Second Chance: A Military Football Romance

“Mom!” I yelled. She jumped. “Are you kidding me? I’m 21! There are some parents out there that would actually be glad if their kid was deciding to put off dating. But you guys are acting like if I don’t start seeing someone now, then I’m going to end up alone and miserable for the rest of my life, like some old maid. And I’ll have you know, Mom, that I am actually seeing someone. Oh, I doubt you’d approve of him, but he likes me for me, not because one of my parents offered him a job. And you can approve or not; I really don’t care.”

My mother paled. “That man? What was his name? The man that came to the house? With the facial hair? And all those tattoos?”

“Yes. That’s him. And he’s actually a really great person. And guess what? He wouldn’t take a job if one of you offered it to him anyway, because he owns his own business! He’s not some derelict drug addict or whatever the hell you think he might be.”

“But—”

“No.” I held my hand up. “I’m not going to argue this with you. It’s clearly something that you don’t want to accept, and fine, you don’t have to. But that’s not going to change what I’m doing.”

She started to say something else, but I turned and walked out. I didn’t know where my father went, but I knew I couldn’t stay in this house right now. I ran upstairs to my bedroom and grabbed my purse and then left the house, ignoring my mother’s calls after me, asking where I was going.

*****

It took my mother almost two full days before she was able to talk to me without looking as though she were about to burst into tears. All because of hair? It seemed so over the top. Completely unnecessary. Was she really that concerned with appearances? Could she not see that I was still the same person?

Or maybe, in a way, I wasn’t, and she sensed that. I didn’t feel entirely different, but I did feel as though I was more aware of a way of life that had always been there but that I’d never been fully conscious of before. And that way of life wasn’t something extreme; it wasn’t like renouncing technology or going vegan, or deciding to live at a nudist colony or something. What it was, I realized, was the knowledge that I could be who I wanted.

Who I wanted on my terms, not my parents’. And for so long, I’d done what my parents had wanted, gone along with what they thought was best. I’d never really questioned it, until now. Why had I waited so long? In high school, when my fellow classmates were experimenting with drinking and dyeing their hair or staying out past curfew, I was dutifully completing my homework, studying at the library, doing extra credit assignments. Up until now, my greatest act of dissent had been going to art school.

But Graham liked my hair. When I showed up at his work, he’d done a double take, not recognizing me at first and then let out a low whistle. Even if he hadn’t liked my hair though, it wouldn’t have bothered me that much, because I liked my hair.

Now, though, my mother was doing her best to look at me without wincing. “Your father and I talked,” Mom said. “We’ve been quite troubled by all of this, Chloe, we really have. I know you might not believe that, but it’s the truth.”

“I haven’t been enjoying myself, either, Mom. I don’t like fighting with you guys. I also don’t like feeling as though you’re trying to control me.”

“We just want what’s best—”

“Yes, I know, you just want what’s best for me, you keep saying that, but the thing is, I don’t think you actually know what is best for me. Because we don’t necessarily want the same things, and that’s okay. Can’t you accept that?”

My mother took a deep breath. “Sweetie, I don’t want to fight with you anymore, okay? Neither does your father. We both feel like this is escalating and we want it to stop. I mean, look what you’ve done to your hair. Would you have done that if we hadn’t been fighting? If this whole thing hadn’t taken place? I highly doubt it. I don’t like this conflict. We are not that kind of family. We love each other and we care about each other. So ... so we’d like to meet this person that you’re seeing. The one with the beard and the tattoos. We were thinking he ... he might like to come over here for dinner some night. What kind of food does he like to eat?”

I could tell how difficult this was for her. I smiled. “I appreciate you saying that, Mom. And ... Graham likes most things; I don’t think he’s that picky. Whatever we had would be fine, I’m sure.”

*****

Before I went down to visit him, though, I had to stop by Tara’s because she had something very important she wanted to talk about.

I drove over to her house and found her out back, tanning by the pool.

“So, what was so important that you couldn’t actually tell me over the phone?” I asked, stretching out in one of the lounge chairs next to her.

She pushed her big sunglasses to the top of her head and looked at me. “Guess who’s here,” she said.

I sat up and looked over my shoulder toward the house. “Here? As in right now?”

“No, here as in on the Cape.”

I groaned. “Michael.”

“You got it. And guess who wants to get together?”

“I think I already know the answer to this.”

She grinned. “Got any plans Friday?”

“I don’t know. Please tell me you’re not meeting him on Friday?”

“He messaged me and wanted to know if I was free, because he said he really wanted to see me. So I said yes.”