The guy I was kind of dating moved back to Sweden and I’m going through it
Dad
Oh shit I’m sorry to hear that buddy
Mom
Text me your train time and we’ll pick you up
My train pulls into Burlington Station right after nine, and my parents are waiting on the platform. Clutching my weekend bag, I follow them to their car and settle into the back seat for the short drive to their new house. We make small talk about work and what I’ve been up to, but from the forced enthusiasm in both my parents’ voices, I can tell they’re holding back.
I put my bag upstairs, and when I come down, my parents are seated on the large sectional in the living room.
Mom pounces first. “Tell us about this mystery man and why he’s got you in such a state,” she says.
“He was—no. Heisnice.” I take a sip and let the alcohol run down my throat, a necessary distraction from my dismal feelings.
“A lot of people are nice, Luke,” Dad says. “Nice people don’t usually go around making people feel like crap.”
Mom jumps in again. “I’m guessing he was attractive, but did you like him beyond that?”
Dad sucks air in through his teeth and snickers while Mom glares at him. I’ve never even mentioned what Erik is like to my parents, but they assumed correctly, and they’re probably thinking that I hooked up with Erik and fell for his looks.
Like, yes, he’s super fucking hot. That isn’t the main issue.
The problem is that I like him as a person. I fell for him, and it isn’t like he made it hard. Forgetting about Erik would be so much easier if he treated me like crap, used me for sex, and ghosted me, but hehadto go and be the kind of guy peopledreamabout.
“Well? Was there anything there, or was he only a pretty thing who kept your bed warm?” Dad hauls me out of my daydreaming.
Hearing Erik reduced to a “pretty thing” makes me wince.
“His laugh,” I say. “Cutest sound I’ve ever heard.”
My parents’ faces tense up, maybe from surprise, and I keep going.
“Erik made me laugh, too. All the damn time. He was a little shy at first, but he opened up so fast and then he’d light the room up whenever he walked in.” I breathe out and run a hand over my face. “He listens. He cares. He’s so damn sweet without even trying, and fuck, that smile. He’d shoot me a grin and I’d feel special.”
Silence. My parents exchange a sad look. Maybe they’re trying to figure out how to tell me I’m screwed, as if I don’t already know.
The fact that I can ramble about Erik to my parents goes to show exactly how deep I got, and I didn’t even begin to scratch the surface.
Dad clears his throat. “So,” he starts, “what are you going to do about all this?”
I groan. “Cry and let my feelings die?”
Mom sighs. “Do you want to do that?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry buddy, but you’re screwed,” Dad says.
“That isn’t helpful!” Mom scolds him, and he tuts. “And when was the last time you talked to Erik?”
“This morning at two.”
Dad’s eyes widen. “You stayed up untiltwotalking to this guy?”
I nod.
