Page 127 of Playbook
A smile lights up my face. “Really?”
She gives me one of her own smiles back and hesitantly nods.
“You want to quit your job?” London’s dad asks, breaking the moment. His tone has my hackles rising.
“Well, no,” she says. “I’d still work. I’ve been getting more side projects, and I could take on even more if I had extra hours.”
The silence at the table says more than her parents’ matching disapproving looks.
“What about benefits?” her mom asks. “Healthcare? 401k? Do you have savings?”
London opens her mouth to answer, but her dad speaks first.
“It’s great if you want to do your arts and crafts on the weekends, but quitting your job to draw cartoons for people?” His tone softens like it makes his words any less cutting. “That’s not a real job, honey.”
“It is a real job,” I butt in without thinking about it. “And she’s really, really talented.”
“Of course. We’re so proud of you,” her mom says.
“Are you?” London asks.
I hear the uncertainty in her tone, the hurt that is buried so deep that she’s questioning everything right now. Is she good enough? Can she succeed without their approval? Do they love her? Why don’t they want her? I know exactly how that feels.
My head spins and my body feels like it’s not my own.
I’m vibrating with anger when I speak. “She’s worked really hard, and you all should be congratulating her, not dismissing her accomplishments like they’re nothing.”
“We’re just looking out for her. London knows we love and support her no matter what.” Her mom’s face is filled with shock, like she can’t imagine how I jumped to that conclusion.
“Does she?” I glance at my girlfriend. I know how much guts it took for her to bring it up to them. She was excited and shared something with them and now she looks defeated.
“I’m fine,” London says in the same tone I’ve been using all fucking day. She’s not fine and neither am I.
“Being her parents doesn’t give you a free pass to make her feel bad. Don’t you want her to feel loved and appreciated? The world is hard enough, but you’re her safe space. She cares about you more than anyone else in the world, and this is how you repay her?” My temper rages on. “London is smart and talented, and she just wants you to love her for who she is instead of whoever you think she should be. Do you know she works twelve- and thirteen-hour days just to do the thing she loves? Or that she designed the cover of a book that hit theNew York Timeslist?”
They say nothing, but I can’t seem to stop.
“She deserves more from the people who are supposed to care about her the most.”
“Really, Brogan.” London places a hand on my forearm. “I’m okay.”
“We didn’t mean anything by it. We only want to make sure she’s thought through everything before she makes any rash decisions.” Her dad’s voice has a hard edge, but I can see he means the words coming out of his mouth. He’s completely oblivious to how his words cut her down. God, why do we as people have no ability to limit our damage to only hurting ourselves instead of everyone around us?
“Your parents must like to give you a hard time sometimes,” Chris says patronizingly. “You know what it’s like.”
“No. I don’t, actually. The last time I spoke to my dad, I was thirteen years old, and he was kicking me out of the house because I accidentally spilled orange juice on the counter and ruined his cigarettes.” One of many times he kicked me out, but that was the final straw. I was so tired of being yelled at every time I made a mistake. I moved out the next day on my fourteenth birthday.
The shock on their faces is immediate and no one says anything for too long.Fuck.
“If this is what it’s like to have your parents be a presence in your life, then I don’t think I missed out on much.” I stand, my chair screeching back along the floor. “Excuse me.”
My hands are clenched into tight fists as I step out into the night air and gulp it in. I let my head fall back so I can stare up at the dark sky.
Footsteps click behind me. I could pick hers out anywhere. I drop my chin to face her.
“Brogan.” Her voice is soft.
“I’m sorry.” I run a hand through my hair. “I can’t stand the way they dismiss you and your art like that. You work so hard, and it’s like they can’t see that not accepting it only hurts you.”
