My parents share a knowing look, and even though it’s quick enough that I shouldn’t catch it, I do, and it immediately makes my mouth run dry.
It doesn’t matter how many times I have this conversation with either of my parents, I always end up on the outside looking in.
“I agree, but I’m trying to slow down, not speed up,” Dad replies. “I’m getting closer to retirement, so I need to look at who I’m going to sell the firm to, not how I can make it a bigger monster to hand off. It’s already a successful company—I’m okay with coasting a bit until retirement.”
I just barely keep the wince off my face at that word.Coasting.
“Work isn’t everything, baby girl,” my dad says softly, correctly reading the look I’m trying to hide. “I can be proud of you for being an incredible worker and still think there are equally satisfying things out there in the world.”
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” I mumble quickly. “It’s what Mom and I were just talking about. I don’t mean to push, it’s just a natural gut reaction to… well, to push.”
“Ah, so that’s why your mother was blowing smoke up your ass,” Dad says with a chuckle. “Now I see what I walked in on. Yes, we are incredibly proud of you for how hard you work. But we also understand the benefit of slowing down to enjoy the rest of life’s beauties.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with that speed.”
Dad lets out a knowing chuckle. “Trust us, we know. You’ve been on the go from the second you learned how to crawl. We had to use one of those kid-leashes on you a few times when you were little, since you never learned how to stay in one place.”
I roll my eyes. “Alright, alright, I get it. Slow is good and retirement suits you both. Now tell me what trip you two are planning next so I know when I need to house sit?”
My not-subtle change of topic works effortlessly, my parents’ excitement over their upcoming Caribbean cruise trumping any discomfort I feel over acknowledging that being constantly busy isn’t the most important thing in life.
Regardless, I let them chat excitedly about their vacation while the three of us prepare dinner. It makes me happy to listen, and happier still to see how enamored they both are with each other as they do it. I don’t miss Mom’s looks, or Dad’s kisses, as the two of them move around each other with the practiced ease of a couple in love. And not just in love, but a couple destined to be together. A couple that has been madly in love for almost thirty years, and withstood things that other couples would wilt in the face of.
My parents’ marriage is the kind that all should aspire to match.
So then why have I always felt like there’s a piece of it that I don’t understand? A piece that makes me want to stay single and focus on myself?
Those thoughts continue to roll around in my head the entire time we prepare dinner.
They roll through my headeven morewhen my brother walks through the door, with the reason for his own sacrifices bundled warmly in his arms. Mom descends on her granddaughter before the hat is even taken off of her adorable, bald little head.
"How's my sweet girl?" my mom coos as she lifts her granddaughter out of Tommy’s arms. "How's my sweet, beautiful, perfect girl?"
I meet my brother's gaze across the room, both of us rolling our eyes at the baby voice. Except, Tommy follows the motion with a smile and a look of happiness that couldn't be more obvious if he tried.
"Sorry we're late," Rachel says in a breathless voice. "I had to substitute at the elementary school last-minute, so everything's been a little crazy today. I had to take Jenny to the babysitter instead of her coming to us."
A delighted giggle sounds through the kitchen as Mom taps my niece's nose. "You could've called me. You know I would've come to pick her up for the day. Any excuse to spend time with my grandbaby."
Rachel looks slightly guilty at that. "I know, but since you had dinner planned for tonight, I assumed you'd be busy prepping during the day. I didn't want to bother you."
That finally pulls Mom's attention up. "Nonsense. I'm never too busy for you or Jenny. At least call me next time and if I can help, I will." She waits for Rachel's relieved nod before turning back to the smiling infant in her arms. An equally large smile spreads across Mom's face at the sight. "So how was it at Greenside today? I heard their new principal is driving the PTA up the wall lately. Although God knows the principal that was there while Dani and Tommy were in school was no better."
Rachel lets out an exasperated breath. "Oh my gosh, I thought I was the only one that can't stand her. That makes me feel so much better. It's like she'stryingto be difficult!"
I shift awkwardly where I'm standing against the counter, feeling suddenly uncomfortable with the overly domesticated conversation. Not because I don't like kids—if I didn't think Mom's eyes would shutter with sadness, I'd steal Jenny from her immediately—but because I can't relate to it. Both my parents and my brother live the perfect, 1.2 kids and a white picket fence kind of life where all conversations revolve around babies, mortgages, and neighborhood gossip.
Mine revolve around taking pictures in sometimes-risky environments and looking for the next shot of adrenaline when work doesn’t deliver and life gets boring.
"So what's going on, Dani-Fanny? Fight any drunk assholes lately?" my brother teases, likely sensing my discomfort. Being six years older than me, we were too far apart to be really close when we were kids, but we've always been solid enough in our relationship that we could read the other better than anyone else.
Something I'm immensely grateful for right now.
"You know, I've dealt with so many of those recently, I can't remember who my last victim was," I answer with mock-seriousness. "Although there was a massive Russian guy at the bar the other night that was very loudly shitting on Americans who needed to be put in his place."
"Oh dear God…" I hear my dad grumble from behind me.
Tommy only laughs and slings an arm around my shoulder. "Wish I could've seen that. It's been a while since I've witnessed what you're capable of out in society."