Page 110 of Sunny Undone

Sunny grips me around the back of the neck, just as the smoke alarm goes off in the kitchen. But instead of going to fix the burning meat, he kisses me thoroughly.

“Ten out of ten for the grand gesture, Sunny,” I say.

“We’re never gonna be boring, Indy.”

My mother gets up and turns off the pan with the beef in it and begins to wave a second cloth beneath the smoke alarm, which finally quiets.

“I’m not going to sit here and be lectured on parenting by a man whose entire lifestyle and persona suggests he’s ill-qualified to advise anyone about achieving their potential,” my father says curtly.

Sunny’s face changes. “I’m not telling you anything about achieving potential. I’m telling you to love your fucking daughter for the brilliant, capable, talented, passionate woman she is.”

“And you don’t get to do that, Dad. Not in my house. You don’t get to make Sunny feel small. Because do you know what Sunny does? He listens to me. He asks me things and cares about the answers, even if it doesn’t make sense to him. He spends hours helping me because he knows my research matters to me. He remembers things I tell him. He makes me laugh when I’m scared, like right now. He notices when I’m overwhelmed. And he reminds me every day that, yes, I really am smart. He cares more about me and my happiness, and that I feel loved, than the two of you ever have.”

My mother recoils. “Della. That’s not true. We’ve always loved you.”

I take a deep breath. If I’m going to clear the air, I might as well truly clear it. “You cared about my grades. My degrees. My career. But I don’t ever remember you telling me you loved me. I don’t recall you ever asking if I was truly happy.” I turn my head to Sunny. “And for the record, you make me happy.”

He tips my chin. “For the record, we’re gonna have a very intimate conversation about the whole feeling-loved thing.”

“I look forward to it,” I say. I turn back to my parents. “I’m done apologizing for being the least impressive child you had. And for the record, never call my wetlands large puddles ever again if you want to remain in my life. They are my life’s work. I’m proud of it. And if you can’t be, that’s your problem, not mine.”

My father has the grace to look uncomfortable, but I push my chair beneath the table. “And Sunny’s my choice. So, if you want to be a part of my life, you will treat him with respect too. And now, I think you should go.”

The next few minutes are silent. They make it all the way outside before my legs begin to shake and Sunny catches me around the waist.

“I just yelled at my parents,” I manage to say a little too breathlessly.

“Seems like it’s your week for reaming out parents. You do such a good job of it. Let’s get you sat down,” Sunny says, tugging the chair out from beneath the table, and making sure I sit.

“My mom is probably having some kind of aneurysm right now.”

Sunny shrugs before crouching in front of me. “Your dad can fix it. Isn’t he some kind of overachieving surgeon?”

“Cardiac surgeon. Not brains.”

“He’s a bit shit if he can only fix one thing,” Sunny says.

And suddenly, I’m laughing, because despite everything, it feels as though Sunny just helped me lift my parents’ boots off my chest.

“You want kids, Sunny?” I ask out of nowhere. I don’t know why the question fits in this moment, but I’m feeling happy, in spite of how this evening went, and want to know.

I reach for his strong and solid hands and squeeze them tight. He brings my knuckles to his lips and kisses them tenderly.

“With you? One day? Fuck, yes. Let’s hope they get your brains and my sense of humor and not the other way around.”

I playfully slap his arm. “Hey, I can be funny.”

He shrugs again, but he’s grinning. “Yeah, but you’re, like, beginner-level funny. I could do stand-up. There’s no competition that I’m funnier. Why you asking about kids? Do you want them?”

I look to the front door again, the one my parents left through. I don’t miss their presence, but I’d be devastated at the loss of Sunny’s. And while I’m not sure I would have known how to answer his question a month ago, I have a crystal-clear answer in my heart that has nothing to do with tenure and research and career progression.

“I just had a thought that you’d make a great dad. You’d always defend our kids because you’d see them and what they need. And yeah, Sunny. I think kids with you would be another grand adventure.”

Because maybe Sunny is right on one thing. Some answers have to come from the heart.

33

DELLA