Page 82 of She Likes It, Hey Micah
His smile drops. “Are you in trouble?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Is it your company?” Mom reaches forward, like she’s going to take my wrist, but she stops herself.
I don’t remember her ever being physically affectionate, so the gesture feels foreign. I’m almost glad she doesn’t touch me; I’m still processing her greeting.
“Uh.” I clear my throat. “No. No, I’m hoping all of that is behind me now.”
“Is it Grant?” Dad steps forward, and now that he’s closer I can see more lines in his face as well. Have my parents been dealing with a lot of stress that I didn’t know about?
When Mom’s eyes fill with worried tears when I don’t answer, I grab her hand. “No,” I say quickly. “Grant is okay. My trouble is more…personal.”
“Well, come in and sit down. I have some iced tea in the fridge.” With the way she grips my hand and tugs me deeper into the house, it’s like she’s afraid that I’ll run away and not show up again for several years. I don’t blame her, though she’s never seemed to care before.
The living room looks the same as it always has, so I’m not quite sure why everything feels off at first. It’s only when Mom hands me a glass and sits directly next to Dad on the couch that things start to click into place, though I’m still not fully making sense of what’s happening.
I wasn’t planning on a full sit-down conversation on a workday, nor have I ever seen them sit side by side.
Holding hands.
I must have all sorts of confusion on my face because Mom smiles up at Dad before she says, “Things have changed a bit since you were home last.”
“A bit,” I croak back. I think the only time I’ve ever seen them hold hands was when they hosted fancy client dinners at our house and pretended to be a couple madly in love to build credibility as a team. I hated those dinners; either Grant and I were forced to stay silent upstairs—not an easy feat when we were prone to fight if we got in each other’s way—or we had to dress up and be the perfect children while making small talk with boring adults.
I swallow, dizzy as they beam at each other with loving eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“I had a heart attack last winter,” Dad says. He says it so simply. So easily.
I clench my hands into fists. “What? Why didn’t I know—”
“I called you,” Mom says quietly.
At this point, I’ve lost track of the number of calls I’ve fielded from my parents. Usually when they call, it’s to offer unsolicited advice or criticism, and if this happened last winter, I was in the thick of things with my company. I probably didn’t even give any thought to calling her back.
I set my glass of tea on a coaster before dropping my elbows to my knees. “I didn’t answer.”
“Grant didn’t either,” Mom says, as if that makes up for my ineptitude.
Dad grunts. “We’re not blaming you for anything. You were busy.”
“Too busy to know or care that my father had aheart attack?” I shake my head, wishing more than ever that Micah was with me so I could have something to hold onto. She would know how to make me feel better about being a terrible son. Somehow.
“In a way,” Dad continues, “it’s the best thing to ever happen to me. To us.” He kisses Mom’s cheek. “Your mother stayed by my side the whole time I was recovering, and I realized how much I had taken her for granted over the years. It’s like my eyes were opened and I saw who she really is for the first time.”
“Who would have thought your father could be romantic?” Mom says with stars in her eyes.
When they kiss, I drop my gaze. Both to give them privacy and because I’m not sure how I feel about seeing my unaffectionate parents showing affection. Sure, I’m glad they apparently like each other, but I don’t need toseeit.
“So, Dad has a near-death experience, and now you’re suddenly in love.” I’m not sure why I sound so bitter. Maybe it just hurts to know that Grant and I weren’t enough for them to figure each other out. What kind of life might I be living right now if I had been able to learn love from them?
Weirdly, this is making me wonder if Micah is right about a lot more than I thought. She clearly understands love better than I do.
Dad chuckles. “There’s nothing sudden about it. It’s not like we woke up one day and everything was different.”
“It was the little things,” Mom says. “Everyday decisions that built up to something we couldn’t ignore. I’m sure you know how it is.”
“How would I know?” I frown at them. “I’ve never seen love.”
