My phone is dead when the plane lands, but luckily I find my folks right away when I step outside.

They're parked on the curb in their green suburban. I see my dad first, his dusty grey hair combed back, and a pinched look on his face as he nods at me. My mom looks tired. Her silvery hair is pulled back in a tight bun, and there are big bags under her eyes. She waves, and I wave back, but neither of them gets out to greet me. Typical.

I open the door, toss my small duffel bag into the back seat, and climb in.

"She didn't bring three suitcases this time," my dad says with a slight smirk.

Yeah... because I don't plan on staying more than a few days, but I don't say this out loud.

"Hi," I say instead.

"How was the flight, Clarissa?" Mom asks. "You look well."

I have told her a million times not to call me that...

"Mom call me Rissa please, and It was fine. I spent it reading." I was kind of annoyed when we landed. I just got to a really good part. I am on the last book of Conner's Dragon series, which is amazing.

"And work, how is that going?" Dad asks.

Seriously? Already? Shit.

"Let's talk about that later. Have you had lunch yet? I'm starving. Can we stop?"

"We ate before we left," Dad says. "There's still some leftovers for you."

"But it's an hour's drive back," I complain.

"Restaurants are so overpriced these days," Dad complains.

"They have gotten out of control," Mom agrees. "You'll like the chicken salad I made, Rissa."

The nickname sounds a little bitter on her lips like she's annoyed to use it, but I appreciate her effort anyway. 

"I don't want to wait an hour to eat. Can't we stop for fast food? I'll pay." 

"Maybe a quick stop wouldn't hurt, Richard?" 

"In this traffic. Didn't you have breakfast?" Dad asks.

"It was too early to eat," I mumble.

"Fast food is terrible for you. We'll be home before you know it," Mom assures me.

This is not starting out well at all...

I turn my head to look out the window as the car falls silent.

***

My mom's chicken salad was good—so good that I devoured the rest of it. They live in a small retirement community called The Villages, and own a nice condo with tons of ammednties right on the beach. It's cute, with wide tiled floors and brightly colored walls. It doesn't fit my parents at all, but my dad was too cheap to repaint. The kitchen is almost as small as the one in my apartment, but it suits the two of them fine.

"Oh good, you finished that up. I didn't want leftovers to sit too long. Your dad won't be able to eat again now until his surgery in the morning, and I doubt he'll eat after."

"What time is the surgery?"

"Eight AM. We'll need to leave by seven."

"You want me to come to the hospital?"

"It will be a long day sitting and waiting for him. I'd like it if you did."

"Okay," I agree, but inside, I cringe. Hours just sitting with her?

"We can catch up. I feel like we haven't spoken in ages."

"Because we haven't," I say with a shrug.

"Well, call every once in a while, why don't you?" Mom says in a teasing way, but it irks me just the same.

"The phone works both ways, Mom."

"Clarissa, don't speak to your mother like that," Dad says as he walks into the kitchen.

"I didn't mean to snap, but it's true that you all never call me either."

"Because you never seem happy to hear from us when we do," Mom says, and I see a slight hurt look in her eyes.

I let out a soft sigh. "Maybe we should all sit down and talk about that a little?"

"Talk about what?" Dad asks.

"This," I say as I bite back my frustration. "This strained relationship we have. I think it's time we talk about how to make things better."

"Better?" Dad asks as Mom frowns.

"Yes, better," I stress as I point to the table. "Can we go sit now?"

"I don't understand what the problem is."

"You're upset we don't call?" Mom asks, looking just as confused as Dad.

"No... I," I take a breath. "Every time you all call. You start asking me questions about my job, apartment, savings, and stuff, and you all get judgemental. It puts me on edge and makes me feel shitty pretty much all day, so I avoid calling, and I'm glad you don't call me that often."

Mom draws a sharp breath as my dad's eyes widen.

"That was an incredibly rude thing to say!" Dad says, anger flashing in his eyes.

"Maybe so, but it's the truth."

"Of course, we ask how you're doing at work and stuff. We care about you!" Mom protests.

"Asking is one thing judging is another."

"We aren't judging. We get worried. You've been in the same position for over a decade now. You're thirty years old and still living in a shitty apartment. Still single...of course, we worry," Dad argues.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about!"

"Do not raise your voice at your father," Mom says.

I whirl around to glare at her. "I'm not a child. I'm an adult who can stand up for myself, like it or not."

"You sound so mature right now," Dad scoffs.

"You want to know what's going on? I'll tell you. I don't work at the call center anymore. I stormed out and quit."

They both gasp at that but I ignore the reaction and continue.

"I work at a comedy club now as a bartender—"

"What!? Of all the ridiculous choices-" Dad stammers. 

"You could make this tops them all?" I finish for him. "I predicted you'd say that. But I'm making more money now than I ever did there."

"You can't live off tips, Rissa. It's a risky job," Mom says as Dad glares at me with stormy eyes.

"Did you not hear what I said about making more money now than I ever have? I'm also working on this project with a writer—"

"You might be doing okay now, but what happens when you have a slow week and can't make rent?" Dad cuts me off.

"I have enough in savings to cover a few months. I'd have more, but I recently bought a car and—"

"A car? In the city? That's a completely unnecessary purchase at this time." Dad says.

"Stop cutting me off!" I snap. "It's very necessary for all my plans to come together, but you know what?"

"What?" He huffs out.

"I don't have to explain it to you. This is exactly what I was talking about. The judgments, the assumptions I can't run my own life. The scolding and talking down to me. I'm done with it, all of it."

He opens his mouth to talk, but I raise my voice. "I'm not done yet!" His mouth shuts fast as his eyes widen in shock, and Mom gasps again.

"I'm just fine. On my own, I figured out what I needed to do. I left a nowhere job and took the job at the club. I'm also making money on this project I'm working on. I did think this through first even if I left suddenly. The tips have been so good. I bought a car to take a real estate course. Once I've complete that I'll be working at the bar and selling houses! Eventually, I'll be buying homes that I'll turn a profits on."

"You're doing all that?" Mom sounds stunned as Dad blinks, trying to process everything I said.

"Yes, all that because I finally realized I am capable of things. I just had to believe in myself, and you two make that so hard with all your shitty comments!"

"We just worry..." Mom says

"We will not be talked to like that in our house," Dad snaps.

"I took time off work to help you," I snap right back. "I have every right to stand up for myself no matter what home I'm standing in."

"You are our daughter, and we have every right to question the choices you're making," Dad rants even as Mom reaches for his arm, trying to stop him. "Do you think real estate is easy? It's just as risky as working for tips. This has always been your problem, Clarissa. You dive right in head first with no solid plan, and then when we question it, you get upset!"

"Because I'm an adult,t and don't call me Clarissa. I hate it!"

"You raise your voice one more time, and I'm booking you a flight home," Dad says, his face as red as a tomato.

"Don't bother; I'll get my own flight home," I say, walking toward the bedroom. I head in, grab my bag from the bed, and storm back out.

When I get back out there, I see the two of them arguing in low voices.

"I'll be staying at the Holiday Inn until I can get a flight out of here," I tell them, and they both turn to look at me. Dad still looks angry, but Mom looks a little sad.

"Please don't go, let's talk about this," Mom begs.

"I'll stay if Dad apologizes," I look from her to him.

"Apologize for what!? Caring about my daughter?"

"I told you what bothered me and you choose to ignore it. I guess this is goodbye then." I leave and slam the door behind me, which I know pissed him off even more, and I'm glad for it.

The warm sun embraces my hot cheeks, and tears fall down my face as I stand there trying to figure out what to do next.

My phone is dead, and I need to call a cab...

Are the neighbors around here friendly enough to let me use their phone?

"Rissa, please don't leave!" Mom comes running out. "I can't handle Dad's recovery all alone. He's going to be so— please just stay."

"I told you what my conditions are. He can't even simply say sorry?"

"Your dad is a difficult man... you know that."

"You're not that different from him," I accuse and she cringes.

"I— we do worry .." she stammers.

"No, you try to control, and when it doesn't work you judge me—harshly. You might not be as bad as him, but you both do it."

"I'm sorry, and I will try to do better. All these things you're doing... I'm proud of you."

This only adds to the tears already streaming down my face.

"Why did it take you thirty years to say that?"

"I... I'm sorry I—" she pauses, and for the first time, I think ever, I see vulnerability in her honey-brown eyes, as they well up with tears. "I know I expected too much from you growing up."

"Yeah, you did," I agree, sniffling as I wipe my tears back with my sleeve.

"My parents were like that with me, but I enjoyed the pressure. I liked being the best at everything. I was the valedictorian. I got a full scholarship to college and a great job out of college. I was going to take the world by storm, and then..."

"Then?" I ask with a tilt of my head.

"Your father and I have been together since college— as you know. He was as ambitious as I was and I loved that about him. He encouraged my drive to be at the top of my career. He wanted the same." She swallows heavily. "But he also wanted to settle down and start a family while we were still young.

"It became a rather big debate with us for some time. I was moving right up and would still do so with a child, but I wanted to do some traveling and such. I wanted to enjoy the good money we were making a little longer, and ... " she pauses.

"Just say it," I push.

"I never felt that maternal. I hoped maybe that would change when I grew older, but.."

"But?" I ask as I fold my arms around my body. 

"He kept pressuring and sometimes it's easier just to give in, so I did," she confesses. "I wasn't ready to be a mom. I think a part of me, took that out on you. It was wrong, and I'm sorry. But please know I didn't regret you, I love you. I was just overwhelmed and unhappy so I couldnt... didn't show you and I'm even more sorry for that."

I swallow hard. "I appreciate your apology and being honest about it."

"As you grew up, it grew harder, you and I never bonded like I hoped we eventually would. You were nothing like me or your dad, and I just—I never figured out the right way to motivate you."

"All I wanted was to be loved, not motivated. You're my parent,s not my life coaches."

"You're right," she admits.

"And now I'm an adult, and expecting to be treated like one isn't that much to ask for."

"I agree, and I will do better, I promise."

"I know you'll try, but he won't," I look at the house and then let out a sad sigh. "I'll stay for this weekend —"

"Oh, thank you, Rissa. Let's go inside, and we'll get you settled back in."

"No. I meant I'll stay in Florida for the weekend, but I am staying at a hotel. I'll sit with you during the surgery tomorrow, and I'll come during the day to help out for a few days and leave at night."

"Okay..." she says. "That's fair."

"But then after this weekend, I'm cutting off contact with Dad."

"What!?"

"I'm sorry Mom, but he's never going to respect me and he just proved that. You and I can still talk, and hopefully, our relationship can get better, but that'll never happen with him."

"Maybe if you give him some time, he can be a difficult man but he does love you."

"Difficult is way too generous a word. Mom we're talking about a man who forced you to have a kid when you weren't easy for it!"

"Force is much too strong of a word I did agree to it, Rissa."

"No, I know him. He probably pushed and pushed until you finally gave in. You pretty much said that yourself."

"I.." she just sighs and doesn't deny it further "Please reconsider."

I bite my lip so hard it hurts; the people-pleaser in me wants so badly to agree, but I have to choose myself.

"I gave him a chance to apologize, and he doubled down on it. He will never change. My decision about him stands, so if you want you and me to get better, you're going to have to respect this choice."

"Okay, I don't like it, but I will," she agrees.

"Can I use your phone to call a cab, please?" I ask and her eyes fill with sadness as she hands me her phone.

***

As sad as I am about deciding to cut out my dad, by night two in Florida, I'm beyond relieved I got a hotel. Today was very long and daunting.

The surgery took several hours and my mom and I talked, a lot. She apologized again and again about the past, and I think she and I are going to be better than we ever were now. She even started venting about my dad for the first time. I saw these huge cracks in their marriage I never knew were there.

I always felt like they were both cold, unromantic people,but it turns out she's been pretty miserable most of her life. She wanted more but accepted what she got.

It rung a huge alarm bell in my ears as I realized I was more like her than I ever knew. I was on the road to do the same exact thing had Conner not come along when he did.

Conner... I wish I'd taken him up on coming along. I could so use his arms around me right now. 

I feel good about my choice, it's still making me sad. I haven't told my dad I'm cutting off contact. He's recovering from surgery, and it'll only cause a big fight.

Instead, I'm simply going to stop reaching out to him and not answer his calls should he ever make any. It'll likely take him a year even to realize it's happened, which is fine with me. I don't want to fight with him anymore. I want peace.

Poor Mom stuck in a marriage that makes her miserable most of the time. I want to coach her to leave him, but I asked her not to judge my choices so I won't judge hers. It's sad though. Marriage should be about deciding together what dreams to go for and what to sacrifice. No one should ever feel trapped, like they're the ones giving everything up. It's supposed to be a partnership. One person should never make the other feel pushed into a corner and trapped. 

I make my way to the bathroom vanity and begin washing my face. When I look up at my reflection, I realize something, as the fuzz in my brain starts to clear in this sterile hotel bathroom.

 Marriage was always my dream because I saw it as my escape from them. I assumed it would rescue me, and now I see I can rescue myself. I still want a husband and a family someday, but it's not my only dream anymore. 

 I love myself enough not to settle for anything less than love, the right kind of love.

"I'm ready— I don't need to solo date anymore," I whisper the words I've been waiting to be able to say.

I need to call Conner and tell him. When I get back from Florida, we can do this!

I'm admittedly a little scared because with Conner,  it'll go from dating to something serious very quickly. But a little fear is okay. It's normal. I'm more excited now than I am scared. I want to see what the future holds for us and me.

With a shaky hand, I grab my phone and dial Conner's number.

"Hey, Riss. How'd the day go?" He answers right away.

"Never mind that right now," I say as I clutch the phone like a lifeline. "Conner - I'm ready."

"Ready?"

"To date," I clarify. "I'm ready to give us a real shot, Conner."

"Oh...." he sounds stumped. "You are?"

Why doesn't he sound happier? Is he that shocked? I go cold as I walk numbly out of the bathroom, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Why do you sound so weird?"

"Let's talk about this when you get home."

"No. Let's talk about it right now," I demand.

"Rissa... this is an in-person conversation..."

He doesn't want me. A lump forms in my throat. How—why? What changed in two days? He liked me as much as I liked him. I know he did.

He said he'd wait forever...

"Please just—I'll explain when you're here and—" His voice is stifled, and I swallow hard as my eyes fill up with tears.

"You changed your mind about us?" I ask in a shaky voice, but I have to because I'm not ready to give up without an explanation.

"No," he groans. "You have no idea how much I want you, want this."

I hear the longing, the need in his tone, I can nearly feel it through the phone so –

"What is going on, Conner?"

He clears his throat. "I believe you're ready to date, but I don't know if you're ready for a relationship. I don't know— damn it. Can we please have this conversation in person?"

"No, we cannot. That's not fair, because I'm spending the rest of the weekend here, overthinking what the hell I did to screw this up while I'm trying to deal with my parents!"

"You haven't done anything. This isn't about something you did or didn't do. It's about you, finding you and you're doing that, but you still have some inner work to do."

Why does he get to decide for both of us? No... I start fuming as I clench my fists.

"I told you I'm ready. I couldn't feel more ready-"

"To date. You're ready to date, but you need to experience dating again before you jump into a relationship."

"So we'll go slow."

"Rissa,I'm not sure your feelings for me are as genuine as you think," he says in a gentle voice that does nothing to soothe my anger, which is now reaching a bubbling point.

"What!? Why would you even say that?"

"It's actually kind of common for someone to develop what they think are feelings for their psychiatrist. And I know I'm not that, but in ways, I've been acting that way. I'm safe because I've been through this whole journey for you, and that feeling of security could easily be mistaken for feelings."

I feel like a kid being sat down and told Santa is not real.. Only these are my feelings we're talking about, mine. I think if anyone should know them it's me!

"I'm not mistaking anything," I say through gritted teeth. "I know what I feel! Where is this coming from?"

"I had a conversation with someone who knows about stuff like this," he says and then continues giving a long speech about safety nets that I have hear nothing of.

"Who?" I demand. 

"What?"

"Who did you have a conversation with?" I already know, and my entire body tenses as I prepare to hear it.

"It was Serena, please don't be upset—"

"Too late for that. I got to go. I'll see you when I get back."

"Wait, Riss, please..."

I hang up as angry tears begin falling down my cheeks.