The Trouble with Kissing Connor

Chapter 10 (Connor)

I woke up on Friday morning with more than a spring in my step. After the week I'd just had, I was looking forward to the weekend in a huge way. I'd messaged Brett on Wednesday and told him about the party I wanted to have and my plans for involving his sister and their friends.

My muscles were seriously stiff from all the extra exercise I'd done that week and it felt good to shower in really hot water. I wrapped my towel around my waist 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. No matter how small or insignificant it is, it's always something. Everything is dissected and analysed and picked apart. They read into every word, every gesture and every tiny eye blink. They drive me utterly mental with their desire to psychoanalyze the smallest details of my existence. I wouldn't be surprised if they discussed my motivation for choosing a cheese sandwich over a turkey one.

On the upside, they've always allowed me a lot of freedom. They believe in a "young adult's ability to self-regulate"—Those are their words. They've never treated me like child and have always spoken very openly about things like sex, drugs and rock and roll. Sometimes they take it too far, though, like the time when I was thirteen, and my dad walked into my room and told me that because of the developmental phase I was currently going though, it was okay and perfectly normal to start "self-exploration." After it clicked what he was saying, I kicked him out of my room and couldn't look him in the eye for a week.

It's downright embarrassing. But I've taken a different path. Because they're always analyzing and looking for the deeper meaning in things, I choose not to. Instead, I take things at face value, never searching for hidden messages in situations or people. I don't even pay attention to people's gestures or the tone of their voice.

A few of my ex-girlfriends called me clueless and dense when I couldn't pick up on something they were hinting at. 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.

That's what I love about Sadie: 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 has no deep, dark secrets.

After getting dressed for school, I packed my tennis stuff and went downstairs for breakfast. But when I got there, my parents were sitting at the table quietly, as if they'd been waiting for me to come down.

"What's up?" I asked when I saw they were both wearing an expression that I'd never seen before. I didn't need any psychoanalytic abilities to tell that something was very wrong.

"Sit down, Connor," my father said.

"Is it Gran?" I asked, feeling panicked. My grandmother had been sick lately and the whole family was worried about her.

My father shook his head. "No, gran is fine. it's about your mother and I." 

"What about you guys?" I asked. 

My dad put his hands in the table and laced his fingers together–was he nervous? "Your mother and I have something to tell you," he said, tightening his fingers together. "Sit," my father said again.

"Okay," I lowered myself into the chair tentatively, and when I did, my mother leaned in and looked at me. I looked from her, to my father and then it hit me. I smiled. "Am I about to become a big brother? It's okay. I'm not going to freak out and experience the psychological trauma of abandonment issues or anything like that."