New Message from: Abbie

Tomorrow, we leave for Florida. Mike and I. It's only weird because there hasn't been a single whole day that we have spent alone. I hate that. Ten months in and not a single, whole day that we have spent on our own. That's mostly my fault because of my parents; but regardless, it's true. It's strange that I even considered going on the trip because my parents are very, very strict. They control my schooling, my workload, my relationships, my time, and whatever else they can get their hands on. You would think they'd have given up on me after twenty years.

I told my mom about the trip in the beginning of August, before we had to change the dates.

"Mom, I have to tell you something."

"What?"

"Never mind, I don't want to tell you."

"You can't just tell me you're gonna tell me something and then not tell me."

So I told her. She was angry and upset and hurt. I hear it in her words when she responded with, "Good luck telling your dad."

Now, I didn't particularly have the best relationship with my father, and telling him about Florida was not an exception to his wrath. Nevertheless, the past few weeks have been better than any time since the 2nd grade, although that doesn't say much.

My dad and I work for the same private company. Although we technically work together, we don't really work with each other. He is head of HR and I am the intern in Benefits. The only time I have ever dealt with my father at work was last week, when I found out that he had told my supervisor to limit my hours to 20 hours a week from the previous 30.

That would have been fine, if I had not just been promoted and given a raise of $4 an hour. The math checks out to me getting the same paycheck that I would if I had not gotten a raise; and as a result, I was pissed. He had no right to meddle in my paycheck. I could understand if he wanted me to be home more, but I was working from home anyway; Covid had made sure of that.

Long story short, I sent him a heated email and he was very upset by all the things that I said. Even though every word in the email was true, I unsent it, told him it was just me being immature, and apologized. He removed himself from the conversation at work. We hugged it out. Now we are on good terms.

Crazy, right?

Anyway, tonight was the 5th anniversary for the death of Mike's uncle. It was devastating for the whole family, but particularly for Michael.

"You know what was the last thing he'd said to me?"

"What?"

"He said he was disappointed in me."

Harsh as it was, it wasn't an unreasonable statement. Mike had dropped out of the military by lying about a suicide attempt, and had sketchy discharge papers from the mental hospital. The only problem was, Michael had never seriously considered suicide, nor did he have any mental illnesses, he just wanted out of the military. When he came home, he was the subject of the family's gossip. His uncle had just found out before the front end of his truck was rammed by a drunk driver. But to be disappointed in someone doesn't mean to wish they were not in your life or to not find joy in your presence, it only means they had an expectation that you did not meet. More often than not, it is not your responsibility to meet those expectations. Michael doesn't understand that part.

Under those circumstances, I was unfazed when my boyfriend burst into tears on my living room couch in front of my dad, but my dad certainly was. He called me into the kitchen with an angry look on his face.

"Is Mike drunk?"

I tried not to find that funny. "No."

"Why is he crying?"

"It's his uncle's 5th anniversary."

He looked confused and angry.

"Of death."

"Oh." He still looked angry but no longer confused.

My father isn't one for compassion unless it pertains to his wife, so it didn't help that my mom wasn't home. He went to his room around 8 after stomping around the house for about an hour and we didn't see him for the rest of the night.

Emily and my mom were home at 9. After complaining about her mom's complaining, giving us all soft kisses on the forehead and saying her goodnights, she left the three of us to watch a movie and drink an entire bottle of margarita mix.

Emily headed to her room after the movie, while I stayed to say goodnight.

"Are you ready to go to Florida?"

"Absolutely. Are you?"

I made a face.

"What?"

"I'm just nervous."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"What if we die on the way there?"

"We're not gonna die."

"What if your stepdad doesn't like me? What if your mom changes her mind about me?"

"He's gonna love you and my mom already loves you."

"I've only met her once!"

"Baby," he lifts my chin to look at him, "It's gonna be okay."

Mike sleeps on the couch when he stays the night. Not that my bed isn't big enough for the both of us, my parents just don't like the idea of us sleeping together. Extra-Catholic, extra-strict, extra-protective. Call it what you want.

So here we are. Tomorrow morning, I will wake up and my mom will drive Mike and I to the airport, and we will have the most relaxing two weeks possible. This trip will either make our relationship or break it.

Love always,

Abbie