“Ugh,” I say. “What did he tell you?”
“That you won’t let him meet your parents in any sort of official boyfriend capacity.”
“His exact words, huh?”
“Verbatim.”
“Look. I like Dave. I think he’s great. But.”
“But . . . ? But what?”
“I don’t think I . . . love him? I don’t think he’s the kind of guy I can picture myself, like, being with forever. He’s great, and he’s cute, and he’s basically sincere, and he’s kind of smart. But I don’t know. I don’t like the idea of committing to him, for some reason. I don’t feel like he’s that for me. Like some sort of blinding crush. I don’t feel crushed, and I want to. And maybe that’s shitty of me. My parents will love him. Because he’s great. He’s so great! But I don’t love him, and that’s shitty of me, and there’s no way to tell him that. I don’t know how to tell him that, and I don’t know how to introduce my parents to this totally great guy who I’m really into, but not super really into. Because then what happens when they fall in love with him, but then one day he’s gone, and I’m in college, and they’re all, ‘So how’s Dave?’ And then I have to be like, ‘Oh, I don’t know. Living a wondrous life full of love and promise and finding, I hope, getting emotional fulfillment from whatever and whoever is capable of giving him the sort of emotional fulfillment he so richly deserves!’ And they’re all, ‘What a wonderful life!’ and then I can only agree, and then this conversation happens again and again, and per usual all it does is make me feel like I did something wrong by trying to be honest about my feelings.”
“Lorna,” Mimi says after a pause to make sure I’m done talking, “you realize that, to some people, worrying about something like the intricacies involved in introducing the guy you want to bang to your parents, and the repercussions it could have, like, years down the line sounds a little weird. Right?” And I’m about to say, “Yes. Yes, I know this, this is why I keep avoiding your questions about Dave,” but before I can, she says, “And this is why I love you,” and then I just sort of stare at her.
“You just have this . . . purpose!” she goes on. “This, like, unshakable purpose, Lorna.” She pauses, and I just keep my eyes on the road, because I’m not super comfortable with people saying nice and smart and precise things about me to my face, so if I stare at the road I can maybe pretend like it’s not happening. “It just seems like you really understand what you want out of life, or at least have an idea of the kind of life you want to live. Or at the very least the kind of person you want to be. I mean, do you even realize that you’re a beacon of light shining in a storm full of awful people who do things like wait for social cues to determine what they’re going to do or say or how they’re going to be? You’re a person, Lorna. And you know your life. You know it deeply, even if you don’t think you do, and you live it every second of the day.” Mimi pauses, and despite myself, I look at her quickly and smile. “I’ve known you since the first grade,” she says, “and it’s been like this since always.”
And so screw you, Mimi, because what do you say to something like that?
“What the hell, Mimi?” I say. “What am I supposed to say to that? Look at you. You just spent this whole drive telling me about all the things you’re going to do to get to the life you know you want to have. And you even have backup plans for those plans, and you read about what you want to do, you know the names of the people who’ve done it and feel totally comfortable approaching them with questions. You figure your shit out all the time! You’re amazing to me, and I’m just lost in my own little world, and then you tell me all that, and now I feel like I know even less what to do.”
“Look, here’s how this will go. I think you’re great. You think I’m great. So naturally both of us are going to resist the idea that we’re great, and then it’ll get weird, and then . . . and then your parents will call you.”
“Huh?” I say.
“Your parents, they’re calling you now. I can see it on your phone. You probably need to take that, so maybe instead of doing anything, you should just know that you’re the best? And then drop me off at home?”
And that is exactly what happens.
I TEXT DAVE when I get home.
hey bae
(what)’sup?
nm u?
Same. A/S/L? Want 2 chat?
42/male/boca
Hot. Into it.