"Dude, if you touch my sister, you're dead."
And so I was forced to swear to him that I wouldn't, even if she was mystery mint kisser, which I seriously doubted anyway.
My muscles felt stiff from all the exercise I'd done yesterday and it felt nice to shower in extra hot water. I wrapped my towel around me and walked back into my room. It was surprisingly quiet this morning. I couldn't hear my parents rushing around getting ready for work. My parents are both psychologists, which is just about the worst thing imaginable. Trust me.
Nothing is ever just nothing. It's always something, no matter how small or insignificant it really is. Everything is dissected and analyzed and picked apart. They read into your every word, your every gesture and tiny eye blink. Sometimes they drive me utterly mental with their desire to psychoanalyze the smallest thing. They'd probably even discuss my motivation for choosing a cheese sandwich over a turkey one if they could.
On the upside, they've always allowed me a huge amount of freedom. They believe in a "young adult's ability to self-regulate". Those are their actual words. They've never treated me like a child come to think of it. In fact, they've never been shy to talk to me like an adult; sex, drugs and rock and roll. Sometimes they take it too far though, like the time my dad walked into my room when I was thirteen and told me that because of the developmental phase I was currently going though, it was okay and perfectly normal to start "self exploration." It had taken me a few seconds to click and then I kicked him out of my room and couldn't look him in the eye for a week.
Sometimes it's downright embarrassing. And because they're always looking for the deeper meaning in things and analyzing everything, I choose not to. At all. I take things at face value. I never look for the deeper, psychological meaning in things. I don't study people's gestures, and tones and looks like my parents do. It drives me mad, so why would I do it to someone else? Some of my ex-girlfriends have called me clueless and dense when apparently I wasn't picking up on something important that they were hinting about. Apparently I can't take a hint. And they're right. That's because I don't look for hints and secret messages in everything everyone does. I don't have these psychological spidey senses.
That's what I like about Maria, she's straight down the line. I don't have to look at her and wonder what she's really thinking, she always says exactly what she thinks and means. She has no deep, dark secrets..K
I got dressed for school and packed my tennis stuff-more practice this afternoon-and went downstairs for breakfast. But when I got there something was very wrong- I didn't need spidey sense to see that . My parents were both sitting there quietly, as if they'd been waiting for me to come down. They both looked up to me with an expression I'd never seen before.
"Sit down, Mike." My father gestured with his hand. It looked serious and suddenly I was wondering if he was going to tell me that my grandmother had passed away, she'd been sick lately.
"What's wrong? Is it Gran?" I asked.
My father shook his head. "Your mother and I have something to tell you." My mother leaned in and looked at me.
I looked from my mother to my father and suddenly I smiled. I'm pretty sure I knew what this was all about, and of course they would make such a huge deal of it.
"I'm about to become a big brother?" I said with a smile. "That's a bit gross, but I can deal with it. No need to sit here and talk about our feelings and stuff-."
My parents shot each other a look that told me that I was way, way off the mark.
"Mike." My mother had her therapist voice on. "Your father and I have decided to get divorced."
"Sorry, what?" Clearly I hadn't heard that correctly.
My dad leaned in now and made a move for my hand, which I pulled away quickly.
"It hasn't been working for a while between your mother and I." He looked to her and she nodded at him, as if they'd spent hours discussing this, which they probably had. How could they be so calm?
"Your father and I have come to the mutual decision to go our own separate ways."
I shook my head hard. "Sorry, what?" It was as if I could hear the words coming out of their mouths, but I couldn't understand them. I looked from one to the other. Both of my parents leaned back in their chairs now, as if synchonized.
"We'll give you some time to process this information." My mother looked at my father again and there was some more mutual nodding. They are always nodding at each other, they always seem to agree, they never fight. So why were they getting a divorce?
"Just take your time, Mike." My father echoeed my mother's sentiment and it fucked me off. Hugely. I'm not one of their clients, I'm their son. This is not a therapy session, this is meant to be breakfast.
"It's okay to feel angry, son." My mother was looking at me as if she was about to write some notes down in her psychologist's notepad.
"Stay with those feelings." My dad said.
I could feel something bubbling up inside me. I wasn't even sure what it was, or if I could even control it anymore. The need to yell got more and more and grew and grew and-
"What. The. Fuck?"
"That's right. Let it out, Mike." My father stood and made a move over to my side of the table. I got up
