She willingly picks up a lot of slack for my dad who works all the time and instead of buckling under the weight of two people’s responsibilities, it's like she just grew extra arms to carry the load.”
“She sounds great,” Jay says and the tightness I feel in my chest is a mixture of gratefulness for Mom and sadness for him.
“She is.”
“And your dad?”
I draw in a deep breath and Jay notices.
“Not so great?”He asks.
“No, no, Dad’s great too. He sacrificed all of his time to work hard for us. For me. To make sure I went to the best teaching school and that my classroom had everything it could ever need.”
“But…”
“But, he’s very critical of things. Always quick to point out every little, or big, imperfection. My grandfather never really noticed things and Dad knows he misses a lot from work, so I think when he can, he makes it a point to notice everything.”
“That sounds hard,” he says.
“It was tough on him growing up.”
“On you, I mean.” I don’t speak and I think it’s because he’s right. Only, who says that?
Who says it was hard growing up with a man you loved and looked up to, but who through that closeness, also made you highly aware of your flaws? Who says that to someone who grew up with no one? Luckily, we pull up to my house before I have to.
All too quickly I reach for the handle of the passenger door, any buzz that was once lingering, now completely vanished. Jay does the same on the driver’s side and we both get out, pausing to look at each other over the top of the car.
“Looks good to me,” Jay says, gesturing to the closed garage door.
I lift up on the handle of the rolling door and it doesn’t budge. Then, I walk to the entry door next to it and jiggle that handle. Nothing.
“Okay so, false alarm I guess,” I say, shrugging to Jay. “But while we’re here, do you mind if we go in? I have to pee like a racehorse.”
“You and Chloe with the world’s smallest bladders.”
“Aw, thank you.”
Once inside, I throw my keys on the entryway table and head right for the hallway powder room. Jay stays behind to have a cigarette outside. While I wash my hands I think about what he said in the car.
I guess growing up with two parents who love each other, a roof over my head, and plenty of food, I always felt privileged. Like, who was I to complain about anything? But now, I see the need for perfection, the back-handed criticism of my choices, the black-and-white thinking that teaching’s my path and anything else is wrong by default, isn’t right. It’s not a glaring issue, but it’smyissue and it’s okay to deal with it.
I walk out of the bathroom, a newfound sense of motivation, at the same time that Jay walks through the front door. He smiles without showing his teeth and I have the sudden urge to press my mouth to his closed lips.
So, I do.
“What was that for?” he asks.
“Just because.”
“Well, in that case,” he slips his hands around my waist and brings me to him, our bodies pressed together from chest to feet. Kissing me, he softly glides his tongue over mine and walks us backward until we collide with the entryway table. My keys fall to the floor as the vase that sits on top wobbles side to side. I quickly steady it, his lower half still pinned to mine.
“We can not have sex in my parent’s house,” I whisper, turning back to him.
“I’m not sure you quite know what having sex means if you think this is it," he whispers back.
I playfully push him off of me. “You know what I mean. Plus, I’m starving. Let’s see if they have anything to eat.” We left before thegrilling was done and by the time I thought to eat the charcuterie board I brought, it had spent hours on the food table baking in the sun and was questionable at best.
I lead Jay into the kitchen, spotless except for the miscellaneous catch-all that always seems to collect on the island. A few papers, a pair of reading glasses, a notepad with just enough empty pages left in it that Mom can’t quite bring herself to throw it in the trash.
