The Boyfriend Blog

It’s on the tip of my tongue to blow him off. I’ve never been one to talk to my parents about my feelings. It’s not that I couldn’t; they were always there for me, but I’ve never wanted to. I’ve always been private, keeping most things to myself except when it comes to Lizzie and Calvin. Those two have always had an open-access pass.

“I’ve loved her for a while.”

Dad smiles and nods as he takes a drink. “Your mother and I always hoped you’d end up with Lizzie.”

I laugh, finish my beer, and set it on the bar. “Mom probably creamed her pants when she found out Lizzie was my date to the wedding.”

“Aiden,” Dad chides. He shakes his head and tries not to smile. “Why do you have to be so crass?”

“It’s the truth. She hates my profession. It about killed her when I didn’t accept the scholarship to her alma mater.”

Dad stands up and tilts his head. His brows are pulled tight, but not in anger. “Is that really what you think, that your mother isn’t proud of you? That she hates your profession?”

Something uncomfortable pulls at the center of my chest, making it difficult to respond.

“Your mother loves you.”

“I know that.”

Dad shakes his head and rests a hand on my shoulder. “Since the second you learned to crawl, you haven’t needed us. It didn’t bother me so much because I was proud that you found your independence at such a young age, but it was hard on your mom.”

“How so?”

“Because you were her youngest—her baby—and you didn’t need her for anything. You never asked her to tuck you in at night, and oftentimes, you’d play so hard that you’d fall asleep without telling us goodni

ght or saying I love you. Calvin was always showering her with kisses, asking for her help, wanting her around. But not you. You had everything under control, and that was hard on her. It got even worse as you got older. You didn’t ask for help picking out colleges or filling out applications, you just did it. You knew what you wanted, and you went for it.”

“Because I knew if I told Mom what I wanted to do, she’d try and talk me out of it.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Dad shrugs. “But we’ll never know because you didn’t give either of us a chance. Despite what you might think, your mother loves your creativity, and she’s damn proud that you’ve found success doing something you love.”

“Then why did she always try to talk to me about being a lawyer or a doctor or an accountant like Calvin?”

“All Mom ever wanted is for you boys to get a good education and a steady job so that you could support yourself.”

“You sure about that?”

“Positive. And if you’d get rid of the chip on your shoulder and not act so damn defensive when you’re around her, you might realize that all she really wants is to be an active part of your life.”

That’s not how I’ve been with my mom, is it? I think back to all the times I blew her off when she wanted to talk about the future, all the times I rushed phone calls or canceled lunch dates. My eyes dart across the room. Mom is standing in the corner, watching everyone dance, and for the life of me, I can’t remember why I treated her that way.

I had a great childhood. Even though I never asked her to come to any of my stuff, she was always there. Pouring rain, sunshine, or snow, she was at every soccer, basketball, and baseball game. She never missed a Christmas play, band concert, or class party. She was always the parent volunteering to bring in snacks or drinks, and I didn’t realize until now how lucky I was, how good I had it.

My heart constricts as memories flood in.

In the third grade, I fell and busted my head open and had to get stitches. I was sitting in the emergency room, and Mom tried to hold my hand, but I pulled away.

“I’m tough,” I said.

“I know you are.” She backed away and sat in the corner, wringing her hands together as my head was closed up.

In ninth grade, she asked me if I liked any girls or if I had a girlfriend. I rolled my eyes. “Mom,” I scoffed.

“You can talk to me about anything, Aiden. Even girls.”

“I’m not talking to you about girls. Ever.”

“Calvin does.”