I study my dad’s face. Where is he going with this? Why would he encourage me to leave a stable job to work for myself? I’ve been talking about opening my own bakery for the past twenty years; is it possible that my parents were really listening? That they might actually be ready to support this dream? “Oh, I’m not sure I’m quite there yet.” I give my parents a smile. “But hopefully someday.”
“Well, play with the numbers,” my dad says. “If this café job is flexible and could cover your rent, this might be an excellent time to think about going back to school. Your mom and I would be willing to help you out with other expenses, and Brooklyn College is actually very affordable.”
I stare at them, speechless. I can’t believe we’re talking about this. After I was fired during my Very Bad Year, my parents kept pushing me to enroll in college classes. And, okay, I hated it, but I kind of understood. I was homeless and living at Jacob’s at the time. I’d told myself that my parents were just looking out for me, encouraging me to have a backup plan. But I have a good job in my field. Why would they be pushing this unless they truly don’t respect my work at all? It shouldn’t surprise me, but somehow it always does.
“What are you talking about?” I manage to sputter. “What would I even study at Brooklyn College?”
“There are all sorts of options.” My mom gives me an encouraging smile. “With your outgoing personality, you’d be great at teaching. Or something in sales and marketing, maybe.”
I stare down at the table, shaking my head. How long have they been waiting for an opportunity to spring this on me? When my dad texted me about Brooklyn College during my Very Bad Year, he’d said, This is all for the best. Maybe my parents were secretly glad I’d lost my job because it gave them leverage to push me back to school.
“You could check out the catalog,” my dad chimes in. “See what interests you.”
“Unless the catalog is from Williams Sonoma, I doubt anything will interest me.”
“Well, talk it through with Alex. See what he thinks.”
My head snaps up as resentment rolls over me. “Who cares what Alex thinks?”
My dad sits back in his chair. “I assume you and Alex talk about major life decisions with each other.”
“I’m not going to Brooklyn College. Or any college. There.” I wave my hand in the air. “Major life decision decided. And I’m not going to talk it over with Alex because Alex and I broke up.” It’s a stupid move to blurt it out without thinking, but I get a perverse satisfaction from seeing the shock on my parents’ faces. Across the table, Jacob sits up straighter in his chair.
“You broke up with Alex?” Owen lowers his fork to his plate. “When?”
“Uh, a couple of weeks ago.”
My mom sighs, setting her water glass down on the table with more force than necessary. “Oh, Sadie. What did you do this time?”
“Me? Why do you assume it’s my fault?”
“Because you’re the one who’s always so impulsive. Always making wild declarations and causing scenes.”
“Well, for your information”—I cross my arms over my chest like a petulant teenager, because that’s what being with my parents reduces me to—“you can’t blame this on my big mouth.”
“So, what happened?” my dad demands.
I hesitate. If I tell them what really happened, they will blame my big mouth. They’ll say I should have stayed out of Alex’s work concerns and kept my opinions to myself. And who knows? Maybe they’re right.
“Listen,” Owen cuts in. “Maybe we should talk about this another time, when we’ve all had some time to process it.”
I’m both grateful for my brother and annoyed that he has to step in so our parents will leave me alone. Ever since he got his graduate degree and landed his tech job, they’ve treated him like an adult, asking for his opinion and respecting his boundaries. While I’m still the screwup kid who needs to get her life together.
Sometimes I wonder if that will ever change.
I shove my plate of penne alla vodka to the side, having lost what little appetite I had to begin with. The server comes to remove it, and while she’s reaching between me and my dad, Jacob leans in and murmurs, “Are you okay?”
I just shake my head and look away.
Owen makes a valiant effort to lighten the mood, steering the conversation toward a funny story about a robot accidently driving through a wall at work, and Jacob eggs him on with uncharacteristically booming laughter. I appreciate their efforts, but my dad’s face is as hard as a burned loaf of bread, and my mom keeps sighing and shaking her head like I’ve brought pumpkin pie to a summer party. It would be too much for anyone to overcome.
Once again, I’ve ruined a perfectly good dinner with my wild declarations and impulsivity.
The server stops by with dessert menus, and my mom puts up a hand to refuse hers. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite. I’ve got a terrible headache.”
That’s when I remember I baked for everyone. “We were going to have dessert at my place, remember? I made a flourless chocolate cake with raspberry coulis, and white chocolate basil macarons.” I look back and forth between my parents. “You still want to come for dessert, right?”
They exchange a glance, and then my dad shakes his head. “I think it’s going to have to be another time.”
“But—” I walked all the way to the gourmet food store in Greenpoint for Tahitian vanilla beans. I spent all day baking in my tiny studio kitchenette. I macerated two pounds of raspberries. But it’s going to have to be another time? “Maybe you could come back to my apartment and take some with you? For later?” I can hear the longing in my voice. Please say yes. Please make an effort because it’s important to me.
“Your mother isn’t feeling well, Sadie,” my dad snaps, like I’m selfish for asking.
“Okay.” All of a sudden, my throat is burning, and my eyes are dangerously close to spilling over. “Maybe another time.” I focus on my hands folded on the table, because if I have to make eye contact with anyone, I’m definitely going to cry.
The server is mercifully quick with the bill, and soon we’re outside on the sidewalk.
“Where are you parked?” Owen asks. My dad names a parking garage a couple of blocks away, and it’s decided that Owen will walk my parents there.
“Thanks for coming,” I murmur, because that’s what I’m supposed to say, and then I give my parents half-hearted hugs, because that’s what I’m supposed to do. “I’ll see you later.”
I stuff my hands into the pockets of my dress and hurry down the sidewalk toward the subway station. I don’t want to give Jacob the chance to say goodbye to my parents or we’ll end up on the same train back to Brooklyn. It’s times like these that I’m grateful for the anonymity of New York City. I don’t have to put on a brave face, and nobody will even blink if I’m crying on the subway.
As soon as I’ve crossed the street to the next block, the tears spill over. It’s not just my parents’ disappointment that hurts. It’s Kasumi’s silence, and my breakup with Alex, and Rob-fucking-Thurmond. It’s everything that was supposed to turn out right this time around and somehow went as upside-down as a pineapple cake.