Eminem - The Real Slim Shady (Edited)
My Parents Are Officially Outside the Realm of Normal
If I run fast enough through life, I can't see the cracks — the pieces in it that are imperfect.
My looming unemployment.
Right now, in the moments since that horrible night when Vic proposed, I've run fast and love has blurred my vision. Carter and I have fit so perfectly together, in this new relationship of "I love you"s and orgasms and "God, you're beautiful"s that I've managed, for three straight days now, to ignore everything else.
Then real life came calling. In the form of, of all people, my own parents.
Cammie was coming over, and late, and I buzzed her in without question, swinging open the door at the first sign of a knock, my wine glass in hand, buzz kicking, pajama pants imperfectly paired with a Current-Elliot top. Her fashion advice had been needed, my parents had not.
"Mom?" I almost checked my wine glass, to see if I had drank a bottle, had slipped in pills, had done something to imagine my mother, her arm slipped carelessly through a Birkin, my father towering behind her. I hadn't seen them in over a year and yet, somehow, they looked exactly the same. No extra wrinkles from stress, no salt-and-pepper roots betraying the months since a proper dye job, no worn suitcase in hand. Mother was in a St. John suit, her hair perfect, smile wide, a mink stole around her shoulders. My father was in his typical garb: an oxford shirt tucked into dress pants, sunglasses perched on his thick head of hair. They were a handsome couple and looked like a million bucks. A million highly illegal bucks.
"Chloe, where are your manners?" She scowled at me as if she still owned my dwelling, her hand pushing open my door, and she swept past, the scent of Chanel No. 5 catching me, a thousand memories tied to the smell.
"Chloe." My father nodded stiffly and I nodded back. Our typical greeting. Another thing that hadn't changed.
"What are you guys doing here?" I didn't close the door, just pivoted in place, a little wine sloshing out, and stared at them. Mom didn't turn, didn't respond. She was too busy surveying my apartment, her brows raised in a manner that clearly indicated her disproval. Something inside of me snapped.
"What are you doing here?" I repeated. "Aren't you both under house arrest?"
"Oh" Mother said airily, waving her hand. "Nothing so barbaric as that. I mean … the hearing is tomorrow morning. Then we'll probably be restricted to the house."
"If the judge doesn't send us straight to jail." Father said the statement mildly, lifting up my bottle of wine and examining the label.
"It's turned into such a mess, it's really quiet humorous." Mom turned back to me, her eyebrows raising, and she grinned at me, as if we were teenage girls sharing a delicious secret.
"You have a hearing tomorrow?" I tried to follow this.
"Yes." She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around my neck, hugging me tightly. "We came up here just to see you, Chloe. You should really act happier to see us."
I didn't have a response. I patted her back awkwardly and looked to my father, who was busy tipping back a glass of my cheap wine. "So … you fly home tonight?"
"Oh, I'm not sure." Mom pulled back and reached in her bag, finding a tube of lipstick and pulling it out. "We may do a little traveling. We tried to deal with the investigators, but..." she waved a hand in the air like the FBI was a pesky little kid who was stomping through her hibiscus.
Then it hit me then and the only thing that really surprised me was that they had stopped off in New York first. "You're running?"
It was a waste of words. I knew, before my dad even coughed on my wine, the answer.
Video: WORLD OF WARCRAFT | LEGION CINEMATIC TRAILER REACTION
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