Page 24 of No More Heartbreakers

“Besides,” my father continued in his best convince-the-jury voice, “We have plenty to go around here.”

He waved a hand over the bounty set out on our large farm table in the kitchen.Exhibit A, your honor.

“There’s no reason you can’t at least come by a couple more nights a week—you certainly live close enough.”

“Don’t remind me,” I mumbled, twirling my fork in the fluff of mashed potatoes on my plate.

“Well, what does that mean?” Mom asked.

“Nothing. It’s just… I’m fine, y’all. I like living by myself. And I’m not starving to death or anything.”

“Well, you will if all you eat is those frozen lean-whatevers. That’s not real food,” Daddy said. “She’s too thin as it is, isn’t she, Marjorie?”

For a moment I closed my eyes and pictured Hale sitting at the head of our own future table in our own future house, surrounded by our future children and giving them the same speech.

The same well-meaning, concerned, suffocating speech.

“Your father’s right, sweetheart,” Mom chimed in.

Of course. According to her he always was. In this house, the rooster ruled the roost.

“It’s ridiculous for you to be spending your money on that awful hole-in-the—”

“Mom,” I protested.

“Well it is—on that… teensy outdated apartment, when we have so much room here, and you could be saving your money. You’re always saying how you want to be independent.”

I exhaled a short laugh. “How will moving back home at twenty-three make me more independent?”

“Well, you could save money to buy your own house or condo. And you could pay for your car insurance yourself.” She smiled brightly.

I tried not to cringe at her what-a-big-girl-you-are tone. It made me feel like a kindergartener and shamed me even more than any get-your-life-together-and-stop-sucking-off-the-parents speech ever could.

When I’d waved the white flag and retreated from Brown, I’d been all too happy to let my parents bandage my wounds and make my life easy. But a year after the graduation party and the big new-job celebration, being semi-dependent on them was getting old.

My life didn’t feel much different than it had before I graduated. Only now I was away-at-work instead of away-at-school and not veryfaraway at that.

How could I blame them for believing I still needed their input on everything from what I ate to whom I dated?

And as long as they were still helping me pay my bills, I was obligated to listen to their never-ending advice.

“Where’s Hale tonight?” Daddy asked. “I thought he was joining us.”

“He called a couple hours ago and said he couldn’t make it,” mom said.

Daddy tipped his fork toward me, gesturing with it. “Don’t let that one slip the line, darlin’—he’s a keeper.”

“About that… we’re… taking some time to… think things over.”

“What?” My parents wore nearly identical expressions of horror.

It was no secret they were very attached to Hale—my fault for letting him come around so often.

“Now listen, honey, I know you haven’t had an easy time in the romance department. I can understand why you’d be a little skittish—”

“Daddy. Can we please not talk about this?”

“I think we should. You’ve been with Hale a long time. He’s a good man. If I can’t keep an eye on you your whole life, I’d feel better if someone like Hale was doing it.”

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