I only speak to my mom every few months. Well, every several months really. I think few implies far too short a time period between calls. It’s more like several. And then some. Whatever. I speak to my dad somewhat more often, through secretive phone calls always made from work and never mentioned to the maternal unit.
So maybe a year ago I was speaking to her only to find out that while she had flown down to the southern USA to visit my brother at school and stopped in Chicago on the way up to see distant relatives, they had also been in Toronto for a day. Unbeknownst to me. You know, their first born, their only daughter. That they hadn’t seen in like, 6 months at that point.
Let’s qualify this atrocity. First, a few years ago I was very sick. So sick I was suicidal (not like emo-kid suicidal, really fucking wanted to die suicidal). I called my mom once out of absolute desperation at 4 in the morning her time, before escorting myself to the hospital (the boyfriend was away for work). She knew this and at no point offered to come out and stay with me.
I later found out that my brother had stubbed his toe. I don’t know all the details, but he got it cut and it got infected and it was doing some nasty shit to his toe. The reason she couldn’t fly out to see me? WELL. Because she had offered my brother that she’d fly down to help him out with his FUCKING TOE and therefore, my death wishes were obviously secondary. I mean, what if his toe fell off? He’d only have nine left. Whereas I, with my abundant lives (what is this, a video game?) would be fine, no doubt. It’s sort of parallel to our respective 16th birthday gifts. I got $40. He got a $6,000 car. I shit you not.
In the 8 years I have lived in Ontario, they have visited twice. And once was for my university convocation, which I didn’t even want to go to. I begged them not to fly in for that, cuz I really didn’t see the big deal of walking across the stage while someone mispronounced my name and I grabbed a piece of paper. Woo. Fun times. While here, they refused to leave their hotel room. Cuz you know, who wants to see Toronto as a tourist? There’s certainly nothing better to do here than sit in a hotel room, I guess.
So I was kind of miffed, but not at all surprised when I found out they had been in my fair city and not informed me of this. I called them on it, and they mumbled something here or there and that quarterly phone call eventually ended.
Then I learned something.
Kids, be careful what you wish for.
Apparently, in approximately one month, my parents will be in Toronto. This time, they heeded my complaints and INFORMED me of it. They will be at the airport for five hours. And I’m expected to be there. I shrugged it off the first time I heard about it at Christmas, but when I phoned my dad for his bday, I was reminded of it again and I think I’m truly expected to take my ass out to the airport to sit with them for five hours.
The first thing I did when I realized this was a serious situation? I told the boyfriend I was finally getting retribution for all of his family’s dinners and gettogethers, arguments and celebrations I have sat through. His family only lives 40 minutes away, as opposed to my family’s two time-zone buffer.
The look of terror in his eyes was priceless. Price. Less. He narrowed his eyes slightly and said, ‘They’re coming.’ All matter of fact. Like, from a horror movie the way a kid would say, ‘They’re coming’ when referring to the army of undeads behind them. He knows. Ohhhh, he knows. He’s been witness to the joy that IS me and my mommy interacting.
There is NO way he’s getting out of this one. Oh no. I have sat through too many holiday dinners not to be owed this one airport visit.
I have started my countdown. It’s about a month. I’m scared. My plan is to drink heavily. Maybe a few pre-visit drinks and then a few drinks at the airport, to maintain my buzzed apathy.
I should have kept my big mouth shut. This could be disastrous.
Coincidentally? Today, I sold one of the gifts they gave me for Christmas. They shipped it to my work and I hadn’t taken it home yet. It was still wrapped. So when a client asked if we had one particular item, and I knew that there was a new, wrapped one sitting at the front, why wouldn’t I have sold it to her at 100% profit?
I think that might make me the worst daughter in the world. But hey, I guess the acorn doesn’t fall too far from the tree.
Back to my original point. Be careful what you wish for. I wished they would have told me when they were gracing Toronto’s presence. And now they have. And I should have just bit my tongue. Dammit Talea.