Confession: I’ve purposely delayed telling my parents that N and I broke up. While we have a close relationship, I am, by nature, very private about my personal (dating) life. I’m also extremely selective about who I mention, let alone introduce, to my family. It’s not that the men I date aren’t “good enough.” I’m just overly sound in judgement and I don’t take this sort of thing lightly. With that said, my parents not only know about N, but they have actual plans to meet him over dinner next month. GAH.
Currently in my parents’ eyes, N is some sort of demigod. Whenever I mentioned him during our phone calls, it was always a quip from the highlight reel.
“N and I traveled to the OC this weekend and we stayed in an amazing vacation home!”
“Yesterday, we biked together on the beach path and rode into Venice for drinks.”
It’s not that I intentionally omitted the bad stuff. During the entire six months that N and I dated, there simply was no bad stuff. Zero turbulence. Not a single fight or indiscretion. I’m dreading how quickly my parents’ admiration for N will turn into anger once I relay the news. Their anger will be completely biased; it’s not like they actually know the guy. All they know is that I cared for him endlessly and he made me happy in return. Every parent wants happiness for their child, and when that’s taken away and replaced with hurt, the claws come out. They’ll ask why he couldn’t promise a long-term commitment (I’m such a catch after all). They’ll demand to know what he was thinking when he threw our relationship away (again, I’m such a catch). These will be rhetorical questions of course, and all I’ll be able to do is sit on the other end of the phone and mumble quietly in agreement.