Page 58 of The Romance Rivalry

“Mom, it’s been two months.” I see her hopeful expression falter. My heart drops along with all her hopes and dreams for me, her “other” daughter. It feels premature to mention Aiden at all, despite the fact that he’s all I’ve been thinking about recently. But if I throw her a bone and hint at some romantic entanglement, maybe she’ll be too distracted to look at all the other things. “Not hardly enough time to whittle down all my choices. But there might be someone pulling ahead of the pack.” I nudge her shoulder, putting on the well-practiced expression I use when a book I’ve read doesn’t quite work for me but I want my followers to believe otherwise.

The sparkle returns to my mom’s eyes, and she clasps her hands together toward her chest. She opens her mouth to respond, but I put my finger to my lips and wink, as if it’s our little secret instead of just my not-so-little lie.

But we’re all standing in a one-hundred-square-foot room where whispers are essentially shouts and nobody’s business remains a secret.

“What’s this I hear?” Dad’s voice breaks through my lie-induced haze. “My baby girl has a college boyfriend?” He uses an I’m-gonna-kill-that-boy voice, but the excitement at being included in the gossip betrays him.

I sneak a peek at Jeannette, whose eyes are big as saucers. She tucks her lips between her teeth and shrugs her shoulders. I’m on my own. Traitor.

“Boyfriend is a bit of an overstatement, let’s get real. I mean, I didn’t have a boyfriend for four years in high school and you think it’s suddenly gonna happen in two months?”

“I told you, Brighton makes a boy into a man. A man can step in and woo a young lady with just a wink and a smile,” Dad says.

I hold back my response. No reason to get my dad worried that the type of guys he’s describing could be serial heartbreakers or likely incarcerated soon.

“Well, I’m sure that Irene has been focusing on her studies. She finally gets to be taking literature classes and taking those steps to becoming an editor. This is all so very exciting,” Mom says.

It’s like we haven’t moved forward in two months. These are the same conversations we had before I even startedcollege. Their hopes and dreams, their plans, all squarely on my shoulders.

But it also feels like I’m a totally different person, that I’ve completely changed. I don’t know how to explain that to my parents. I wonder: As we spend some time together today, will they notice? Or maybe I haven’t actually changed at all.

“Jeannette, we’re gonna go and take off and get some seats in the lecture hall. Do you want us to save some for you and your dad?” I ask.

“That’d be great,” she says. “We’ll see you there.”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

And I lead my parents along the way.

“That’s where I sometimes sit to have lunch,” I say, pointing to a spot in the quad where I’ve never once sat to each lunch.

“Yes, I used to spend time out here in the quad myself,” Dad says, clearly pleased I’ve followed in his enjoy-the-quad lifestyle.

“And this is my favorite of the three libraries on campus,” I say as we pass Central Library. Still not my favorite, but the one Aiden loves to meet at.

“I love libraries! All those books! Tell me, do you just walk up and down the aisles and touch the spines? It sounds like the most wonderful way to spend the afternoon,” Mom says dreamily.

I don’t mention how the library reminds me so much of Aiden and the deep and vulnerable conversations we’ve had there together. It feels special, like our hideaway. “Yes, gotta love all those spines,” I say.

The lecture hall is pretty packed when we arrive and finding five seats together is an impossible task. I point to four seats in a row and tell my parents to sit down and save the other two for Jeannette and her dad. I can stand off to the side during the presentation. But as they make their way down, I notice who else is seated in that row... Dr. Kingston, the one person I was hoping to avoid today. I scan the room for any escape route. I see the red fire alarm and wonder if there really is a fine associated with pulling it falsely. I look at the stairs running the length of the lecture hall seating and wonder how much damage would be done to my young and quick-to-heal body if I purposely rolled down them to distract everyone. I clock the microphone sitting in its stand at the front of the room and consider belting out the latest TWICE song to drown out any conversation that could be had between my parents and the professor of the class I should not be failing... and yet, tragically, most definitely am.

Time seems to slow as I watch my mom turn her head to the person next to her, huge smile on her face, ready to meet a “new friend,” as she calls anyone who she’s first introduced herself to.

Tap tap tap. My mom’s head turns quickly to face forward for the announcement. “Welcome, everyone, to this year’s Brighton College Parents Day,” a cheerful voice comes through the speakers. Saved by the overeager, and ever-punctual, freshman class president... for now.

Jeannette sneaks in and stands next to me as her dad crouches and excuses himself down the row and sits next to my parents. He is a very big man, so it’s difficult for him to squeeze through. Jeannette’s eyes widen when she sees my face. “What? Something terrible happened already?” she whispers.

I cock my head in the direction of our parents and her eyes scan the row. They grow comically large when they land on Dr. Kingston sitting next to my mother. “I’ll block everyone as soon as we’re excused so you can have a straight shot down there and grab your parents. Maybe you can distract them before any introductions have to be made.”

I give her a sad smile, appreciative of her efforts. If only the Brighton gods were so kind.

“Um, Dr. Kingston, these are my parents,” I say, unable to hide my complete dread at making the introduction. Despite Jeannette’s valiant effort, I was unable to reach my parents before they made contact with my professor. As soon as the information session was over, it was as if my mother couldn’t help herself. She immediately turned and reached out herhand to the man sitting next to her, making it impossible for me to ignore them all now as they make their way up to where I’m standing by the exit.

“Mom, Dad, this is Dr. Kingston, my, um, Intro to Lit professor,” I mumble.

“Hello, John Park. I’m a Brighton alum, and father to this brilliant young lady right here. Nice to meet you.” Bury me now.

“Oh, Dr. Kingston, it is such a pleasure to meet you. My name is Jennifer Park. I’m Irene’s mother. I’m a fervent and prolific reader, much like Irene, and thank you so much.” She hasn’t let go of his hand in minutes, hours maybe. “You are helping make all of her dreams come true. Being at a top-ranked school like Brighton, studying literature, becoming a future editor one day, moving toward her goal, this is all so wonderful.” My mom finally lets go of his hand in order to clasp both of hers in front of her chest once again, like she’s about to explode with pride. My face turns as red as a tomato, but my discomfort is unmatched compared to the plastered-on smile and sympathetic eyes of Dr. Kingston.

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