look like? Do either of us have an idea or would we know it if we saw it?
I don’t have a good answer, and I’m not sure Conor does, either.
“It’s still new,” is all I can think to say.
“It’s okay to try things, remember. You’re allowed to be wrong.”
“I like things the way they are for now. And anyway, it’s probably not a good idea to put a lot of expectations on each other right before finals, and then it’s summer break, so…dot, dot, dot.”
“That sounds like an exit strategy.” She pauses. “Which isn’t a bad thing, if that’s what you need.”
“Just being realistic.” And reality has a way of smacking you in the face when you least expect it. So, yes, Conor and I might have something good going right now, but I haven’t forgotten how this whole accidental relationship started. A dare that turned into a revenge plot that morphed into a full-blown situationship.
I have a feeling that someday, many years from now, Conor and I will cross paths at an alumni banquet and, squinting at one another from across the crowded room, remember the semester we spent in each other’s pants. We’ll laugh about it and share the amusing anecdote with his statuesque supermodel wife and whomever I wind up with, if anyone.
“I do like him,” she repeats.
I almost tell her he invited me to California over the summer then bite it back. I feel like she’d make a big deal of it.
Granted, I already opened that stupid door when I let him meet my mother.
It didn’t even occur to me that bringing Conor to dinner last night was crossing that major relationship threshold of introducing him to Mom. I just couldn’t stomach the idea of sitting through the evening without some backup.
You’ve got to hand it to Conor—he didn’t even flinch or fluster. He’d just shrugged and said, “Sure, if you don’t mind picking out my clothes.” His biggest concern was whether he had to shave, and I’d told him if I had to shave then so did he. After a week of his stubble rubbing a raw patch on my chin, I had put my foot down on the facial hair situation. Thinking about it now, that was another relationship milestone.