Flaw

Four Months

I dedicate this chapter to my mommy (the queen, lol). 

It was the fourteenth of October, we’ve been dating for four months and you decided that you wanted to introduce me to your parents. I was so very nervous, I had never met your parents, I didn’t know what type of parents you would have, I didn’t know if they were warm and bubbly or strict and cold, or maybe a mix of both.

I was very scared your parents might not like me. I’m nothing compared to you, you’re a lovely boy and I, well I’m me….Awkward me, awkward Emma. I wished there was a manual, or a book on “how to make your boyfriend’s parents like you even if you’re the epitome of awkward,” but sadly, there isn’t and I had to cope on my own.

I didn’t know what to wear, and I didn’t know how to act. My room turned upside down then, I racked the cabinets, the closets, everywhere, for something nice to wear. I was getting exasperated, and sweat was beading on my forehead; well, at least I kind of had a work out.

My mum knocked on my door; she opened it slowly and peered inside. When she saw the cluster of clothes strewn on the floor, the whirlwind of a mess that is my room, and the exasperated look on my face, she chuckled a little. She mumbled something about being young, and being in love, and that meeting the rents—her word, not mine--was never easy.

My mum isn’t like other mums. My mum’s more young at heart, more spontaneous, I guess. But she’s still a mother, and therefore, I think it’s a natural thing for mother’s to become a confidence, to be someone to confide in. She gave me tidbits of advice, about how making an impression is really important, yes; which made me really nervous. I gave her a look, and I had said, “wow mum that was reassuring.”

She had sighed and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’m not done yet, Emma.” She had said. “Yes, making an impression, a good impression is important, but don't you think they would be pretty shallow to judge you, all of you, just by one meeting, darling?”

She took a deep breath. “I mean, if they turn out to be shallow people, shallow like that. Well, you don’t need them to like you do you? But Emma dear, the fruit is as the tree, do you think Callahan would have shallow parents?” Well, I guess not. My mum’s snippet of advice gave me reassurance, a little, but not so much. “And Emma, be yourself. You’re a great person dear, I’m pretty sure you’d make a great impression, a lasting one at that.”

My mum stood up, flicked her hair over her shoulder, and made her way to the door; but before she left, she called over her shoulder, “You’d look great in the black dress we bought that week, Em; Third drawer to the left.”

…………………..

So there I was on your front porch, you were pulling me to the door, coaching me, forcing me and maybe, to some strangers passing by, harassing me. I was also blatantly protesting, planting my feet on the ground stubbornly.

You know I've always been stubborn, strong-willed, but you were quite stubborn also.

"Get down there!" I had told you, when you suddenly decided to stand on top of our table in the canteen. "Ladies and Gents! I have something to say!" All eyes were on us then, and my cheeks coloured a tomato red. 

I tugged on your trousers, "Cahl, what are you doing?" I had hissed. "I'm going to kill you. You know I don't want attention."

"I know you don't like attention, Em." You had combed your hand through your hair. "But this needs attention, this has to be special."

I had looked around and everyone was staring at us, it was dead silent, also. I swallowed a nervous lump in my throat. "Cahl, I swear...Ugh, you are so stubborn. This better be worth it."

You turned your attention back to everyone in the canteen. You cleared your throat and you looked almost as nervous as I did. You looked back at me then, your eyes sincere and glowing with warmth, admiration, and a mix of something I couldn't quite decipher, or maybe I could, but I didn't want to wistful think. You held both my hands in yours and declared the words I’ve longed to hear flowing out of your mouth. "Emma ly Wilson, will you be my girlfriend?" 

"ABOUT TIME YOU ASKED!" A young man had shouted from somewhere in the canteen, he was clapping his hands. It made me blush even more. My face was on fire.

I felt like I was in a trance, like this was a dream. I have liked you for so long and I just couldn't believe it isn't a one sided thing, I just couldn't believe my feelings aren't unrequited. I had stared at you for such a long time that your face had contorted into a frown, into a disappointed, hurt look. 

I didn't want to see that facial expression, not ever, especial because I wouldn't ever say no to you anyways. "Of course I'd be your girlfriend." Your face suddenly lit up and you took me in your arms and spun me around. You stopped, looked into my eyes, laughed--I had laughed too---and buried your face in my hair, inhaling my scent.

Claps had resonated throughout the whole cafeteria. "SHE SAID YES," you had shouted, and I had never felt more wanted in my entire life.

“Come on!” You placed an arm around my shoulder. “You look beautiful, Em.” You kissed me on the cheek, and my cheek turned a bright, bright, bright red. I thought my blushing was more embarrassing than anything else, more embarrassing than how pathetic I seemed there, wailing on your front porch.

“I promise they’ll love you!” And you were right, you were always right. They did love me, and that made my inside all fuzzy and warm and my heart feel like cinnamon was sprinkle all over it.

Well, I thought the best word to describe your parents is, beautiful, like you and your little sister, Poppy. Your parents are so beautiful, and they have this glow in them, this natural, radiating, and welcoming glow. They’re the most in love, most happy couple I had ever seen and you don’t know how many times I’d wished my parents had the kind of love your parents have, that we too, would one day have the kind of heart melting love they have.

They would have movie nights every Sunday. Your mum loves cheese-flavoured popcorn, and hates butter, but your dad, well he loves the butter-flavoured popcorn and hates the cheese ones, but they’d eat cheese together and the next Sunday, they’d eat butter-flavoured ones. They would compromise for each other, and I’ve always thought that’s beautiful.

I’ve always found compromising a, beautiful, beautiful thing.

But it turned out, our love story was so much better than theirs, so much more patched, so many stitches, and yet so much more powerful, so much more intact.

I also learned that your family wasn’t so perfect after all, your father has OCD and your mother is a perfectionist, and your little sister, well she has a bucktooth and hair’s unevenly cut—which never failed to piss off your perfectionist of a mother and OCD father—but that was okay, and that didn’t make me love your family any less, and if ever, I actually loved them even more. Their flaws, it makes them so much more enthralling, so very realistic.