Silk || hs

I Am Confusion

In the time it takes Harry to get here, both my parents arrive home from work, and neither shows even the slightest intention of driving me back tonight. At this realization, I become so thankful that Harry is stubborn enough to make me go with him. He did give me a choice, but his insistence is what pushed me to agree in the first place.

When my mother starts to cook dinner, I get a text from Harry saying that he's about twenty minutes away. It hits me now that I'm about to see Harry in person and we're about to spend three hours alone in a car together. I don't think I can properly express my stress and anxiety about the notion of this, but let me just say, it's pretty intense. Not only will I have to endure this ride, but I also have to tell my parents that I will be going with him. In hindsight, I should have told them after I got off the phone with him so that, on the off chance that my parents want me to stay, my dad won't make Harry turn around and drive the whole way back by himself. I swear, if my dad does that, I'm just going to run away. If that fails, then I'm going to live in a ditch out of shame because that's obviously my only remaining course of action.

With a deep breath, I walk into the kitchen and find my mom standing by the stove sautéing onions.

This is it, Cam. I try to hype myself up. She's going to find out anyway, so just tell her.

"Hey, mom?" I begin sheepishly. If I were watching me speak right now, I'd probably think I was about to ask for an absurd amount of money or something ridiculous like that. That is to say, despite my attempt at a pep talk, my nerves are effectively betraying me.

"Yes?" she replies sweetly, awaiting my response but keeping her focus on the onions in front of her.

"Um, do you remember Harry? He's the one who, you know, helped me."

At this, my mother turns around to look at me. I haven't said anything about the other night this entire weekend, so I suppose she's expecting me to 'open up about my feelings' or something. Think again, mommy dearest.

Before she can try to probe me for the kind of conversation she wants to have, I say what I need to say, probably a little too quickly, "He's coming here to get me."

My mother sets down her spatula and turns to me. Oh shit. Shit gets real when the onions are left unstirred.

"When is he getting here?" My mother sounds frustrated, and I can see the anger building up on her brow as the creases in her forehead deepen. This is going to be an unpleasant conversation.

I bite my lip and take a deep breath as if to brace for her reaction, "Twenty minutes."

A silence falls over us and the tension in the room heightens with every passing second. The silence seems to last forever, until, all at once, my mother walks out the kitchen and yells at me to "sauté the onions for God's sake" in a rather aggravated tone. Unsure of what to do, I walk to the stove and begin stirring the mixture in the pan. After several seconds, I begin to hear the loud voices of my parents somewhere in the house. They seem to be yelling, but not quite loud enough for me to understand their words clearly. Eventually, the both enter the kitchen looking unusually calm.

Again, the tension returns and I am surprised when my father doesn't yell at me, he simply asks, "Do you know why we made you come home with us?"

I did not expect this question at all, but I suppose it has a simple enough answer.

"Because I screwed up and you wanted to keep an eye on me?" I suggest, fully convinced that this is true.

My father sighs, "That's partially true, but we brought you home because you need to understand that your actions have consequences."