The Ending I Want

But when we’re not having sex…we spend all of our time together. And we don’t act like friends during that time. We act like a couple. Isn’t that considered dating?

This is bad. And wrong.

While I’m internally agonizing over this, Liam doesn’t seem fazed by what I said because he responds with, “Glad to hear it.” His tone is gruff and very alpha-sounding. The alpha that usually sends a shiver down my spine.

But not this time because my mind is in overdrive.

“So, your dad was a professor dating a student…” Liam prompts when I haven’t said anything.

“Yes.” I come back around, back to my parents’ love story and away from my own.

Not that Liam and I are in a love story…

Oh God.

“They met on campus one day. My mom used to ride her bike to class. She was late, rushing and not paying attention, and she ran my dad over. Literally ran him over.”

Liam laughs, and I smile at the memories of my mom telling me this story. I used to love to hear it.

“He was fine, but my mom was mortified. He’d grazed his hand as he fell. So, she insisted on fixing up his hand. Her dorm was far away, but my dad had a first aid kit in his office. She went with him, cleaned up his hand, and put a Band-Aid over the cut, and then she left for her class, late.” I laugh softly.

“Then, she started seeing him on campus all the time. My mom told me that she’d never seen my dad before that day. Suddenly, he was everywhere. My dad later told her that he started taking different routes to class just so he could bump into her.

“And I guess…they fell in love. My mother always said she fell in love with him at the exact moment when she looked into his eyes, right after sticking that Band-Aid on his hand. But they had to keep their relationship a secret because, technically, it was wrong. Even though my mom was twenty-two, an adult, she was a student, and my dad was a professor. So, they hid their relationship.”

It’s in this moment I realize that my mom was twenty-two when she met my dad.

I’m twenty-two now.

And I met Liam at twenty-two.

And I’ll be twenty-two when I die.

“My grandfather, my mother’s father, was a well-known politician here in the UK. You might have heard of him. Marcus Grant?”

“The name sounds vaguely familiar,” he says. “But I have never been big on politics. My grandpa would probably know.”

“Ah, well, he died years ago. But my grandfather had found out about my mom and dad because of her sister—my aunt whom I’ve never met. My mom had confided in her about my dad, just wanting someone to talk to, and my aunt had gone home and told my grandfather.”

“Wow, what a bitch,” Liam says. Then, he immediately says, contrite, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that about your family.”

“No, you’re right. She was a bitch. My mom had trusted her, and she’d stabbed her own sister in the back. They never spoke again after that. After my grandfather had learned of their relationship, he hit the roof. His main concern was his political career. If it got out that his daughter was having a relationship with a professor at her university…apparently, it would have looked bad on him.”

“The British press have a great way of angling a story to make it sound juicy.” He sounds like he’s speaking from experience.

“My grandfather told my mom to end the relationship. He told her that he’d have my dad’s job taken from him and that he’d have my dad deported back to the States. My dad was from Boston and here on a work visa,” I tell him. “My mom didn’t want to be the reason that my dad lost his job, and she didn’t want him to be deported. So, she did as my grandfather had told her, and she ended things with my dad.”

“But that didn’t stick,” Liam says, gesturing to me.

“No.” I laugh. “My dad is…was…” I take a deep breath. Talking about them like this…for a moment, it almost feels like they are still here. “My dad was stubborn. He wasn’t going to let my mom go. He finally got the truth out of her, and the next day, he handed in his resignation. But giving up his job meant his visa went, too. He tried to get another teaching job in the UK, but he couldn’t get one. I don’t know if that was because of my grandfather, but my mom believed it was.

“Then, he got offered a professorship at Harvard. He couldn’t turn it down. So, my mom went with him. She finished her degree in Boston. Then, she got a job working for The Boston Globe as a political journalist. She scaled it back when she had me and Parker, and then when Tess was born, she left her job and stayed home.”

“Parker and Tess…” His words are soft, hesitant.

“My brother and sister.”

Liam glances at me. The sadness in his eyes nearly unravels me.

I feel myself shutting down. This is getting too close to talking about what happened, and I can’t talk about that.

Liam seems to sense that because he doesn’t ask me anything more.

I lay my head back on the headrest, turning my face to stare out the side window, while the sound of the radio softly plays Zara Larsson and MNEK’s “Never Forget You.”

And I just let myself think of my family.

I let myself feel the agony of their loss. I let it curl around my insides and crush my heart.

Because I need the reminder.

I need to remember the reason I’m doing all of this. Why I’ve chosen the path I have.

For them. To be with them.

And Liam is making me forget that.