“Oh, hello, Jack,” she said coolly, eyeing Connor and me warily. “Come in, I guess.”
I stepped into a cloud of stale beer and cigarettes. “You know Jason?”
She just nodded and shrugged, sipping her drink. “Everyone knows Jason. He’s running for SGA president.”
“We have an SGA?” I was only half-kidding.
She tried to hide her smirk with her hand. “You want a beer? I’ll get you one. Oh, and Toby asked if you were coming. He said he’d be upstairs in a minute.” She walked off to the kitchen.
I was dumbfounded. I glanced over at Connor. “She’s hanging out with Toby, now?”
“I guess they’re friends now,” Connor said. We watched a sketchy-looking couple dry hump in the stairway that led to the basement, where the party was raging down below.
I thought back to the last party, the way he’d been leering at her, and my stomach turned. “Do you think she’s here for him? Like, they’re on a date or something?”
“You know her better than I do. I’ll meet you downstairs. Sounds like something’s happening in the basement.”
I headed into the kitchen where Jess was pouring beers. “You know I don’t touch Natty Light.”
Then her face broke out into a real smile, and she handed me my drink. “Cheers to that.” She tapped her cup against mine. “That’s why I poured you the good stuff.” I smiled back. Her eyebrows shot up. “Did you get your lip pierced?”
“Oh, yeah, today, I was with Connor. I was…gonna send you a pic.”
“Right,” she said. We stood there awkwardly, sipping our beers, watching people come and go through the cramped room. “Well, see you later, I guess.”
She pushed past me but I stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “Wait, Jess, we need to talk.”
“About what? There’s nothing more to talk about, Jack.”
“I miss you,” I blurted out. “Everything’s just been so weird lately, and I miss talking to you. I miss how we used to be.”
She lowered her gaze to the floor. “Me too.”
“I would do anything to take it back. I didn’t mean it.”
When she lifted her eyes, they were hard and cold. “You left me at that party alone, drunk, scared, hurt, remember? My girlfriends weren’t even there.”
“I know. I don’t know what else to do or say to make it better. How many more times do you want me to apologize before you’ll actually forgive me?”
She just stared at me and shook her head sadly. “Toby’s right, you are clueless about some things.”
“Oh, so you’re friends with Toby now? You guys talk?”
I regretted it the second it slipped out of my mouth.
“Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of loser because I’m hanging out with your friends, Jack!”
Some people were starting to watch us. I lowered my voice and leaned closer to her. “Jess, I didn’t mean it like that. Please.”
“I’m done here, Jack. Come talk to me when you’ve grown a pair.” She started to walk off, but then stopped, as if she’d forgotten something. “And by the way, your so-called ‘friends?’ Your ‘boys?’ They don’t even like you all that much.”
I chugged the rest of my beer after she stalked off, then wandered downstairs into the haze of the party. I had the urge to punch something, someone. Every single face I saw in the crowd made me angrier.
When I finally found Connor amid the chaos, he was doing lines of coke off a dusty coffee table covered in empty red solo cups, a strung-out girl sliding her hand up the back of his shirt. I stood there for a moment, and some asshole bumped into me and let out a rude, “Excuse you.” Connor’s head was tilted back, his eyes closed, mouth open like he was in a state of pure ecstasy.
I pushed past the girl and put a hand on his shoulder. I didn’t care who was watching. “Hey, you okay?”
“Mmm,” he said, wiping his nose in his sleeve and sniffing loudly. “Everything’s good, man.” He started giggling, leaning down to do another line. I pushed his head away.
“Hey,” I said, trying to laugh with him. “I think that’s enough.”
But he resisted, shoving me back. “No, I’m good. I’m good,” he said, and snorted another line, starting to make a third one with someone’s credit card. A few more girls were coming over now, all of them completely coked out. They were community college girls, way too old to be putting their hands all over Connor.
“That looks like good shit,” one said.
“Can we get some?” asked another, leaning her head against Connor’s shoulder and stroking his bicep. “You have nice arms.”
“Hey Connor, come upstairs. I’ve got something better,” I said. I gently tugged at his sleeve.
“Even better than this?” he asked. He sniffled loudly and wiped his nose. One of the girls nipped at his ear. “Excuse me ladies, I’ll be right back.”
I managed to get him upstairs, though he was shaking and kept looking around the room and biting at his lip.
“Come on, man,” I said. “Let’s go back to your place. I think you’re good for tonight.”
“Oh hey, Jack, Connor, nice of you to join us.”
I froze. Toby. And next to him, this kid I kind of recognized, who must’ve been Jason Xiang. He was wearing a tank top that read: Sometimes I drink water to surprise my liver, and someone’s lipstick kiss mark was on his cheek. My arm was linked through Connor’s. I slowly disentangled myself, but Connor just moved in to give Toby a hug.
“Hey Jason,” Connor said. “Toby! Good shit downstairs. Really good.”
“Yeah?” said Toby. “I can tell you like it. We saw you doing some. You do know you owe me and Jason $50 for those lines you just did, right?”
There was an awkward pause, and then Toby started laughing and slapped him on the back. “I’m just playing, man! Good to see you. You and Jack have been pretty elusive these days.”
I tried to read Toby’s expression, but he was wearing a pair of dark sunglasses, the kind he loved to wear even indoors.
“Been keeping busy,” said Connor. He sniffled joyously, high as a kite, before turning to Max. “Your air-conditioning is on point, man. Really top-notch electrical work in here.”
“Thanks,” Jason said with a chuckle. “We need it, with the smoke-shows we got downstairs. Did you see those girls, Connor? Anything that interested you in particular?”
“I’m gonna take him home now,” I said.
Toby lifted his glasses just enough so I could see the bottom of his eyes. “You do that, Jack. You do that.” Then he smirked, and it made my skin crawl.
Just as I started leading Connor out the door, I heard Toby say my name once more and turned to look at him. He gave me a sarcastic thumbs-up.
“Nice piercing, brah!”
32.
That next morning was Dad’s fortieth birthday. I got up early to go the Mini Mart with Mom to buy streamers, paper plates, balloons, and an ice cream cake—all red, white and star-spangled banner blue. We made scrambled eggs and bacon while Dad snored away upstairs, recovering from what I assumed to be a hangover. But when he finally stumbled downstairs in his ripped-up blue t-shirt and boxers, he wasn’t the least bit bleary-eyed. He was whistling, fucking whistling at ten a.m., stirring sugar into his coffee as if this were any other weekend, clean-shaven and alert.
“Hey Dad,” I said cautiously, pouring myself a cup. “You feeling alright?”
He nodded to some beat inside his head. Then he patted my arm and smiled at me. “Never been better, Jack. Never been better.”
“Happy Birthday, Jim!”
Mom ran up and squeezed him tight, causing him to spill some coffee down his shirt. To my surprise he didn’t snap something nasty at her. He only said, “Whoa there!” with a hearty chuckle.
“Good morning to you too, beautiful!” He kissed her cheek and they both smiled at me. There they were, arm in arm, a portrait of marital, suburban bliss.
Was I still high from
last night?
“What’s wrong, Jack?” Dad asked, murmuring his approval of the brew to Mom in between coffee sips. He walked over and thumped me on the back, gently. “Cheer up, kid. Your old man’s forty today.”
“Every day is a good day,” Mom chanted blissfully.
Resolved that I was either still dreaming, tripping, or had awakened in some alternate universe, I spent the rest of the morning helping Mom decorate the backyard while Dad grilled hot dogs and burgers, sizzling smoke that smelled like summer barbecues and reminded me of childhood.
As we sat at the picnic table to eat, Dad announced he had big news for us. Mom clapped her hands with excitement.
“As of today,” he said, looking us straight in the eye. “I have quit drinking.”
I glanced at Mom, waiting for her to roll her eyes and scoff, and then back at Dad. But his expression was serious.
“Well, I’m proud,” Mom said. She raised her plastic cup in a toast.
They looked at me expectantly.
“That’s…that’s great, Dad.”
“I mean it this time,” he said. “I know I’ve made a lot of promises to you both, I know I’ve messed up and let you both down—”
“Let’s not dwell on the past, love,” Mom said briskly.
In the middle of the meal, which I’d barely touched, I excused myself and went upstairs to my room and lit a cigarette.
I knew I should quit. I knew they could kill me, after first making my voice raspy and hard like Mom’s, and I knew I smelled like an ashtray half of the time. I should probably switch to electronic cigarettes, try to wean myself off. But then I’d get restless again, and angry, and I’d reach for a cigarette. It didn’t help that my house smelled like them.
I watched the sun fall against the leaves of the palm trees in our backyard, their trunks drooping and crooked. It was cooler than usual, and my skin relished the sun that wasn’t beating down on me for a change. I lit my bong.
The door opened and Mom stood there, arms crossed, a huge frown on her face.
“You might want to stop being rude and come downstairs to celebrate your father’s birthday,” she said in that sickly-sweet voice she used when she was pissed.
I took a hit off my bong and she scoffed.
“Jack, really? Do you really have to do that in here? You’re stinking up the whole house.” She walked over to my window and opened it, letting in the hot air.
“I’m taking lessons from you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Look, I’m not going back downstairs.”
“And why not?”
I took another long hit. There she was in her clean blouse and jean shorts, trying so hard to be the picture of normality.
“Because I think you and Dad are completely full of shit.”
She was silent for a moment. Her face contorted into a grimace and for a second I thought she might reach over and hit me. But then she stormed out of the room and slammed the door, leaving me alone with my bong and a mixture of anger and guilt in the pit of my stomach.
I tried calling Jess. No answer. She’d posted new pictures online of her with Skye and her friends, dolled-up, drunk, dancing, and looking happier than I’d seen her in forever. Before all of this, she would have come over, played video games and eaten popsicles on my lawn and laughed it off, my weirdo parents. We would have walked for miles around this town of broken dreams, past sidewalks full of holes and bumps, strip malls coated in garish colors, minivans and SUVs roasting in their gummy lots. We would have talked for hours or spent hours saying nothing at all.
Something pinched at my nose. Damn. I was going to cry. I let a few tears trickle out, wetting my cheeks, then brushed them aside and took a deep breath. I would call Connor. I’d go over there, and he’d fuck me and make me forget everything except for the smell of his warm skin and the feel of his body.
Maybe Jess had finally found her place after all, a place that didn’t need or involve me. Maybe I should just take the hint already and leave her alone for good.
I went over to Connor’s on Sunday morning. We watched our favorite movies back to back, huddled on the couch with my head on his chest. Marlon Brando and Al Pacino. He understood my love of these men, their rugged handsomeness and their sharp wits. He ran his fingers through my hair, my scalp tingling and my body filled up to the brim with warmth.
We sat on the patio smoking fresh weed, making out to a little rock, a little trap music.
“Where have you been?” Mom asked me that evening, grinning as I came downstairs after a day filled with everything Connor, the kind of day that left me feeling recharged and peaceful. She was in the kitchen wiping down wet dishes. My mother, cleaning, of all things. Dad’s mess of a birthday party seemed to have been forgotten, or at least forgiven. I reached around her to grab a soda. “You look happy,” she said. I shrugged.
She started adjusting the collar of my shirt. “You know why I named you Jack?”
I rolled my eyes. “After Grandpa Jack. And the old Hollywood guy. I know, Mom.”
She sighed. “Yes, Jack Burns, the comedian and actor. Funny, handsome, so Hollywood glamour. Not unlike you.” She kissed my cheek.
“Okay, Mom, thanks.”
I checked my reflection in the hallway mirror. I’d left my hair un-gelled in the front, but I looked good. I felt good.
“You been hanging out with that cutie you brought home?”
I flinched. “Huh?”
“Oh, you know,” she said, wagging her eyebrows at me. “That nice boy you brought here recently, Connor, I think it was? He was definitely a dish.”
“Mom,” I said. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop being…creepy. He’s way too young for you, anyway.”
She smiled this slow, knowing smile. “But not too young for you.”
“What?” I turned away so she couldn’t see the look on my face. “What are you talking about?
“Stop pretending like I’m an idiot, Jack,” she said more seriously. She moved over to me me and put an arm on my shoulder, which I shrugged off. “You’re my son. I know you better than you think.”
Something caught in the back of my throat, a tangle of words I wanted to say. I said nothing as she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into a hug. Nothing when she kissed my forehead and gave me that look, that look that said she knew, and all I could do was nod and pull away from her and leave the room before I started crying.
She knew.
33.
I sat on the kitchen counter, drinking down one of Connor’s protein shakes. It tasted gritty and sweet, like sandpaper in a smoothie.
“How do you drink this shit every day?”
He shrugged and continued rummaging through the cabinets, organizing things, putting food away. “Hand me that bag, would you?”
For the next few minutes I helped him unload five heavy bags of groceries into the lavish designer kitchen. I loved being in there, with its chrome fixtures and all those top-of-the-line appliances. It was such a nice change from my house—so immaculate, so clean, so nice for the sake of being nice.
“I guess your uncle doesn’t need to hire a housekeeper with you around.”
He didn’t smile. “He’s a good guy.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”
He chewed his fingernail and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his bag. “I know you didn’t.” But he didn’t look at me.
Feeling uncomfortable, I wandered over to the living room to check out the home entertainment system and the giant aquarium full of tropical fish. I loved the way the wood floors felt against my bare feet. Connor’s house was huge and beautiful, full of cool little things like heated floorboards in the master bathroom and a popcorn machine next to the flat-screen TV. There were tons of pictures everywhere of friends and family with Connor’s uncle, a friendly-looking guy with roughish features and the same grin as his nephew. Alvaro. I’d met him before. As far as I understood it, h
e was this big deal tech guy who’d worked for several of the biggest start-ups out west. Why he’d moved out here, to this shithole of a town, I still didn’t quite get.
But when he came home and I was there, he’d always say “hello” to me politely and ask me about my day. And it was nice, having that kind of normalcy, even if I was never sure how to act around Connor with him there, if he ever suspected anything. But he was “married to his job,” as Connor liked to say, so we mostly had the house to ourselves.
Connor wasn’t in any of the photos that I could see, but I didn’t want to ask about it. And then it caught my eye: an elegantly gold-framed picture on the mantle of the fireplace of a pretty young couple and a little boy with shaggy black hair and bright green eyes.
I picked up the picture carefully, as if it were fragile and might easily break. I held it up a little and called out to him, “Hey, is this you?”
He squinted, then went back to looking through his bag. “Yeah.”
“Are these your parents?”
“Yup.”
I put the picture back in its place and studied it. The woman had flowing hair like a black waterfall and a dreamy smile. The man was much darker than her in complexion, broad-shouldered and handsome like his son.
“Do you…ever talk to them?”
“Nope.”
And then he added, “Never will.”
“Why?”
He snorted. “They don’t give a shit about me, whether I live or die. They made that pretty clear. Why should I give a shit about them and their bullshit lives?” He was rinsing the glass I’d been drinking out of, fiercely scrubbing out the protein gunk.
I walked over to him and put my hands on his shoulders, but he kept at it, then filed it away in the dishwasher with a loud clang and began washing his hands with the same ferocity. Steam was rising from the tap.
I reached over and turned it off. His hands were bright red.
“Don’t do that,” I said gently.
“Don’t ask me about them.”
“Sorry.”
He shook his head and his shoulders relaxed. “No, it’s okay,” he said, his tone gentler. “You knew they were in prison, but you didn’t know that.”
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