by Claire Adams
“Now, there’s a grandchild I already know is going to need some counseling,” my mom says. “It wouldn’t be so bad if your sister’s boyfriend wasn’t such a twat.”
“Mom!” I exclaim, and Eric quickly turns away, unable to hide the fact that his shoulders are sharply moving up and down.
“He is, dear,” my mom says. “I don’t know if I’ve ever met someone who’s that high-strung, and I raised you, for crying out loud.”
“I think your daughter is wonderful,” Eric says, finally able to contain himself.
“Which one?” my mom asks. “The one that carrying twat seed or the one that’s so caught up with work, she forgot to have a life?”
“I planned on having a life when I was younger, Mom,” I tell her, “but you did a pretty good job convincing me that nothing I ever did was going to be good enough.”
I’d hoped that the conversation wouldn’t devolve into this, but I really should have known better. Even from her hospital bed, my mom’s still the queen of nastiness.
“It made you try harder, though, didn’t it?” my mom asks.
“It made me feel like I couldn’t do anything right,” I tell her. “It made me think that the best I could ever hope for was that a man would take pity on me and save me from my own stupidity!”
“Now dear,” my mom says, “do try to not raise your voice in front of the help.”
“The help?!” I exclaim.
Eric’s eyes are wide, but he doesn’t say anything.
“I will have you know that this man is the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time, and no, I don’t know where our relationship’s going, but he’s a decent person and he actually cares about me enough to try to help me feel better when I’m worried about you and your bullshit!”
“So, you think this is going to be it for you, do you?” she asks.
“That’s way over the line,” I tell her. “He’s my boyfriend, and I’m not going to sit here while you talk about him this way. Come on, Eric, we’re going.”
I stand and march to the door, but a sound from my mother’s bed stops me in my tracks.
Boiling, I spin around to find her with a wide smile on her face and laughter coming out of her throat.
“What is so funny?” I ask.
“You never did understand,” she says, laughing. “I’m not the demon you think me to be, dear. Now sit back down and let’s talk for a minute.”
“I don’t want to sit back down,” I tell her. “I’m glad the surgery went well, and I hope you can get back home soon, but—”
“Jessica?” Eric interrupts.
“What?!” I yell, turning back toward him.
“I think I get it,” he says.
“Get what?” I ask.
“He’s your boyfriend, dear,” my mom says behind me.
“I hardly think that’s a call for you to make,” I start, but then it hits me.
My mom just gives words to the thought, “Well, you said so yourself. Didn’t you?”
I guess I did.
“Sometimes people need a little pressure to realize what they want and what they feel,” my mom says. “You were always a little tougher to crack than your sister. It’s a good thing Eric’s here, otherwise you might have just thought I was being cruel for the sake of being cruel. Say what you want about how you feel, dear, but you just stood up for him in a pretty profound way. You don’t usually do that sort of thing unless you really care for someone.”
“Even if that was your goal the whole time,” I tell her, “that doesn’t mean you have the right to talk about people that way.”
“And you’re still defending him,” my mom says, and starts making kissing motions with her mouth.
“Come on,” I tell Eric, and I storm out of the room.
He follows me down the hall, but I’m to the elevator before he catches up.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “I’m angry and I’m frustrated and I’m embarrassed—okay, mostly I’m embarrassed.”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he says. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know,” I tell him. “Well, I could have thought through introducing you to my mother a little more carefully.”
“Hey,” he says, “if nothing else, I think we just had the talk.”
I look up him and, as the elevator doors open, he smiles and takes my hand.
“I think I’d be okay with being your boyfriend,” he says.
“Romantic as always,” I scoff, and we get on the elevator.
Chapter Eighteen
A Constellation of Little Surprises
Eric
We pull up to Jessica’s parents’ house and sit out front, the car still running.
“I realize that we probably should have had that talk in private,” she says. “In my defense, I kind of tried to do it before we got to the hospital.”
“It’s all right,” I chuckle. “All things considered, I’m just glad it happened.”
I lean over and slowly press my lips against hers, but only for a moment.
“I have to warn you about my dad,” she says while looking into my eyes.
“You know, your mom really wasn’t that bad and you warned me about her. I think I’ll be all right,” I answer.
“She’s the more overtly abrasive of the two, but my dad is by far more protective. I’m just saying stay on your toes. He has a way of trapping you in an uncomfortable situation before you’re even aware you’re in it,” she says.
“I’ll just be my usual charming self,” I tell her. “That usually works pretty well for me.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she says. “Just remember that I warned you.”
I’m not going to lie, I am a little nervous now, but I’m just here to help her collect her things. We probably won’t even be here that long.
We get out of the car and I follow Jessica up to the door.
“Just think about everything you’re about to say before you say it,” she says. “Better yet, think about everything my dad says before you decide to say anything back.”
“Jessica,” I tell her, “it’s going to be fine. I’ve met the guy before and he seemed nice enough then.”
“Yeah, that was before he got all curious about the nature of our relationship,” she sighs. “Well, here we go,” she says, and opens the front door.
We walk in and she calls out to her dad, letting him know that we’re here.
“I’ll be down in a minute!” he shouts back from somewhere upstairs. “I thought you said you were going to call first!”
“Shit,” she says. “I kind of forgot about that. My dad’s one of those guys who thinks that boxers are appropriate attire in the home. The family’s used to it, but just in case he comes around the corner with his gut hanging out, I just want you to be prepared.”
“I’m sure it’s endearing,” I tell her.
We stand in the entryway, Jessica says to “minimize the chances of coming into view of hanging brain,” and a few minutes later, there are footsteps coming down the stairs.
“I was already getting dressed when you came in,” her father says as he comes into view, thankfully fully clothed. “Ah, Eric,” he says. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Nice to see you again, too, sir,” I respond.
“You didn’t tell her, did you?” he asks.
“I did not,” I answer. “Your secret’s safe with me?”
“What secret?” Jessica asks, turning alternately to me and then to her dad and back to me while fidgeting with her watch.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” I tell her. “How are you doing tonight, sir?”
“Oh, call me Harold,” he says. “Do you like cannabis?”
There’s a question I didn’t expect.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “I can’t say that I’ve tried it.”
“Would you like to?” he asks.
“Dad…” Jessica
moans.
“Right,” Harold responds. “Well, you said you wanted to come by and pick up some stuff. What did you need?”
“I just wanted to grab some things from my closet,” Jessica says. “Eric’s going to give me a hand—we really don’t have that much time.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Harold says and turns to me. “Early morning tomorrow, huh?”
“What? No,” I answer.
Jessica elbows me in the arm.
“What?” I ask, turning toward her.
“We’re just going to head upstairs real quick,” she says to her dad. “I’m sorry we can’t stay longer.”
“Well, maybe your friend here can keep me company while you’re upstairs getting things together,” he says. “How does that sound, Eric?”
“That’s fine with me,” I answer, and Jessica elbows me again. “What?”
“I’m going to need his help carrying stuff,” Jessica says. “Do you mind?”
Harold, who had been standing at the bottom of the stairs, moves to one side so we can walk past. I don’t know why Jessica was elbowing me, but assuming Harold doesn’t follow us up the stairs, I plan to find out.
We get to the room, and with Jessica’s dad still on the main level, I close the door and ask, “What the hell were you elbowing me for?”
“The second one was because you should know from what I was telling you that it’s not a good idea for you and my dad to sit down and chat until you two get to know one another better,” she says. “The first one, that’s because you basically just told him that whatever our plans are tonight, we’re planning on waking up together in the morning.”
“I did not,” I defend, and think back to the conversation, trying to piece together how she could have gotten to that conclusion.
“Whatever,” she says. “Let’s just grab the stuff and go before this gets any worse.”
She walks over to the closed closet door and opens it.
“What the fuck…?” she says in a half-whisper.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, coming up behind her.
“They’re gone,” she says, her voice shaky. “They’re all gone. They got rid of them.”
“Oh, I’m sure they didn’t get rid of your stuff,” I tell her. “Why don’t we just ask your dad if he knows where your boxes are and I’m sure he’ll know where to—”
“You don’t know my mother,” she says. “I know you think she’s some brilliant, altruistic woman who just happens to have a particularly grating technique of proving her point, but she really is about the most hateful person I’ve ever met. God, I feel like such a bitch saying that with her in the hospital.”
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’m sure they’ll turn up around here somewhere. Let’s just go ask your dad.”
There’s a particular reason that I want her to ask her dad about this, but I promised him I wouldn’t give it away.
“You don’t get it!” she says, tears welling up. “Every single thing I ever won, every time I ever did anything I was proud of, that woman just kept knocking my feet out from under me about it. I told her not to touch my boxes.”
“Jessica,” I say, putting my hands on her shoulders, “let’s go talk to your dad.”
“What’s the point?” she asks. “This is how everything is in my life, and it’s the way it always will be. Every time I think I’m about to make some big stride, something comes along and tears it away from me. I’m sorry I’m crying,” she says, pulling a tissue from her purse. “I’m just so pissed off!”
I don’t know how to put it any other way, so I just repeat, “Let’s go ask your dad about it.”
“Will you stop saying that?” she yells, but she finally notices the anticipation on my expression. “What?” she asks. “What’s that face?”
I just smile and pull her in for a hug.
“I think you’re in for a pretty awesome surprise,” I tell her.
She takes a minute and dries her eyes before we go back out of the room and down the stairs.
“Dad?” she calls.
“In the kitchen!” he answers.
We go into the kitchen and Harold is standing over a pan of bacon.
“You kids hungry?” he asks.
Not wanting another elbow thrown at me for causes that I’ll never understand, I just stay quiet.
“Dad, have you seen my boxes—the ones that were in the closet?” she asks.
“They’re not up there?” he asks.
“No, Dad,” she says, “they’re not up there.”
“Huh,” he says and turns off the burner on the stove. “Did you check under the bed?” he asks.
“They wouldn’t fit under the bed,” she answers. “There were at least three boxes, overflowing with stuff.”
“Well, let’s go take a look,” he says, and leads the way back up the stairs.
We follow him up, but of course the boxes haven’t magically appeared in the closet.
“Huh,” he says. “Maybe they ended up in the storage room.”
With that, we follow him back down the stairs and into the garage, or as he called it, the “storage room.”
The place is packed with stack after stack of boxes and loose items. I stand in the doorway so as not to break anything, but Harold walks through the space effortlessly, his muscle memory knowing well how to navigate the mess.
“Do you see them anywhere?” he asks.
“No,” Jessica says, following closely her father’s footsteps and looking over every box in the garage.
“Well,” he says, “I don’t know what to tell you. I guess we must have thrown it out. Hey Eric, this is your first time here and we haven’t given you the tour yet. What do you say we—”
“We’re going, Dad,” Jessica says, trying to contain her hurt and frustration.
I’d love to just tell her now, but her dad shakes his head as the empathy comes over my face.
“What do you say, Eric?” he asks.
“Sure,” I tell him.
“Well, you’ve already seen Jessica’s room, although I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’d be able to say that, huh?” he asks.
Yeah, I’m not stupid enough to answer that question.
“I would show you the room me and her mother share, but frankly I don’t know you that well,” he continues.
As endearing as this surprise is sure to be, I can’t help thinking that Jessica’s family is pretty all-around strange.
“Let me show you the basement,” he says.
“No, Dad,” Jessica protests. “You’re not dragging us down there. The place smells like feet.”
“I cleaned,” he says. “Well, it’s been a while, but the smell’s gone anyway. Come on,” he continues.
Reluctantly, Jessica comes up to me, and I take her hand as we follow her father back through the house and down the stairs.
The basement is unfinished, and either it has no windows or they’re so deftly covered that no light comes into the space.
“Sorry,” Harold says, “the light switch hasn’t really worked all that well down here for a while.”
The thought occurs to me that what he told me over the phone could just have been a ploy so he could get me into his dungeon and do God-knows-what to me for dating his daughter.
“You’re not scared of the dark, are you, Eric?” he asks.
“Nope,” I answer, and Harold takes Jessica’s hand, leading us as a chain through the nearly pitch black basement.
“Your hands are sweating,” Jessica whispers back toward me. “Don’t worry. He’s probably not going to try to kill you.”
“You know,” I say, feeling a lump in my throat grow as I am now walking blind, “maybe we should go. It is starting to get a little bit late, and I’ve got a new business strategy to implement tomorrow, and I’ve got to talk to—”
“Oh, nonsense,” Harold says. “We’re almost there.”
After another 10, slow feet, we come to a stop, and in front of me
, I can hear a door knob turning and a door being opened.
Do I really think that Harold brought me down here to torture or threaten me? Of course not. At the same time, I am starting to get the impression he wouldn’t feel too bad if I were to trip and injure myself.
I really have no idea how to take this guy.
“All right,” he says. “Jessica, you stand here.”
She lets go of my hand, and I can hear the shuffled sound of him positioning her in the middle of the room.
“Eric,” he says, “well, it doesn’t really matter.”
With that, he flips on the light, blinding all of us for an instant.
“What do you think?” Harold asks.
My eyes adjust to find what he told me about over the phone.
The room is filled with trophies and framed certificates, all on shelves or in glass cases.
“Oh my God,” Jessica breathes.
“Hey, looks like I found your stuff,” Harold says in an overly affected voice.
“When did you do this?” Jessica asks, “How?”
“Well, it took me a while to build the shelves and the glass cases, well, we had to buy those, but it was your mother that set everything else up,” he answers.
Hearing Jessica describe the sheer volume of her various awards and recognitions, I had no idea it was this extensive.
“These are all yours?” I ask.
“No,” Harold says. “The other wall over here is Kristin’s. Now, if you’re going to want to pack up all this stuff, I can grab some boxes, but—”
“That’s okay,” Jessica says. “I can’t believe the two of you did this.”
“She was always proud of you,” her father tells her. “I know she doesn’t always know how to show that, but you and your sister mean the world to her. We’re both proud of you. You can take whatever you want, but as for me,” he says, checking his watch, “I’ve got to get back to the hospital. They’re taking your mother in for a scan to see if they got everything they needed to get.”
Jessica turns to face her father, and without a word, she throws her arms around him.
“I always thought she didn’t care,” Jessica says.