Chapter 42 Jessa
JESSA
Bird and her dad haven’t let go, and I feel myself smiling, at this man who seems to really love her. I see his eyes, green ringed with blue just like hers, and he’s so clearly happy to have her back. I know how that feels.
“Well, I’d say you should come on in,” the other man says. “I’m Seth, Chuck’s partner.” He extends a hand to me, but my hand is outta commission, so I kinda wave.
“I’m Jessa.”
“It’s warmer inside,” he says, and tugs on Chuck’s shirt. He and Bird finally part, and we follow Seth to a cozy kitchen filled with plates of appetizers and bowls of dips and big ice-filled tubs of drinks.
“Welcome to our humble abode,” Seth says, and pulls two Frescas from the tubs. “Sorry, most of our drinks are boozy.” Nobody really likes Fresca.
“Bird, I don’t understand, how did you…” Her father’s voice has tones like hers, I can see where the lilt in her speech comes from, the way she’s almost musical in how she talks.
My phone buzzes, distracting me. I look to see Dad’s cell phone number on the caller ID and tuck it back away. This makes nineteen missed calls. Suddenly they can’t leave me alone. Too little too late. I have to be there for someone else now.
Seth looks over at Bird and her father, and I follow his gaze, the two in conversation now, definitely deep, emotional. She looks okay, though—good, happy.
“Hey, so, how do you know Bird?” Seth asks. I’m glad he knows about her. That means her father told him, that means he’s been thinking about her, isn’t hiding her like my parents hide Mack. That kind of thoughtfulness… it means something, and I feel safer just hearing that.
“I’m her girlfriend.” Hell, if I can’t be out at this party, I’m gonna need a permacloset.
“Oh, that’s great.” He cracks a big smile. I guess he must’ve been anxious Bird wouldn’t know about the gay thing. “Well, they’re going to need some time, I think. Would you like to meet some of our friends?”
“Sure.” I’d like anything to avoid awkward small talk…
even if it’s awkward group small talk. Seth walks me around the room and introduces me.
Most of the people here are queer, coupled up, and awesome as hell.
I can’t stop listening as I hear “how we met” stories and catch discussions of the bids to put in state gay marriage laws.
It’s a roomful of people like me and people who support others like me.
There’s so much warmth and love and a lot of terrible puns (typical adults).
And this incredible sense of belonging. Everyone is being themselves.
No lies, no masks, just being. It feels amazing. I’ve never had this before.
I’m drawn away by more buzzing, more messages. I hold up my phone to the lady I’m talking to, an editor at a local entertainment paper, who I’m actually having a great conversation with about music reviews. She gives me a nod to go take it.
I step back to the kitchen and Seth is there, putting another tray of mini quiches in the oven. “All good?” he says, closing the door and shedding his oven mitts.
“I think I’ll let my parents know we made it,” I say, cell phone in hand.
“The back porch is right out that door, nice and quiet,” he responds, and I make my way to face the repercussions of calling Mom and Dad back.
Better not to have them call the cops. Better to deal with them now than to put it off even longer and make it worse.
Time to grow up, Jessa, and answer the phone.
Outside, it’s cold and the moon has a snow haze around it, threatening flurries or more.
I breathe in the icy air until it burns at my throat.
Strings of lights illuminate the porch, and it’s a kind of oasis from the bustle of the party inside.
I sit on a wicker bench, the material creaking as I shift forward and stare at my phone, deciding to call Dad.
Dad, who was cool with me having a girlfriend.
Dad, who has royally fucked up with Mack.
Dad, who is imperfect and still Dad. I dial and prepare myself.