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The antithesis of a toxic parental relationship.
Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. I’m moving out. Maybe. It really all depends on how you take the things I’m about to say, and if I’m perfectly honest, in order for me to move out, I think maybe you both are going to need to get real chill with a couple things real fast…
Nope.
That’s not going to work.
Hey, Mom and Dad! Remember how you want me to marry Pollux and indoctrinate his perfectly acceptable little girl into human world nonsense about not being herself? Yeah! Well, well, well, what if I told you that I’ve taken your points to heart, and I’ve decided I’d actually like to undoctrinate myself, which sorta kinda involves moving out to take lessons from her?
Yeah, maybe no.
Hello, parents. Guess what Pollux is getting for Christmas?
Me!
Absolutely I think the heck not.
I’m pacing in front of my bed, again, because I do that in moments like this. In socks, on the tips of my toes, I trot back and forth, feeling somewhat like I have deer hooves. I used to do this all the time when I was little. I stopped the tippy toes because it felt immature, but now I’m seriously considering a potential that my fae form has hooves, and it’s always been the natural way of things.
For whatever reason, it feels right and makes breathing easier.
It has been three reasonable days since my conversation with Pollux. It has been two reasonable days since I, with Zahra’s majestic help, managed to inform the school board about the surprise playground a parent anonymously sponsored for us. It has been one reasonable day of panic and stress as the realization I am a week from the twenty-first came over me.
I’ve been trying, and failing, to prep a presentation for my parents that doesn’t go quite as insane as sad children videos. Or even a PowerPoint. Because that’s college and school behavior. It should not be the way one acts at home.
I squish Pollux’s angry bee in my arms because three nights ago after pizza he, quite pitifully, asked me if it was acceptable to request that I recharge it to smell like me again. Acceptable or not, I obliged because Pollux is seven feet of pure cuteness, and I kind of want to cuddle him like I’m cuddling his bee.
Which, for the record, still currently smells faintly of him.
Falling does not begin to describe the emotions I’m wrestling with where Pollux is concerned.
Plummeting is closer.
Mom, Dad, I’m in love. Or swiftly getting there. And I know, I know what you’ve taught me, so don’t worry. I’m not asking to move out and live in sin. See, he gave me a kitten, so we’re married. That’s right. Chai is a marriage kitten! Stop looking at me like I’m insane.
I bury my face in Pollux’s bee to keep from screaming.
This can’t be ripped off like a band-aid. I must reasonably present the situation from the point of view of a level-headed person. The ultimate goal isn’t to worry my parents. That is literally what I’ve spent my entire life trying not to do.
I went to college because Dad said he never got a chance to, and he wanted me to be the first generation with an education. I’m a teacher because Mom told me how I’ve always been good with kids, and having long breaks scheduled into my career would probably be a good idea for me. Every relationship I’ve had that my mom or dad got sketch vibes from ended the very next day.
Up until this point, my life hasn’t really been mine, has it?
Up until this point, I don’t think I’ve wanted anything more than I’ve wanted to make my parents happy. I don’t know what I’ll do if they change their mind about Pollux now. I don’t know what I’ll do if I have to decide to face their rejection in order to continue down this path of becoming me. I don’t think I can go back to the hollow exhaustion I’m starting to hate with every ounce of the anger I keep subdued in my chest.
Ignorance is bliss.
Knowledge can be a burden.
But I have never believed the responsibility of holding it is not worth the pain of fixing the problems it brings to light.
Even though my chest is so tight it feels like my heart is going to squeeze out of my throat, I set Pollux’s bee down on the foot of my bed, pick up my fae folder, and leave my room. “Mom? Dad?”
They’re in the living room. Dad looks up from watching his fish with Chai on his lap while Mom lowers her noise-canceling headphones and closes the book she’s reading. “Yes, honey?” She glances at the binder I’m holding. “Is that a new lesson plan?”
I swallow. “No.” My thoughts dry up.
Worry crosses Mom’s brow as she sets her book entirely aside. “What’s wrong?”
