things.”
“Mostly just math.”
She shifted, the bare skin of her leg sliding against mine. “You’re skilled at more than just math.”
That made me crack a smile. “Okay, I’m good at sex too.”
“That’s an understatement. You’re exceptionally talented.”
“You’re right, I’m amazing.” I squeezed her and she laughed softly. “But that’s not exactly the sort of thing that makes your parents proud.”
“I suppose not, but you have no shortage of qualities to elicit parental approval.”
“My parents are hard to impress.”
“How so?”
I paused for a long moment, still sliding my fingers through her hair. “To them, being good at one thing never made up for all the other stuff I was bad at. They wanted us to be well-rounded, so they pushed me to do things to balance me out. Like even though I was bony and awkward, they still signed me up for soccer and Little League. And in high school, they made me go to all the pep rallies and school dances, insisting that I needed those experiences. I’d have been happier to stay home reading comics, doing extra math assignments, and watching nature documentaries. But they didn’t want their son to be weird.”
“They think you’re weird?”
“I am weird.”
“I disagree.”
“Well, they wanted me to be more like Molly.”
“It sounds as if they unfairly compared you to your sister.”
“They probably did, but I get where they were coming from. Research from longitudinal happiness studies supports it.”
She lifted her head. “What research?”
“Happiness studies show that across cultures and socioeconomic groups, the one thing that defines people’s lifetime happiness is the quality of their relationships. Not wealth, education, career, or social status. Nothing predicts happiness as conclusively as close, meaningful relationships.”
“But you have meaningful relationships. You’re very close to your sister.”
“I know. But I think my parents see success as having it all. A good career, a house with a white picket fence, a couple of kids. That was what they both wanted out of life, so they want the same thing for us.”
“I appreciate their desire to see their children lead happy, productive lives…” She trailed off, sounding uncertain.
“It’s simple. I got good grades, but Molly got good grades and had a million friends. I have multiple college degrees, but she has a degree and she’s married and starting a family. Being good at math doesn’t cut it. They don’t understand why I can’t be smart and fit in.”
“Fitting in is overrated.”
“Yeah, true. It took me a long time to accept that being a data nerd is just who I am. But humans are social animals, so ultimately being a math genius isn’t what’s going to make me happy. My parents can see that, and they don’t think things will ever change for me. My mom gave up on that a long time ago.”
And that was why my parents’ lack of approval stung so much. They were right. I wasn’t happy. Not really.
“Gave up? Gave up on what? On you leading a happy and fulfilling life?”
“I guess. But it’s fine. I have a good life even if they don’t think so.”
This conversation had bypassed deep and gone straight to uncomfortable. I didn’t want to talk about this anymore.
Before Hazel could say anything else, I unwound myself from her. “I just remembered you brought cookies.”
She hesitated and I could practically feel her thinking. The wheels turning in that big brain of hers. I probably shouldn’t have told her all that. Especially the part about my mom giving up on me. It sucked to say it out loud and it was worse saying it to her.
Thankfully, she let it drop. “I did bring cookies, although I doubt they’re still warm.”
She sat up and started feeling around for her glasses. I put mine on and found hers on the nightstand. We got dressed, and for the first time, we kept hanging out after having sex. Usually, once we got up, that was it. One of us left.
Tonight, we settled on the couch with her container of cookies. They were crisp on the outside with soft, chewy middles and a sprinkling of sugar crystals decorating the tops. Delicious. I clicked through Netflix while we ate, and she pointed out a documentary about penguins. I’d seen it before but turned it on again anyway.
She went home after it was over, leaving me with the rest of the cookies. It was late, but I wasn’t tired. Not tired enough to sleep, at least. I took a cookie to my desk.
A stack of unopened mail was in my way, so I