Page 51 of Give My Everything
Mati snickers but then continues down the hallway back to his room.
The three of us are all in our twenties—twenty-three, twenty-five, and twenty-nine—and we all live at home. I know it’s normal in Colombian families for children to live at home until they get married,andthat I really upset my mother when I chose to break from that tradition and move away.
I love my heritage, and feel proud of the traditions that have been passed down to me by my mother. But as high school started wrapping up and college got closer and closer, I resented my parents for putting pressure on me to go to a nearby school that would allow me to live at home.
That’s what Dominic did, commuting to UCLA three times a week then getting his master’s online.
Mati didn’t go to college, was never interested. Instead he just started working for my dad straight out of high school. Staying close to his family like he’ssupposedto, even though he didn’t go to college, means that he’s still in my mother’s good graces.
Me, though, I couldn’t imagine staying at home.
I felt smothered.
Now, part of me wishes I’d stayed, wishes I’d never left.
Maybe things in my life would have turned out differently.
Or maybe they would have been just the same.
All I know is that I love my parents. I hate disappointing them, and I want to make sure anything between myself and Ben doesn’t fly in the face of what our family values.
I wrap up the little doodle I’ve been messing with in my sketchbook and chuck it to the side, crawling off my bed and heading downstairs.
I’ve been ready and waiting for a while. I told Ben I could just meet him at the pier since his work is literally a football field away, but he insisted on picking me up.
He left work, went home to get ready, and then drove over here—as far as I know. So, I don’t understand why he’s showing up thirty minutes late.
“Sorry I’m late,” he calls up to me as I round the top of the bannister and head down the stairs. “I got caught up with my distributor.”
“I could have just met you there,” I reply, my irritation at feeling forgotten simmering beneath my skin. “It would have solved all of this.”
“But then we wouldn’t be arriving together,” he replies.
That’s always his focus.
Who’s seeing us? Who’s watching? Is there any point if we aren’t in the public eye?
I get it. I really do.
But we’re only going on our third official date and it’s already starting to get irritating.
“Do me a favor,” I say, grabbing my towel and purse from where I set them near the door an hour ago. “Stop talking about who’s watching us, okay?” I know my voice is holding more irritation than I should let on, but I’m feeling particularly bristly today. Then I say the words I wanted to say to him last time, and the time before that. “If you want me to act the part, stop yanking me out of the scene.”
And then I breeze past him and out to where his shiny black car is waiting for us.
I hear him sigh behind me and pull the front door closed, his feet eating up the walkway as he catches up in time to open the passenger door for me.
Before I can climb into the car, he grabs my hand.
“I just…don’t want to confuse anything,” he says, his eyes searching mine.
I huff out a humorless laugh. “Trust me, Ben, after how you responded the other night, I knowexactlyhow you see things between us.”
And then I drop myself into the seat.
He hovers at the door like he wants to say something else, but after a beat, he steps back, letting out another sigh before closing it.
We spend the ride to the pier in silence, a calming station playing on low on the stereo.
