“Because of your dad,” I say quickly. “Because of what he—hey!”This last part because Jason snatches the lava lamp out of my hands.
He turns it on and gives me a pointed look as big red globs glow and swirl.
Shit.
“It is not because of my dad,” he says.
Maybe I should just shut up. But I don’t. “You did seem to have a hard time when you were visiting them.”
“I did not have a hard time!” He shakes the lava lamp at me like maybe I didn’t see the tacky, glowing, physical manifestation of his feelings.
“Why do we have this thing?” I groan, looking up at the sky. “How is it supposed to defuse the anger? She never even told us what we need to do to get it turned off!”
“You press the button,” Jason says dryly.
“Oh my god.” I swat at him. “I meant theanger.” But a laugh escapes me, and he’s got a small smile, and that does seem to defuse the tension a little.
We sit silently for another minute or two. An insect buzzes nearby and some bird calls out from a nearby tree. I decide to try again. “You and your dad had, like, one conversation the entire time we were out there visiting. And you didn’t look happy about it.”
Jason frowns at the ground, clearly remembering the conversation I’m referring to. We mostly interacted with his stepmom, who is actually really nice, and his two younger half-brothers—one a freshman in high school and the other in middle school. But there was one time, when I was helping his stepmom wash dishes, that I saw Jason and his dad outside on the deck chairs by the pool. (The really nice, big pool in the backyard of the really nice, big house, which pissed me off, given how poor Jason and his sisters grew up, receiving the very bare minimum of child support.)
They were sitting there, both facing the pool, each holding a beer they weren’t really drinking. I did see their lips move, so I knew they were talking.
When I asked Jason later about it, he just shrugged and brushed me off, and I didn’t push it. I assumed it was just bullshit small talk—vague comments about sports teams and the weather.The kind of stuff people talk about when they don’t really know each other and don’t have any idea of what to say.The blame for which lies solely on Jason’s dad.
But something tells me it was more than that. Worse, something tells me I knew that all along.
“You want to know what my dad said?” Jason says after a moment. “He told me now that I’m actually serious with a girl, I need to get a real job.That I should have all along, but now it’s finally time to step up, to beresponsible.” His lip curls bitterly.
“Are you serious?” I ask, my own bitterness flaring. If the Lamp of Anger wasn’t still on, I’d be pressing that button myself. “The guy who bailed on his family, who barely ever does anything for you guys—he’sthe one tellingyouto step up?”
It’s a good thing I wasn’t there to hear that. I would have shoved that dude, deck chair and all, into his pristine, backyard oasis of a pool.
Or I would have tried, I guess. Jason’s dad is the same size as he is.There’s a good chance I wouldn’t have budged him.
Jason gives a sharp nod but doesn’t say anything. Which is fine, because I have plenty to say.
“That’s ridiculous. Like, seriously fucking ridiculous.” I shake my head, fuming. “How can he think you don’t have a real job? You’re making a good living doing something you love—which is what most people can only dream of. And you’re great at it. Not just the climbing, which you’re awesome at, but you have this presence on your show that makes people love you and love watching you, and it pisses me off that he would say that to you. And that he would use our relationship as an excuse for that shit, like I for a second would agree with him.”
Jason looks over at me, and he gives me a soft smile.Then he turns off the lamp. A nice gesture, even if I’m sure he’s still mad at his dad. God knows I am.
But it makes me feel like maybe I’m helping him feel a little better about himself, if not the situation.
I put my hand on his knee. “I’m sorry he said that.”
He shrugs like he did way back when I first asked about it.This sad shrug that breaks my heart. “Yeah, well.That’s pretty much the way it goes with him.”
He puts his hand on mine, and I lock my fingers with his.
“It did seem like you acted different after that,” I say slowly. “Like something was wrong.” I brace myself for him to shut down again, like he does so often when we’re talking about his dad, but he doesn’t.
“How exactly did I act?”
I consider this. I don’t want to bring up the disconnect again. We’ve got another little bubble of safety, and I don’t want to pop it.
Damn you, Monroe, for making me even think those words.
“Like you were hurt,” I say. “And maybe ashamed.” Once the words leave my mouth, I realize how stupid they sound. How obvious.Thank you, Emily, for telling me that my dad being a total dick to me might make me feel hurt.
