Then You Saw Me by Carrie Aarons
28
Taya
And just like that, I’m twenty.
It feels weird coming out of my teen years. Those were so turbulent, full of emotions and drama that seemed so heightened at the time. Settling into this new decade, I feel more relaxed and sure of myself in my own skin than I ever have before.
As of my twentieth birthday, I’m dating someone I really, really like and maybe even love. No, I do love Austin. Maybe I’ll tell him that, since I’m no longer a scared teenager. Not that I didn’t say it in that horribly embarrassing letter I wrote when I was a lovesick teenager … the one that he read.
But I do feel better than I ever have at just being me. I have a great circle of people around me; I know exactly what I want to do with my life. I don’t sweat the small stuff as much, and I try to let things slide off my back more than I ever have.
I had my interview with the intern coordinator at the United Nations two days ago. I was absolutely sweating as the translation specialist threw questions my way, switching from French to English and over to Italian. Though I was so nervous, I thought it went well, and he seemed pleased at my skill set by the end. Now they’re going to vet me, do some FBI background check shit, and I’ll hear around graduation time.
Though I kind of wish they’d have handed it to me on the spot. It would have been a kick-ass birthday present.
Honestly, any kind of present would have been better than the none I received from my family. Talking about not letting things weigh on me, apparently, this wasn’t one of them.
Because I’m feeling the rage build as I walk out of my last class of the day and still haven’t heard one word from my family. I won’t take this lying down; I’m not about to be Sam in Sixteen Candles. I may be laid-back, I may fade into the background, but for my own parents to forget my twentieth birthday?
No fucking way.
As I walk through campus, the sunlight streaming through the massive oak trees dotting the quad, my pulse notches higher with each ring of the call I just dialed.
“Oh, Taya, hi!” Mom sounds cheerful but distracted when she picks up.
“Hi.” If my tone conveys my attitude, Mom is oblivious.
“How are you, sweetheart? Did you have a good day of classes?” she asks, chipper as ever.
With every passing second that she doesn’t mention my birthday, my ire ratchets up to the next level.
“It was fine. Anything you might want to say?” I’m being totally childish, but it’s my right to be at this point.
A pause. “Hm, I’m not sure. Was there something you want to talk about?”
There is a commotion in the background, and I can hear my sister whining over something.
“Listen, Taya, I have to go. We’re packing for a flight. It was unexpected, but Kath got invited to—”
“So, per usual, I am an afterthought.” My voice is so hard, it could cut the phone line.
Blood pulses in my eardrums, my fingertips tingle as that hot/cold, prickly sensation spreads over me. Tears dot my vision and that crushing devastation of being utterly let down pins my chest.
“Taya, what are you talking about?” Mom is incredulous, and I can tell she wants to rush me off the phone.
“It’s my freaking birthday, Mom. You live forty-five minutes away. But instead of coming here to see me for the first time at college since I started my sophomore year, you’re going to some bullshit for Kathleen that could be done on another day.”
I start to sniffle and realize just how absolutely hurt I am. Just once, I want someone to pick me. I want to be thought of beforehand, have something special planned for me, or just be the first thing on someone’s agenda. Is that asking too much? How many times is my heart going to have to break when my hope supersedes reality?
“Oh, oh gosh. Taya, I’m sorry. Shit, I didn’t … this meeting is important though, your sister—”
“Has taken up every inch of space and love since she got on that stupid horse!” I scream, not caring who hears me as I walk into the student parking lot. “That meeting is important? What, so my birthday is chump change? You know you missed it last year, too? And for my eighteenth one, I got a cake in a hotel lobby bar because Kathleen had a jumping competition in Toronto. Or how about the time you canceled my fifteenth birthday party a week before because Kath had some competition in Spain? You want to talk about important? I guess I’m not to you.”
With that, I jab the “end call” button with my pointer finger and promptly begin to shake. Sobs shatter through my chest and thank God, I make it to my car and heave myself inside before dissolving into a full-blown breakdown.
It was always coming to this. Generally, I cry it out with Bevan or Amelie, but this feels deeper. There is nothing that can make you feel more hurt than personal, emotional neglect when it comes to your family. It tears you apart on a soul level, and those cuts might scar over, but they never mend.
And especially when you take this kind of neglect over and over again, with the emotions being so pent up, there is no choice but for the fuse to blow after a while. With each interaction, with each time I’m left feeling like they couldn’t care less about me, I get marginally angrier. Marginally more upset. Marginally more confused and hurt.
Until all of those little instances stack up and come crumbling down on my head.
Even though my friends and Austin were wonderful this morning, having me blow out a birthday cupcake and promising an even bigger celebration tonight, there is nothing that smooths over the fact that my parents forgot about my birthday.
That they have been forgetting me for years. Almost my entire lifetime.
That’ll teach me to ever stand up for myself again. It’s like the world has labeled me the person who isn’t granted attention and slaps me down to reality when I try to reach for any.
Because even when I try, for just one moment, to speak up and put myself first, it doesn’t work.
So much for this being a wonderful birthday where I feel more comfortable being me than ever before.
It looks like another year of playing second fiddle to everyone else around me.