Champagne Toast by Melissa Brown

reason, when I ’ m with them, I feel like this odd puzzle piece that simply doesn ’ t fit where it ’ s being pressed.  When it ’ s just us, Evan and I fit perfectly, but whenever we ’ re around others, I feel this incredible inadequacy that ’ s hard to explain.  He tries to tell me it ’ s ridiculous, that he ’ s proud to have me in his life.  No one ’ s ever said that before.  Even though I ’ m proud of the fact that I support myself completely , while taking classes part time, he ’ s finishing up his four years at Northwestern and interviewing with huge marketing firms downtown.  His world is about to change completely, and I ’ m terrified of what that ’ ll mean for me, for us.
    He ’ s been pushing me to follow my dream of being a photographer. But, starting a business is difficult and I don ’ t have the start-up funds.  Could I wait and borrow the money from Evan when he starts working in marketing?  Yes.  Will I do that?  Absolutely not. What if he regretted it down the line when I failed and inevitably ended up back at the bar, serving drinks and being Vince ’ s assistant?  Am I good at that job?  Yes, but I need more , and I want to be good enough for Evan.  After all this time together, I still don ’ t feel like I measure up.  But, maybe my parents can help me.
    Evan and I are both on spring break, so I thought this would be a good time to sneak away on a Wednesday afternoon.  He ’ s working late at the bar tonight, and I have the day off.  We ’ re supposed to meet up after his shift, but I think I have plenty of time to get back without him thinking anything is up.  I know he really wants to meet my parents, but I ’ m not ready for that. I ’ ll stop at the store on the way back so he thinks I ’ ve been busy catching up on errands.
    Pulling my Honda into my parents ’ driveway, I see the perfect spring decorations on the front porch.  Shamrocks and Easter eggs adorn the front door and stoop.  Angeline never misses an opportunity to be festive.  I ring the bell and wait for one of them to answer.  I learned a while ago that I ’ m no longer welcome to just walk in as if it ’ s my home.  That ended the day I moved into my apartment in Evanston.  It hasn ’ t been my home ever since.
    My mother answers the door.  She looks perfect, as always.  Her hair is pinned up in a dainty bun.  She ’ s wearing a cashmere cardigan sweater and a pencil skirt.  She doesn ’ t look overjoyed to see me, but refrains from reacting in a negative way.
    “ Kate, darling, what a pleasant surprise, ” she says as she opens the door, gesturing for me to enter.
    “ Hi, Mother, it ’ s nice to see you, ” I reply, suddenly self-conscious and feeling the need to fix my hair, which I ’ m sure is disheveled.
    “ Come in, darling.  Are you hungry? ” she asks, leading me to the pristine kitchen. The room is so clean it literally shines.  She ’ d be horrified to see my apartment.  I haven ’ t washed the countertops in over a week.
    “ No, I ’ m fine, thank you, ” I say, using my best manners.  I want this meeting to go smoothly.  Can ’ t risk offending her within the first five minutes of my arrival.
    “ Well, come, sit down.  Your father is still at work, but should be home in a little while. I know he ’ d love to see you .”  I nod, highly doubting that my father would give two shits that I came to his house.  But, I need to play along.  I need her to hear me out.
    “ How ’ s Ethan? ” my mother asks , as she places her porcelain tea kettle on the stove. Doing my best not to roll my eyes, I correct her.
    “ Evan, ” I say as kindly as I can.
    “ Oh, that ’ s right, Evan . I apologize, ” she says in her prim and proper voice. I want to climb the walls. How on earth was I raised by this robot?
    “ He ’ s great — wonderful, actually.  We ’ re very happy .”  I smile.
    “ That ’ s nice. Do you think you might marry him?