For a brief moment both of my parents were silent, shock running across Dad’s face while Mom went pale.
“Oh, thank god. After that long pause, I thought you were going to say you were pregnant or something.” Mom sighed, the color rushing back into her face as she reached up to touch the delicate necklace she wore every day. It had five stones on it, one for each member of the family.
“What? Why would you think that?” The panic I’d felt moments ago dissipated as I tried to process how weird my mom’s mind was when she wasn’t trying to convince everyone that she was normal.
“Your sweatshirt is three sizes too big. And you’ve been sulking and crying in your room all week.” She looked from me to Dad like this was obvious.
“Teenagers sulk, June. That’s a thing they do.” Dad frowned slightly as he set down his tablet again. “They don’t need to be pregnant to do it.”
“Your phone had you driving around all over Vegas, and youweren’t with BamBam. So I checked Nittha’s and Gabby’s social media, but you weren’t with them.” Mom gestured at me. “You can see where I would think that.”
“Not really. I barely even go to parties unless BamBam invites me,” I said, getting sucked into my parent’s digression before I could stop myself. “It’s kind of a stretch to go from ill-fitting sweatshirt toShe’s pregnant.”
“You may have a point.” Mom shrugged, a sign that this was the biggest concession she was willing to offer at this stage.
“She’s basically a nun.” Dad sniffed. “And when you think about the timeline for that—”
“Actually, can we focus on the thing I said?” I glared at my parents, willing them via my death stare to never bring up my dating life again. “I don’t want to go to business school, and I cannot stress this enough, I desperately don’t want to be an accountant.” My dad leaned back, surprised by the force of my words, while my mom’s eyebrows shot toward her hairline in offense. I tried to backtrack. “Sorry. It is a great way for you all to provide for the family. It isn’t for me, though.”
It felt like my parents were silent for a full minute while they processed what I was saying. Finally, my mom sighed and pointed to the ottoman. “Why don’t you sit down?”
I stood still, adrenaline coursing its way through my veins. The part of me that had spent years being angry wanted to refuse to sit in order to preserve the option of stomping out of the room to drive my point home. The rest of me recognized that having to run away to avoid my parents’ pressure was unlikely, given how tired my mom sounded. Plus, stomping or throwinga fit had never once gotten me anything but grounded. Exhaling my shaky anger, I lowered myself down onto the cushy ottoman, crossing my legs with my feet under me, even though I knew it would get on my parents’ nerves.
“Honey, I’m surprised.” Mom’s voice was softer than I was used to. Typically, when I disappointed her, these conversations felt like an accusation. Like I was the one who was wrong for wanting something different. “Why are you only telling us this now?”
“Did you just figure this out?” Dad asked, giving me an out if Mom’s question was too overwhelming, which also felt all wrong. Dad was a man who got me up early on the weekend so that I wouldn’t effectively jet lag myself by sleeping in. My dad did not believe in outs.
I took a deep breath and shook my head. “I’ve known for a while.”
“How long is a while?” Mom asked.
“Pretty much since I went to that first SISU business administration camp in the seventh grade.” I winced, thinking about all the money and time they’d spent hauling me to junior entrepreneur events, math camps, and architecture club. “Nothing has ever made me less happy than spreadsheet macros.”
“But you are so good at coming up with new ideas for BamBam’s business. She mentioned the potential makeup marketing expansion you came up with,” Dad said, appearing genuinely confused.
“I came up with that as a way to challenge my production skills. I wanted to film in a mirrored hall.” I paused as I thoughtabout it more. From my parents’ angle, every time I tried a new style of video, they thought I was developing new ways for BamBam’s hobby to bring in revenue. We were all seeing the same thing from our different lenses on the world. I shook my head and smirked. “I also wanted to see if I could edit footage I didn’t shoot.”
“So when BamBam said that making videos was just your creative outlet…” Dad’s voice trailed off.
“It was, at first.” I nodded. I might have kept the truth from them, but I wasn’t about to throw BamBam under the bus with her own son.
“This whole time, we’ve been encouraging you to do something you don’t want to do.” Mom’s forehead wrinkled as she said this. It was a statement mostly for herself. “Jamie, I guess I’m not understanding. Why not tell us sooner if you felt this strongly?”
“You and Dad were so adamant about me being an accountant, or banker, or something practical, like my future was a done deal before I was born. We even had a picture book about the first Black governor of the Federal Reserve. If that doesn’t screamBecome a banker, I don’t know what does.” I bit down on my bottom lip, trying to force myself to be honest. “And I tried to mention maybe not working at your office this summer to you, Mom, but you told me to worry about my grades instead. Plus, you all put so much time and money into all these activities. I…” I shrugged and ran a finger against the weave of the ottoman’s fabric, searching for the right words. “I didn’t know how to make it stop. And I didn’t want to disappoint you any more than I already have.”
“You don’t disappoint us.” Dad said this so fast and with so much force it almost knocked me over. “Why do you think we are disappointed in you?”
“You’ve literally called me Messy since I was a toddler.” I raised an eyebrow at Dad as if daring him to challenge me.
“That’s a nickname,” Dad said, sounding defensive. “You were always covered in something sticky when you were little.”
“I’m not two anymore, and you’re still using it,” I said, glancing down at my sweatshirt cuff and hoping that I wouldn’t have to use it as a tissue again. “Plus, you talk about my videos like the time I spend on them might kill you.”
Dad appeared crestfallen. In my mind, he was being judgmental, but watching him now, I wasn’t so sure that he meant to be. I turned my focus to Mom, mostly so I didn’t have to see my dad looking so sad.
“And, Mom, at least three times a week you make me change my clothes for some random fashion violation. You literally watch my friends’ social media and critique my clothing choices. Does that sound like someone who is going to be open to hearingI hate your life plan for me?”
“I don’t do that.” Mom shook her head.
