Page 86 of The Kiss Countdown

I find myself drifting past my parents’ bedroom for the fifth time in thirty minutes. The door is wide open, so I’m able to see my mom knitting something with green yarn while she reclines in bed watching TV. I may be on the verge of developing some sort of compulsion disorder, but the trade-off is breathing easier each time I stride by, so I’ll take it.

As I make another pass on my way to the kitchen for no other reason than I’m restless, she looks up at me deadpan. “Well, you might as well come on in here instead of trying to wear down my carpet.”

I’m busted, but I make my way to the bed and crawl into the empty spot on my dad’s side, snuggling under the heavy comforter. Mom smirks and presses Play to resume the cupcake competition. We both wince in full sympathy when the camera cuts to a man taking a pan out of the oven only to reveal a batch full of sunken centers.

“That poor man,” Mom says. “Reminds me of the time you and Gina made all those cupcakes in my kitchen. If I recall, y’all had more than a few batches that were a little concave.”

I huff out a laugh. I definitely remember that day. Gina was running for prom queen. Instead of a popularitycontest, our high school’s tradition was to crown whoever raised the most money for their charity of choice. Gina wanted to raise money for our local humane society and was sure baking would turn a huge profit. It would have gone better if either of us had experience in the kitchen. In the end, we filled the less-than-stellar cupcakes with icing and spent hours restoring the kitchen, and Gina lost to the president of the French club, who had the genius idea to sit outside Costco and ask for donations, netting her charity a few thousand dollars and no mess.

“And you couldn’t even help us,” I say. “You came out of your room to see what we were up to and walked right back in.”

“Not my monkeys, not my circus,” she says with a laugh.

I take a deep breath and lean closer to her on the pillows. “You know, I still cringe at the thought of ever making cupcakes again.”

“You never did like the idea of giving something a second chance once you decided it wasn’t for you. Or someone.”

I may have kept the majority of my life for the last year from her, but my mom still knows her child. She’s right. After one bad experience, I swore off baking cupcakes forever. Years before that, it was bikes. Dad taught me after I’d begged and begged him to take off the training wheels. I was able to balance easily enough, even dared to take my hands off the handlebars like I’d witnessed the cool kids at school do. For a few seconds, it was amazing. With my hands up high and the wind whipping my face, it felt like I was flying. Then my tire hit a crack in the uneven sidewalk, and I really was airborne, over my bike and onto the ground. I never touched a bike again.

It seems that crashing just when it feels like I’m flying has become the terrible metaphor of my life.

Once the initial panic subsides on the show, the baker speaks to his partner, and they decide to fill the cupcakes with a strawberry compote. Disaster is averted, and they escape elimination.

As the next round begins, Mom mutes the TV. “Are you ready to tell me what’s been bothering you? It’s been a week, and you’re still moping around like the world has fallen apart. I know you loved your job, but this isn’t only about Jacob firing you. Or your breakup.”

There are so many things weighing me down, I might as well be an anchor bound to the ocean floor. It’s been a week since I asked my parents if I could move back into my old room. So far, I’ve come clean about my breakup with Derrick and not being able to afford my apartment. I even told them about the hospital bill. As expected, they weren’t happy to learn I took it upon myself to bail them out, and surprised me with the news that they were expecting the bill and had saved up enough already. They want to pay me back, but I’m insistent they keep the funds and use them on an even bigger vacation. The money I used will serve as a lesson that even though I’m an adult, I shouldn’t keep things from them. Especially when it has to do with their finances.

And now, in the face of more questions, I still can’t bring myself to talk about the reason my heart is slowly bleeding.

I turn to her and ask my own question. “Why didn’t you and Daddy just tell me about the wheelchair?”

She sighs and remains silent for a long time. Long enough for the show’s judges to perform taste tests. “I didn’t know how to,” she finally says. “Your dad and I always tried to teach you the value of honesty, but last year in the hospital, it hit me that we may have failed you in other areas.”

“What are you talking about? You and Daddy never failed me.”

“Amerie, I’d watch you sit across the room like you were in a trance, only to go to the restroom and come out with bloodshot eyes from crying behind closed doors. I realized that we never taught you it’s okay to be vulnerable. You don’t have to be strong for me. You don’t have to hold in the fear that you’ll lose me so tightly that it suffocates you.”

A tear escapes from my eye and I quickly wipe it away.

“So, to answer your question, we didn’t tell you because I don’t want you worrying about me day and night. I want you to live. Travel the world. Fall in love and give me some grandbabies to love on.” Mom covers her mouth. “Wait, in this day and age, we’re supposed to let our children choose their own path. Oh well, I meant it. Give me some grandbabies.”

A watery laugh escapes me. Trust Mom to support whatever path I choose while also making her wishes known.

Back on the TV, the bakers are now furiously assembling a cupcake tower while the timer ticks down. It’s a melee of icing as contestants pray that the cupcakes are cool enough, adding finishing touches and decorating the backdrops, all the while knowing just one mistake could cost them everything they’ve worked so hard for.

“What took you so long to tell us what was going on with everything?” Mom says.

“I didn’t want you and Daddy worrying about me.” My smile is full of the absurd irony of it all. “I didn’t want to be the reason you gave up your dream of traveling, because I knew if I asked for help that’s exactly what you’d do.” I give her a pointed look.

Sure enough, once my parents knew I was out of a place to stay, they decided to stay home against my protests that I would be fine.

Mom laughs. “What a pair we make. Amerie, Iunderstand you not wanting Daddy and me to worry, but it’s what parents do. As for not wanting us to give up our dream, Daddy’s already mapping out our trip to the East Coast. We’ll be out of your hair in a few weeks, I promise.”

I close my eyes and sigh. “Good. I just want you and Daddy to be happy and enjoy every second you have together.”

“Mimi, I know you do. AndIwantyouto feel comfortable coming to us about anything.”

I nod. It’s like a weight has been lifted from my chest, knowing that my parents are still determined to resume their trip. It’s almost like I caused myself so much stress keeping secrets over nothing.

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