“Unfortunately, growing up is mandatory.”
“Don’t I know it?” He shakes his head as if expelling an unpleasant thought. “Tell me all about school. Is everything okay? Is anyone bothering you? Do you have a boyfriend, and does he know that if he touches you, his parents will lose a son? Or maybe it’s a girlfriend, who still shouldn’t touch you unless her parents are ready to lose a daughter?”
“Papa!”
“What? I need to cover all the bases. You haven’t dated any guys since secondary school, so I thought maybe you’d realized you play for a different team. But you would’ve told me, right? You know I would support you no matter what, right?”
I raise a brow. “Does that mean you’ll be more lenient if I introduce you to a girl?”
“No, but I wouldn’t, say, hit her or anything.”
“You shouldn’t hit a guy either.”
“Of course I would. Boys are little wankers.”
I shake my head. “I’m straight, Papa. Annoyingly so.”
“Ah, fuck. So you really have a boyfriend? Name? Family name? Age? Address? IQ?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
He narrows his eyes. “Oh, he’s good. He’s really good if he’s already making my honeybee lie to me.”
“Papa, stop calling me that. That was for when I was five.”
“Not hearing that. I will, however, hear about this boyfriend that you’re hiding from me.”
“Who has a boyfriend?” Mum’s soft voice comes from the other end.
I pause, rub the side of my nose once, and grip my pen tighter.
Kimberly Knight is the most beautiful woman I know, with her lithe figure, her bright smile, and the green highlights in her brown hair. Even the cut marks on her wrists give her a different type of unconventional beauty.
I heard that she refused to erase those cut marks with surgery, because she was never ashamed of them.
But sometimes, during gray days, she wears long sleeves and tugs them down to cover her wrists so no one sees them.
Her beautiful floppy dress swishes with her movements as she sits beside Papa.
Something magical happens when Papa looks at her. His eyes soften before they explode in a myriad of stars.
I grew up watching them not only irrevocably in love, but also so reverent of one another that I doubt any other two people could adore, uplift, and help each other like they do.
For two decades, I had their love and support but not an ounce of their confidence, which is why I always felt lacking in some way.
“Kim!” Papa takes her hand in his. “Listen to this little brat lying through her teeth and hiding her boyfriend from us.”
“You have a boyfriend, Cecy?” she asks me with a soft smile.
“No, I don’t,” I reply more jerkily, awkwardly than I did with Papa.
Mum’s smile falters for a bit and she watches me intently. Sometimes, I swear she knows each of my dirty secrets and sees straight through me.
I don’t know if it’s because of what she told me back in the last year of secondary school or because she’s a lot harder to fool than Papa, but ever since then, I get this lump in my throat whenever I talk to her.
It’s not that I want to be this type of mess in front of my mother, it’s that I can’t control it.
Papa is easier, but then again, Papa didn’t see straight through me back then.