nowhere to be found, and I
shuffle downstairs for breakfast (or lunch).
Selecting a smattering of slender
carrots, I collapse into a fragile wooden chair resting in the secluded kitchen
corner. I begin to pulverize the crisp orange blades between my molars, looking
up to see my father in the doorway.
“Hi Avey,” he croons in his rich and
silky baritone. “How are you, my angel?”
I sigh long and hard in reply.
“What’s troubling you?” he questions, planting
himself in the chair to my right. I bend over and lean my forehead against the
cool white tile of the petite kitchen table.
“Everything…. Nothing…”
“Which is it? Everything, or nothing?”
“I just.. I’m a little overwhelmed at the
moment,” I concede. “Midterms always put me in a bind, and even when they are
done, I have difficulty putting them behind me. I just keep going over the
questions in my head and trying hopelessly to remember what answers I put. The
ones that were problematic continue to haunt me, and I always freak out walking
out of the exam hall because everyone is comparing answers. Half the time, I
have no idea what they are even talking about! And I always manage to convince
myself that I made a stupid mistake in a trivial calculation.”
“You can’t worry about exams this much or
you’ll give yourself a heart attack. Whatever happens, you did your best and
that is all I can ever ask of you.”
“But what if I could have done more. I
mean, I always give it my best but I could have studied harder. I took a couple
of breaks to visit the barn and hang out with Tate. What if that is the
difference between success and failure?”
“Avey, honey. It doesn’t matter. You have
to take time off or you will go insane! My dear, I love you and I am going to
be proud of you no matter what. Is that all that is bothering you?”
My mind flashes to Tate and our
conversation. “Yeah, that’s it. Well, and the SMART’s but that is a constant
worry. Nothing new there.” I can’t tell anyone about Tate; it’s not my secret
to disclose.
“Try not to worry so much. It will give
you wrinkles,” he chortles, pressing the depression between my brows. I giggle
and wrap my arms around his neck, landing a firm kiss on his soft cheek.
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, Avey. Don’t forget,” he
insists. I amble towards the sitting room and am intercepted by a frantic Rian.
“Are you two done with the lovey dovey
stuff?” he asks.
“Yes!” I whine melodramatically. “Do you
need something, Your Highness?”
“Actually, I do. Will you meet me outside
in five minutes? Under the big oak tree?”
“Sure. Do I need to bring anything?”
“Nope. Just yourself. See you in five!”
he shouts over his shoulder, scuttling off into the kitchen.
I take a minute to catch my breath before
heading outside into the brilliant sunshine.
“So I need your help,” Rian pleads, words
tumbling out at a mile a minute. “It’s my two year anniversary with Amy today
and I need to think of something amazing to surprise her with. You’re a girl,
so what should I do? To be all romantic and stuff?”
“Okay. First of all, take a breath! I
can’t make out a word you are saying when you are tripping all over yourself
like that. What did you do last year?”
“Last year… ummm… let’s see… I think I gave
her a card,” he finally recalls, hesitation tainting his answer.
“Seriously, Rian! I thought you wanted to
marry this girl?”
“I do!” he bursts. “I’m just not very
good at the whole sensitive thing.”
“Well, the “whole sensitive thing” is
what is going to get her to say yes, so unless you want to be the bozo that
gets shot down, I suggest you practice tapping into your inner mush-ball. You
should set up an intimate dinner for just the two of you. The food isn’t going
to be anything special on such short notice, but we can scrounge for a nice
tablecloth and candelabra. We should set it up outside
shuffle downstairs for breakfast (or lunch).
Selecting a smattering of slender
carrots, I collapse into a fragile wooden chair resting in the secluded kitchen
corner. I begin to pulverize the crisp orange blades between my molars, looking
up to see my father in the doorway.
“Hi Avey,” he croons in his rich and
silky baritone. “How are you, my angel?”
I sigh long and hard in reply.
“What’s troubling you?” he questions, planting
himself in the chair to my right. I bend over and lean my forehead against the
cool white tile of the petite kitchen table.
“Everything…. Nothing…”
“Which is it? Everything, or nothing?”
“I just.. I’m a little overwhelmed at the
moment,” I concede. “Midterms always put me in a bind, and even when they are
done, I have difficulty putting them behind me. I just keep going over the
questions in my head and trying hopelessly to remember what answers I put. The
ones that were problematic continue to haunt me, and I always freak out walking
out of the exam hall because everyone is comparing answers. Half the time, I
have no idea what they are even talking about! And I always manage to convince
myself that I made a stupid mistake in a trivial calculation.”
“You can’t worry about exams this much or
you’ll give yourself a heart attack. Whatever happens, you did your best and
that is all I can ever ask of you.”
“But what if I could have done more. I
mean, I always give it my best but I could have studied harder. I took a couple
of breaks to visit the barn and hang out with Tate. What if that is the
difference between success and failure?”
“Avey, honey. It doesn’t matter. You have
to take time off or you will go insane! My dear, I love you and I am going to
be proud of you no matter what. Is that all that is bothering you?”
My mind flashes to Tate and our
conversation. “Yeah, that’s it. Well, and the SMART’s but that is a constant
worry. Nothing new there.” I can’t tell anyone about Tate; it’s not my secret
to disclose.
“Try not to worry so much. It will give
you wrinkles,” he chortles, pressing the depression between my brows. I giggle
and wrap my arms around his neck, landing a firm kiss on his soft cheek.
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, Avey. Don’t forget,” he
insists. I amble towards the sitting room and am intercepted by a frantic Rian.
“Are you two done with the lovey dovey
stuff?” he asks.
“Yes!” I whine melodramatically. “Do you
need something, Your Highness?”
“Actually, I do. Will you meet me outside
in five minutes? Under the big oak tree?”
“Sure. Do I need to bring anything?”
“Nope. Just yourself. See you in five!”
he shouts over his shoulder, scuttling off into the kitchen.
I take a minute to catch my breath before
heading outside into the brilliant sunshine.
“So I need your help,” Rian pleads, words
tumbling out at a mile a minute. “It’s my two year anniversary with Amy today
and I need to think of something amazing to surprise her with. You’re a girl,
so what should I do? To be all romantic and stuff?”
“Okay. First of all, take a breath! I
can’t make out a word you are saying when you are tripping all over yourself
like that. What did you do last year?”
“Last year… ummm… let’s see… I think I gave
her a card,” he finally recalls, hesitation tainting his answer.
“Seriously, Rian! I thought you wanted to
marry this girl?”
“I do!” he bursts. “I’m just not very
good at the whole sensitive thing.”
“Well, the “whole sensitive thing” is
what is going to get her to say yes, so unless you want to be the bozo that
gets shot down, I suggest you practice tapping into your inner mush-ball. You
should set up an intimate dinner for just the two of you. The food isn’t going
to be anything special on such short notice, but we can scrounge for a nice
tablecloth and candelabra. We should set it up outside
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