Two Kinds of Teenagers

Content warning: divorce.

“Speak now...” 

The reverend’s words ushered me into a vivid daydream. I instantly traveled out of the polite, Southern world I’d grown up in, where children were to be seen and not heard, and into this place where I said what I wanted instead of what everyone else expected. I had never been the “Speak now” kind of teenager. My bridesmaid’s dress, for example, made me look like a stalk of celery standing on that altar. But there I stood, wearing it anyway. In my daydream, however, I was free to say what was on my mind. In this place, it was all about me. I finally had the chance to live out loud with nothing to hold me back. 

When Dad brought Sherry home to meet me six months ago, I was shocked. For Heaven's sake, he had only been divorced from Mom for two and a half months. I couldn't understand how he moved on from a seventeen-year marriage so quickly. Sure, I’d heard them fight a little over the years. And their arguments had grown more frequent in the end. But neither one of them ever seemed truly unhappy. Yet, here he was with a new girlfriend.

“Alison, I want you to meet someone.” He said it like Sherry was a treasure he’d found and brought home for me to admire. 

That smile, ugh! It was like nothing I’d ever seen before. It wasn’t love. I could tell that much right away. He’d never looked at Mom with that ridiculous grin, and I knew he’d loved her. What was it then? Did he know how embarrassing he was? 

“Hello,” I mumbled. 

“It’s nice to meet you!” she gushed. “Your dad’s told me so much about you.”

“He hasn’t told me hardly anything about you.” I had to bring her down a notch. She was trying too hard. 

It worked. Sherry exchanged an unsure look with my dad and recovered by saying, “That just means we’ll have plenty to talk about as we get to know each other.”

Sherry wanted to get to know me, but I wasn’t interested in getting to know her. Bored to tears with this awkward conversation, I glared over my shoulder at Dad and asked, “Can I go to Mom’s?”

“We just got here, honey. I thought we’d have dinner together.” 

“I just want to go to Mom’s.” 

Admittedly it was whiny and a bit manipulative. I knew Dad would say yes if I mentioned Mom. They had only been navigating co-parenting for a few weeks, which meant they were still cordial. They also had trouble gauging how upset I was about living in two different houses, only seeing one parent at a time, and juggling the judge’s custody schedule, which I detested. Wasn’t I old enough to say which bed I wanted to sleep in each night? It seemed like Mom and Dad had a secret agreement that during these transition months, they’d do their best to protect my emotional well-being and let me see whichever parent I asked for when I asked for them. The message was clear - I had access to both of them at all times. 

It wasn’t ten minutes later that Dad and Sherry halted their evening plans, piled into the car, and drove me to Mom’s new apartment.

A couple of months later, much to my surprise, Sherry was still in the picture. She had attempted to get to know me plenty of times, just as she’d promised (threatened). She’d come to watch me play volleyball a time or two, which was mortifying. How was I supposed to introduce my dad’s new fling to my friends? On at least two separate occasions, Sherry had tried to talk to me about topics she thought I was interested in. TikTok? Really, Sherry? Come on! 

Needless to say, my fondness for her had not grown. However, I was about to gain a fierce ally in my teenage rebellion against her relationship with my father. Dad was about to introduce her to Grandma.

When we pulled up to my grandmother’s old familiar house, I couldn’t contain the grin that kept finding its way to my lips. Just imagining Grandma meeting Sherry and giving her that icy head-to-toe once-over made me giggle. I’d already told Grandma everything she needed to know about Sherry. Her laugh was too loud, for one. And more often than not, she asked questions that proved she couldn’t keep up with the conversation. 

Most important, however, was the idea that she wasn’t my mom. They were nothing alike, which did not bode well for Sherry. Grandma had always loved my mom. She’d taken the news of the divorce harder than anyone. Surely she could help me run this woman off for good.

But the night didn’t go as planned. As predicted, Grandma was a little slow to warm up to our interloper, But before I knew it, she laughed out loud at one of Sherry’s dumb jokes. I couldn’t believe my ears! I shot her my most foreboding “WTF” look from across the table. 

About halfway through dinner, Dad reached for Sherry’s hand and said, “Mother, Alison. We have something we want to share with you.” There was that dumb starstruck look on his face again. I rolled my eyes. “Sherry and I have decided to get married.”

“What?” I jumped to my feet, nearly throwing my chair backward. My hands balled into fists at my sides. All three of them stared at me, stunned. 

“Alison.” My father admonished me for my toddler-like outburst with only the sound of my name and a wounded look on his face. 

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Seething, I stomped - literally stomped - out of the room. 

A few minutes later, Grandma found me lying facedown on her guest bed. She sat next to me and clutched my shoulder. She waited for me to turn over and talk to her.

“I hate this,” I said, swiping my hair out of my face.

“Everyone in the room could see that, Alison.”

“Good. Why shouldn’t I have a say in all this? It’s my life, too.”

“Your father cares about your opinion. You can always talk to him. You know that. But you don’t have to act like a spoiled two-year-old. I think you hurt their feelings.”

“I can’t hold it in anymore, Grandma.”

“It will get easier with time, child.” That was it. That was all the wisdom and advice she had to offer me. She kissed the top of my head and left me there to sulk. All I could do was wait for Grandma’s words to ring true.

By the time Sherry took me shopping for this horrid bridesmaid’s dress, I was no closer to warming up to her. She planned a long day of coffee, shopping, and lunch just for the two of us. When she said it, she seemed excited about a girl’s-day-out with me. But all I heard was, give me one more chance to worm my way into your good graces.  I wasn’t sure I’d make it through the whole day.

Stopping for coffee was uneventful. I ordered my favorite drink - venti, of course - and kept my AirPods in the whole time. That worked until later at the store when it was time to try on dresses. 

“You like green, don’t you, Alison? Your dad told me it’s your favorite color.” In only a few minutes, she’d zipped around the entire dress section of the department store and scooped up every green dress they had in my size. Breathless, she asked, “Do you like any of these?”

I blinked back at her in stubborn silence. 

One by one, I tried the dresses on. Each time I stepped out of the fitting room to show Sherry another selection, she said the same thing. “Ah! You look gorgeous!” There’s no way she liked all of those dresses equally. 

After I had tried on every last dress and was comfortably back in my clothes, she asked, “Which one did you like best?”

“They all make me look like a stalk of celery.”

She scoffed and said, “They do not. Don’t be silly.”

I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I don’t care. Pick the one you like best.” 

She drew her chin back to her chest. Her eyes searched my face for a sign that I was joking. I wasn’t. I took advantage of her confused silence and asked, “Can I have the keys? I’ll just wait in the car.” I put my AirPods in, a nonverbal cue that she didn’t need to say anything in response. 

At that, Sherry silently fished through her purse for the keys and handed them to me. I headed out of the store, thankful to be free of her, even if only for a few minutes. When she came out a little bit later, a plastic bag covering the dress draped over her arm, she made up a lame excuse about not feeling well and asked if we could skip out on lunch. Thank god.

The next few months were uneventful until the day of the wedding arrived. It wasn’t hard to guess how I felt about it. While all our friends and family buzzed about with typical matrimonial excitement, I took no part in their enthusiasm. I wore the ugly dress and buried my nose in my phone. For the most part, I behaved. But I made sure everyone knew just how much I hated it. 

When the reverend said, “Speak now,” I took a deep breath and prepared to stop this train from barreling down the wrong track once and for all. 

“... or forever hold your peace.”

I had always been the “or forever hold your peace” kind of teenager. So, hearing the phrase jolted me out of my daydream and back to reality. Even though I wanted to say and do all those things over the last six months, I didn’t. 

The first time I met Sherry, I politely smiled and made conversation. 

When Dad introduced her to Grandma, I wanted her to hate Sherry. But she didn’t.

When they announced their engagement, I smiled and congratulated them. 

And finally, when I went shopping with Sherry, I told her this dress was pretty because I knew she liked it. We ate lunch at her favorite restaurant, where she talked incessantly about the wedding. I let her. When we returned from shopping, Dad listened with great joy as we recounted our girl’s day out.  

Alison from my daydream only existed in my mind. She was selfish but free. Her pain was loud and chaotic. But no one ever had to guess how she felt. There was something comforting about that.

In the real world, I knew two things to be true about being a teenager. First, the control was little. The adults in my life made all the decisions. Even if they asked my opinion, which was rare, I didn’t decide anything. The second truth about being a teenager was that the responsibility was great. Aside from typical teenage responsibilities like chores and grades, I was responsible for Mom and Dad’s happiness. They wouldn’t admit it. But, it was true. When I did something well, they were happy. But the moment my weaknesses revealed themselves - through the slightest failure or the expression of any negative emotion - they saw it only as a poor reflection of them. 

Most days, the combination of these two truths was brutal. My parents decided to break up our family. But when I cried about it, they felt guilty. So, I hid the tears. My father decided it was time to bring Sherry into our lives. But if I treated her the way Alison from my daydream had treated her, she would have been uncomfortable. What would that say about the way my father had raised me? So I gave them what they wanted and kept my true feeling buried deep down in the core of my being. I lived for the moments when I could be the “Speak now” kind of teenager, even if they only existed in my daydreams.