I was back where I never thought I'd be—living with my parents. After everything that had happened with the company, walking away from it all, and the mess with Vanessa, I was once again crashing in my old room, surrounded by the same walls I'd grown up with. It wasn't exactly the triumphant return I had imagined, but here I was, out of a job and trying to figure out what the hell to do with my life.
It was a Sunday afternoon, and I was sitting at the kitchen table with my mom and dad. The place hadn't changed much since I'd left—same mismatched plates, same floral curtains my mom loved, same faint smell of Chinese herbs from the medicine cabinet she always kept stocked. I was nursing a cup of tea, trying to keep a low profile, but I knew it was only a matter of time before my mom brought up the subject.
She was washing dishes at the sink, her back turned to me, but I could feel the tension in the air. My dad was sitting across from me, quietly reading the newspaper, but we both knew it was coming.
"Tristan," my mom said suddenly, her voice sharp, "when are you going to marry that rich woman?"
It wasn't a question. It never really was with her. It was more of a demand, a reminder that, in her eyes, I wasn't living up to her expectations.
I sighed, leaning back in my chair. "I don't know, Mom."
She turned around, her hands still wet from the dishes, and shot me a look that could cut through steel. "You don't know? You've been seeing her for how long now? And you still don't know?"
I rubbed my temples, feeling the headache coming on. This was the same conversation we'd had a dozen times since I moved back. "It's complicated, okay? We've been through a lot. It's not that simple."
"Not that simple?" she repeated, her voice rising with frustration. "She's rich! She's smart! And she cares about you! What more do you need? You're not getting any younger, Tristan. You should be settling down, not running away from everything."
I gritted my teeth, trying to stay calm. "I'm not running away, Mom. I'm just... figuring things out."
My mom huffed, clearly unimpressed. "You're always figuring things out. When are you going to stop making excuses and take responsibility? You had a good thing going with that company, and you walked away! Now you're back here, living in our house again. What are you doing with your life?"
I felt a surge of anger rising in my chest, but I swallowed it down. "I know I messed up, okay? I'm trying to get back on my feet. It's not like I planned for things to go this way."
She shook her head, turning back to the sink. "You need to stop thinking everything will just fall into place. You have a good woman—a rich woman—who actually wants to be with you. If you don't lock that down soon, you're going to regret it."
"Lock that down," I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes.
My dad, who had been silent up until now, cleared his throat, clearly sensing the tension in the room. "Well, you know, relationships take time," he started, his tone gentle, "and it's important to make sure—"
Before he could finish, my mom spun around and shot him a look that immediately shut him up. He quickly buried his face back in the newspaper, retreating into the safety of silence. I couldn't help but smirk a little. Even after all these years, Dad knew better than to get in the middle of one of her rants.
"I don't understand you, Tristan," my mom continued, her frustration boiling over. "You have a chance at a better life, and you're just... letting it slip away. Do you know how many people would kill to be in your position? You're not thinking straight."
"I am thinking straight!" I snapped, the frustration finally breaking through. "Just because she's rich doesn't mean I should marry her. That's not how it works!"
My mom raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Oh, really? Then how does it work, huh? Are you waiting for some perfect moment? Because let me tell you, that doesn't exist. Life isn't going to wait for you to figure it out."
"I'm not waiting for a perfect moment," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I just... I need time, okay? Things have been messed up with the company, and I don't even know what's going on between me and Vanessa right now. I can't just jump into something like marriage."
My mom scoffed, turning back to the dishes with a sharp movement. "Time. You always need time. I swear, Tristan, you're going to wait so long that by the time you finally make a decision, it'll be too late. You'll be alone, with nothing."
"Gee, thanks for the pep talk, mom," I said sarcastically, rubbing my temples again. "That's exactly what I needed to hear."
She didn't even turn around, just kept scrubbing the dishes like she was taking out her frustration on them. "I'm just telling you the truth. You think I like seeing you back here, with no job, no direction? You need to get your life together, Tristan. And if that means marrying Vanessa, then you should do it. She's good for you."
I let out a long breath, slumping back in my chair. "You don't understand."
"I understand perfectly," she shot back, her voice hard. "You're wasting time. You always have."
My dad, still hiding behind the newspaper, shifted uncomfortably but didn't say a word. He knew better than to get involved when my mom was in one of her moods. I couldn't really blame him.
"Mom, can we please not do this right now?" I said, my voice strained. "I'm trying to figure things out, okay? I don't need you pushing me."
"I wouldn't have to push you if you made better decisions," she muttered, rinsing off the last plate and setting it in the drying rack. "You're not a kid anymore, Tristan. You need to act like an adult."
I stood up from the table, feeling the weight of her words pressing down on me. "I know, Mom. I get it. I'm trying, okay? Just... give me some space."
She turned around, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Space. Fine. But don't take too long. You're not getting any younger."
I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything else. I knew she meant well—in her own, overbearing way—but it didn't make it any easier to hear. I could feel the frustration bubbling up inside me, but I didn't have the energy to fight anymore.
As I left the kitchen and headed back to my old room, I couldn't help but wonder if she was right. Maybe I was wasting time. Maybe I was just waiting for something that was never going to happen. But even as those thoughts crossed my mind, I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to make my own decisions.
And right now, I didn't have any of the answers.
Q: Have you ever been in this type of situation before?