Telling Mom and Dad

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I make my way toward baggage claim and as I get closer I can see Mom waiting at the carousel that my bag should appear on. It doesn’t take her long to notice me and start freaking out. She yells my name and waves which I respond with a little wave and a small smile I only get when I’m embarrassed. If she's this crazy after me being gone for a week then what will she be like after months?

"My baby," she says when she pulls me into a hug. "I've missed you so much."

"I've only been gone a week, Mom."

"I know."

I shake my head and grab my bag that showed up. I follow Mom out to the car and we are quickly on our way.

"So where are we going?" I ask.

"We are going to pick up your dad and go out to lunch," Mom says with her slight British accent. When Mom moved here to the states, she lost a lot of her accent. But once we moved to Manchester, she gained it all back again. Once we moved back here, she lost a lot of it again but when she gets mad it comes back full force.

"Can't Dad drive?"

"He wrecked the car again after you left."

I sigh and shake my head. "He needs to learn how to drive again. What all happened this time?"

"He says that the person in front of him had faulty tail lights but the police say that that is not true and think he was distracted with something else."

"I can't believe they haven't taken his license away yet."

"They say that next time it happens, they will."

"Can we even afford to fix the car again?"

"This time, yes. But next time? I don't know."

"We need to find some way to help him." This is the fourth time he wrecked the car. The first time was because he was drunk after a party and ran into a light pole. The second time, he ran a stop sign and got hit. I was in the car with him for that one and he kept denying that there was a sign. The third time, he ran into a parked car on the side of the road for some reason.

"I'm trying to, sweetie. I just don't know where to start."

We make it to the newest location for Dad’s music shop and Dad was already waiting for us. He climbs into the back seat and Mom starts to drive again.

"Welcome home, honey," Dad says placing a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it.

"Thanks Dad. Mom told me about your accident. Are you okay?"

"I thought we weren't going to tell her about it right away, Anna?"

"She asked why we were picking you up so I had to tell her, Henry."

I didn't enjoy the way they were talking to each other so I decide to change the subject. "What are we having for lunch?"

I see Mom look in the rear view mirror, probably looking at Dad before saying, "Your favorite pizza place."

"Yay!"

The rest of the drive was quiet and I could feel something between Mom and Dad. They've had spurts like this before and every time they come up, I hate it. It affects me somehow and I’m almost put into the same mood as them. We pull into the parking lot and walk into the restaurant. Dad waits in line to order and Mom and I find a table.

"What's going on between you two now?" I ask when we find a table.

"It's nothing for you to worry about," Mom says, her voice steady. She always says that when I ask. Even though I'm almost 20, she doesn’t think that I could help out.

Dad joins us with drinks and soon the pizza arrives. We all start to eat when I decide to tell them about my trip.

"You guys won't believe who I ran into during my trip."

"Who?" they both ask.

"Maurice."

"Who?" Dad asks confused.

I roll my eyes and say, "Gibb. Maurice Gibb."

"I thought the Gibbs were in Australia," Mom states.

"They were but Maurice, Robin, and Barry became a group and had recorded a couple albums there. They then got signed in London and are making another album now."

"That's good for them."

"Those boys were pretty good. I bet they're even better now that they’re older," Dad says.

"They are." I look down at my pizza before adding, "They also offered me a job."

"What kind of job?" Mom asks. I knew she would be curious when she knew that they were making an album.

"They asked me to be their music consultant."

"What is that?"

"I would pretty much help them get a song just right by suggesting changes to the instrumentals or the lyrics."

"Then why don't they make you a producer or cite you as a writer?" Mom asks.

"Because they don't want me to be stuck with other jobs that can come with being a producer and I don't contribute enough to be considered a writer of the song. Even though they created the job for me, it's still a paying job."

Neither Mom nor Dad say anything while they look at each other. They were doing come kind of mind trick where they talked to each other without saying a word. After a minute, they turn back to me and Dad asks, "Did you take the job?"

I hesitate as well before saying, "Yes, I did. I came back to tell you guys and pack a few things. I have to get back as soon as possible since they're working on the album right now and don't want to do any work without me."

They're silent again and I could see their minds thinking. I knew they would enjoy the idea that I got a job but it was in a different continent. It's in the continent that Mom grew up in. They know I'll be close to Grandma so why would they worry.

"Those boys better keep you out of trouble," Dad finally says, "because if they don't, I'll fly out there and teach them a lesson."

"So everything's alright?"

"Of course, sweetie," Mom says as she grabs my hand. "You are 19 years old. You can make your own decisions. We'll just get little updates from your Grandmother every now and again."

I give them a smile and they smile back. I'm so glad they approve of all of this. I just have a feeling that all of this will turn out great in the end.

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