The Girl Who Wrote The Dating Manual

chapter twenty-three

It was inevitable, and I knew eventually I’d have to do it.

            Still, I put it off for the next two days.

            In that time, a lot changed. I said my final goodbyes to my friends, attended my last classes, signed off and sent my transcripts to London, and celebrated my life at Hamilton one last time with a few shots of tequila and a very bad hangover.

            But I knew eventually I’d have to stop avoiding the unavoidable and just man up.

            So on Friday, two days before Doomsday, I finally pulled out my phone and dialed my parents’ number, almost shaking from nervousness. They could either take this the very good way or the very bad way, and, with those two, it was very hard to tell which side of the spectrum they’d fall to.

            “Hello?” someone asked a few seconds later, and I jolted as I heard the soft lilt of my mother’s voice in my ear. She had a sweet, thick voice, with a slight southern twang from her upbringing in Nebraska.

            “Hey, Mom,” I said, nervously running a hand through my hair.

           

            “Candice!” my mom said, sounding surprised. It wasn’t often I initiated phone calls beyond the exchange of pleasantries every few months and on holidays. I could understand her shock. “How are you?”

            “I’m okay, Mom,” I answered softly, fiddling with a gold chain around my neck as a means to tame my jitters. “How are you?”

            “I’m good. Your father and I are both good. Right now we’re actually trying to decide on the venue of the wedding. We’re thinking a nice September wedding this year. What do you think?”

           

            “Sounds lovely, Mom,” I told her, and it did. It sounded like a pretty autumn wedding. “But there’s something I have to talk to you about.”

            “What?” she asked, and I could hear the worry and fear lining her voice. I don’t remember that ever being a tone of voice she used with me in my adolescent years. “Sweetie? Is everything all right?”

            Before I had a chance to change my mind, I quickly told her everything, needing to get it off my chest as quickly as possible. I explained the scholarship to her and the details and my flight dates and everything I could think of, rattling off details as if I were a fact-finding robot.

            Once I was done, I was breathing heavily, and I waited for her to speak with my teeth worrying nervously at my lower lip.

            She was silent for a few moments, before she finally spoke. “This is a joke, right?” she asked finally. “This is some funny prank you’re pulling on your father and I?”

            “No, Mom,” I said gently. “This isn’t.”