Page 40 of It's Always Sonny

He rubs the back of his head. “It was one time.”

“It was a hundred times.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Sonny.”

“Fine. Maybe it was a hundred times. But why does it bother you so much? It didn’t hurt anybody.”

It hurt me! I want to yell.

But he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know I was late for class and missed an exam that my hard-nosed professor wouldn’t let me retake (man, I hated that professor). He doesn’t know that every time we left lunch and he got distracted that last semester of our sophomore year, I ended up late for that stupid class or missed a quiz. He doesn’t know about the C minus I got and how I lost my full-ride scholarship because of it. He doesn’t know my parents flipped, took my car away, and threatened to cut me off entirely if I didn’t “turn things around.”

He has no clue that I didn’t know how to tell him no. I was so hot or cold when we dated, so all or nothing. I would make these blanket plans and schedules, insisting that I needed to study at certain times, and I would stick to it perfectly.

Until he wheedled his way past my walls.

And I would love the freedom. I would love the games and the fun and the feeling of abandoning responsibility!

The piper always had to be paid, though. I’d get home after a late night and cram without a minute of sleep. I’d study for a class during another class, weighing which lectures and assignments were more important than others. I was that guy on YouTube spinning a dozen different plates, trying to keep them all up, and Sonny didn’t know most of those plates were even there.

I didn’t know how to set a boundary with him. All I knew was how to put up walls.

Sometimes I flirted with resenting him over it.

But mostly, I resented myself.

I was so stupid. What kind of lovesick idiot can’t tell her boyfriend she needs to go to class? What kind of clown can’t insist that her schedule is important to her?

The kind that was raised by Thomas and Evelyn Emerson. The kind that was shown every day that love had to be earned. Back then, I was sure Sonny would break up with me the second he saw that I wasn’t who he wanted me to be.

I can’t blame him for not knowing.

But I also can’t open myself back up to being that person again. I was only too happy to have his attention and concern and love. I was only too happy to be consumed by him.

“Maybe you both did the best you could then. But you know how to do better now, so do it. In the meantime, give yourself some grace.” Linda’s words from this morning come back to me.

Was that really only this morning?

I do know how to do better now. With two perennially disappointed exceptions, I can even establish a boundary without having a panic attack.

I don’t want Sonny to be a third.

“You should go have fun with your family,” I say. “That flag isn’t going to capture itself.”

He squeezes my elbow before limping toward his family. He settles at Sienna’s table and calls out to his brothers, “You guys really want a repeat of the Summer of Pain?”

Anthony, Emma and her twin, Eli, and a few others whip around. “You wanna put some money on this?” Anthony asks. Anthony’s wife groans.

“You must really hate money,” Sienna says with a laugh. “Sonny and I are unbeatable.”

“And Chris,” Chris, Sienna’s husband, adds.

“Right, babe.” Sienna pecks his cheek.

“He’s not putting money on this,” Amber insists. The Lucianos start getting louder and louder, and Sonny’s sisters-in-law roll their eyes harder and harder.

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