What’s wrong with me? Why can’t Igive him a shot? A real one this time.
I skim through his messages for the umpteenth time—each one read but left unanswered. My thumbs hover over the keypad, but I can’t find the words I need.
My doorbell rings and I jump, flinging my phone across the room. Everyone else in my apartment has gone home to be with their families for the Christmas break. Everyone but me.
That’s another relationship I can’t seem to get right. What my parents put me through wasn’t fair, but maybe I haven’t been so fair to them either.
It rings again, and I pull myself up.It’s not Michael. But as many times as I tell myself that on the way to the door, a piece of my heart still holds onto hope until the very last moment.
I unlock the door and pull it open.
“Mom? Dad?” Both are here. In the same place.
Is the universe playing some weird trick on me?
Mom straightens the silly reindeer-patterned scarf around her neck. “Can we come in?”
“Yeah.” I step aside, and for the first time, both of my parents are in my house. Together. And no one is screaming yet.
“Do you guys want something to drink?” I ask, needing something to do with my hands.
“No, we just need to talk to you,” Mom says.
My stomach sinks. That means nothing good. But they’ve already given me the ‘we’re getting divorced’ speech, so what’s left?
My dad adjusts his weight. He seems nervous.
“Okay.” I say hesitantly and lead them to the living room, each step filling me with dread. Is there an age at which you no longer fear getting into trouble with your parents? If so, I have yet to reach it.
I sit on the leather chair, and my parents both take a seat on the couch. Only a foot or so separates them.
Oh gosh, please say they aren’t getting back together. They tried that once. It lasted a week and ended worse than the first time.
A bead of sweat drips down my back. “So what’s up?”
My parents lookback and forth between each other with worried expressions. The silence is killing me.
Did someone die? This is the worst Christmas ever!
Dad clears his throat. “We wanted to say sorry.”
Okay…so not where I thought this was headed.
“We haven’t been great parents to you,” Mom says, her voice soft and sincere.
I want to protest, I really do, but I’ll let them say their piece first.
Mom wrings her hands together. “After your phone call the other day, I realized we’d failed you. So we’ve been talking to each other, and with…” Mom swallows. “A therapist.”
My jaw drops.
“We’ve been selfish,” Dad adds and looks at my mom before continuing. “We realized neither of us has really moved on from the divorce. We needed to find ways to heal, but instead, we continued to hurt each other through you. Which means you always got the worst of it.”
“We are so sorry.” My mom sniffs.
They did. They hurt me. But right now, they are here, waiting for me to speak. For once, they are ready to listen to me.
I twist a small strand of hair. “I hated being your pawn.”
