Chapter Thirty-One Jack
Chapter Thirty-One
Jack
I hate this dining room table.
My dad once did a photo shoot in this house when I was fifteen for a magazine article about his life, his family, and following his muse. My mom and I were with him for one of the setups where we were playing a board game right here, on this table. I’d never once played a board game with my dad before that moment. Before the shoot, my mom practically threw it at me when she realized the plastic was still on it so I could run into the kitchen and crack it open with a knife. It was the strangest feeling being photographed as we smiled and laughed playing a game we were pretending to have played hundreds of times before. We didn’t know the rules. Or the objectives. So we rolled dice and moved pieces around the board for no reason at all.
The person on set whose job was to make sure none of the lighting equipment scraped the floors looked at me after our segment and said, “Man, I’m jealous! You’ve got such a cool dad.”
I knew he was just saying it to be nice, so I agreed and then went in my room and threw a pillow at my window—wishing it would be enough to shatter it, and terrified at the same time that it would.
“Your mom told me about visiting your new place in Rome, Jack,” says my dad from his throne at the head of the table.
“Yeah? I’m really happy there. When it’s done it’ll—”
“I just think you’d be better off putting teaching behind you and doing something important with your life. Seems like Rome is a dead end too. Just an old rotting town.”
My mom texted me somewhere in between me pulling up to James’s place and Emily darting into the house. It was the kind of text I’ve come to understand as an SOS from my mom. Can you come for a late dinner? It’s innocuous. If he read her text messages he’d see nothing but a mom inviting her son over. But I got the message. What it really means is He’s in a mood. Please help.
I know my place tonight: peacemaker. But it’s a struggle to respond to his comment tactfully. “Oh, I don’t know; the town is full of good people, and working with kids is pretty important to me.”
“The women can do that job just fine. You should be doing more.”
I set down my fork and it clanks loudly against the plate. “I don’t believe in gender-specific jobs. It’s an honor for me to teach those kids how to read and write—and a damn hard career.”
My mom clears her throat, looking panicked. She saw him trending toward a mood that preludes a rage fit, and she hoped I would intervene like always to smooth him over before it got to that point. I usually ask him questions about his books and act impressed with his answers and before long, he’s feeling high enough on himself again to act civil. It’s a bad pattern we’ve fallen into.
But tonight, it’s feeling too difficult to sit at this table and move pieces around an imaginary board game again. As long as we keep playing, my dad will always win.
Fredrick raises a cut of steak to his mouth, finally looking at me instead of his plate. “I just think your intellect could be used elsewhere. You’re my son; I’m sure you could accomplish big things if you wanted to.” This isn’t the first time he’s said this to me. For him, working in education will never be considered “big things.”
I clench my teeth. “I’m happy teaching, Dad.”
He’s chewing and talking at the same time. “But that can’t be enough for you. However, if you want to use these summer months wisely instead of playing fixer-upper in a decrepit town, I could help you find a new career path that would better suit you. Maybe you could put that English minor to good use and try your hand at some editorial work. I have connections.”
My blood is simmering. “I don’t need your connections.”
Fredrick scoffs. “Do you think it’s easy to get into the publishing world? If you tried to do it yourself, you’d have to start at the bottom. But with my help, you could go places right away. Finally do the Bennett name justice.”
He’s getting angry—looking to pick a fight. I’ve been here a few times with him before. Something in his life isn’t going the way he wants, so he hyperfixates on me and what I could be doing better according to him. Spoiler: Nothing will ever be good enough.
Now would be a good time to agree and show my gratitude for his help, even if I don’t end up needing it, because he will inevitably lose interest in me when his “muse” returns and he goes back to his usual routine of writing and blocking out the rest of the world.
But I can’t.
I don’t want to anymore.
“Did you get a bad review or something? Your editor give you some rough feedback? Is that what this is about? Because it seems like you’re trying to pick a fight with me.”
“ Jack …” my mom pleads.
“Excuse me?” my dad asks.
“Do you even realize you do this? You pick fights with everyone around you when you’re mad. I have spent my life tiptoeing around your moods just so you’ll be a little more bearable. Because you make this entire world revolve around you and your moods and it’s exhausting. And heartbreaking. And you never apologize.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, eyes looking a little wilder. “Excuse me for having a stressful job. And I never once asked you to ‘tiptoe around my mood.’?” He puts air quotes around those words. “You did that all on your own.”
This. This is why I don’t try to call him out on his shit. He doesn’t hear me—or anyone—ever; he only listens for sound bites that he can use to twist and throw back at me. It’s a never-ending battle.
He continues, looking more self-righteous by the moment. “Tonight I was only offering to help you achieve bigger success. Maybe even spend a little more time together in the process. You should be grateful that I even offered since my schedule is tight. I won’t make that mistake of extending my help or connections again, though…you can be sure of that.”
There it is…the door shutting in my face again. It’s the same damn thing every time, but now, I’m keenly aware of just how much of a toll it takes on me. And that maybe I don’t have to participate. Maybe it’s not my job to keep this pretend, fragile peace.
I left a home full of people who love each other and who were willing to let me inside their circle tonight, to come here and boost the pride of this pathetic man who is never going to love me back like I deserve. The problem is, I want my mom to be happy and safe, but if she doesn’t want those things for herself too, I can only help so much.
With courage I’ve never experienced in this house before now, I know what it’s time to do.
I look toward my dad. “But see, that’s part of the problem. I’ve learned never to accept your help even if I need it, because it always comes with strings.”
My dad suddenly stands up from the table to tower over us. “Do you have a problem with me, Jack? Quit pissing around and say it if you do.”
My gut instinct is to shrink away. Take back what I said until his temper subsides. But I remind myself that I’m not a kid anymore. He has no power over me. So I stand too. Eye to eye. “Yes. I do have a problem with you, and I wish I’d told you sooner. The only reason I have held back all these years is for Mom. I can live with you not loving me. I can live with you being a self-centered asshole for ninety percent of my life. But I love Mom—and she deserves more than what you give her. And if you get nothing else out of what I say tonight, I hope you at least hear this: Treat her better.”
Sadly, I know this won’t sink in to my dad’s brain because nothing has in the past. He’ll reshape the narrative somehow to come out in his favor. To pin him as the victim of tonight’s events rather than the reason this is all happening. This speech isn’t so much for him as it is so my mom can hear someone fight for her. So she can hear out loud in his presence that she is worthy of more than this. That we both are.
“Get out of my house,” Fredrick says, his face turning red. “I won’t be treated like this in my own home. Not after I raised you with every comfort you could ever want. Not when I have been nothing but faithful and devoted to my wife. I won’t listen to this childish tantrum of yours.” The wife in question is currently sunk back into her seat, dabbing the streams of tears falling from her eyes, afraid to speak up on either side. I hate that I’m putting her through this, but I don’t see a different way anymore.
I make sure his eyes are connected with mine when I say, “Okay, I’ll leave. But I’m not going to be coming back.” And that’s it—I don’t give him an explanation because he will only twist it or argue with it if I do. I only said it out loud for myself.
“I can’t believe how ungrateful you are.” He hitches his head to the door. “Go.”
I should leave without another word. But high off adrenaline from finally telling him what I’ve wanted to say for years, I decide to stop hiding. “By the way, you’re wrong. I didn’t need your connections. I was able to write a bestselling series on my own. And when my fourth book comes out next year and you watch it top the charts—I want you to know that AJ Ranger did it without using your fucking name.”
His eyes register shock and I’m sure later I’ll regret telling him who I am in this dramatic way, but right now, it feels great.
“Get. The. Hell. Out.”
I do. I grab my keys from the table, and I walk out of his house feeling proud and lighter for the first time.
I’m almost to my car when my mom’s voice calls out, “Jack! Wait.” She rushes up to me and wraps me in a hug. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispers through tears and cracked emotions. “I had no idea you were…well, it doesn’t surprise me actually. You’ve always been so bright and imaginative. I’m so happy to know you’re a writer.”
She pulls away and wipes a tear from her face. “And I’m so sorry I’ve been pulling you back inside that house all these years. I didn’t realize…I should have realized that it was hurting you, but I’ve been selfish. I’m so so—”
“Mom,” I say, gently holding her shoulders. “It’s okay. I love you, and I wish I could keep being here for you, but I just can’t. You don’t have to stay with him, though. You can leave. My house and my town are always open to you. Go pack a bag right now and you can ride back with me.”
I wish I could see her fighting, but there’s not even a war happening behind her eyes—just resignation. It kills me. And this is when I realize that even this relationship hasn’t been healthy. I’ve carried too much of her burdens.
She pats my face. “I can’t leave him yet, Jack. He needs me. And maybe…maybe after all this he’ll see he needs some help and he’ll talk to someone.”
Maybe…
But not likely.
“I just wanted you to know that I’m proud of you, and I understand why you can’t come home anymore.”
My eyes are burning and my jaw hurts. I lean down and kiss my mom’s cheek. “I love you, Mom. Don’t forget my door is always open for you. And I’ll see you soon.”
—
I can’t bring myself to go to the inn yet and risk running into anyone from the town when I feel like this, so I drive to my house with the hope that I’ll find that my AC has been fixed and I can sleep there tonight.
When I pull into my driveway, my body is in fight or flight. Most everyone who has grown up with a parent like mine knows that after a situation where you put yourself forward and speak your truth, there is always a reeling discomfort in its wake. Like I want to run as fast as I can but also hide in a dark hole at the same time. I’m at war with wondering if I truly stood up for myself or if I just taunted him. Is it a moment I should be proud of or was I really just throwing a tantrum like he said?
This is what he does. He gets in my head and disrupts my sense of self until I’m all turned around and dizzy.
I get out of my SUV, slamming the door a little too hard behind me. I think I’ll get on my bike. I think I’ll run it hard all night until I end up somewhere out of gas and far far—
“Long night?” Emily’s voice washes over me like a cleansing wave.
I turn and squint in the dark until I see her in her driveway, sitting in the bed of her truck, leaned back against the cab. I should probably go inside right now. Should probably not face her while I’m so unstable. But I can’t keep my feet from crunching over the gravel and grass to get to her. My entire body is dragging me to her like it knows she is safety.
“How long have you been out here?” I ask when I get closer and note the laptop, blankets, and support pillow behind her back.
She meets my gaze. “Not long. Since I got back from the farm.”
I cock my head. “Which was?”
“About two hours ago.”
I couldn’t keep the smile off my face even if someone threatened to key my Land Rover. “And why have you been out here?”
“Are you just going to stand there all night gloating that I’ve been worried, waiting for you, or are you going to join me?”
“Am I invited?”
She holds up a beer bottle for me. I don’t give it a second thought before shaking my head. “No, I don’t—”
“It’s a ginger beer,” she amends softly, looking shyer than I think I’ve ever seen Emily look. “Alcohol free.” Or no, maybe not shy…tender. Vulnerable.
The emotions I’ve been shoving down my throat since I left my parents’ house are now bubbling up. “You didn’t have to do that for me. You don’t have to drink that when I know you like beer.”
“I know I don’t,” she says with a taunting Emily smile. “And that makes it all the more fun.”
I eye her pallet with open longing now, my bones feeling so weary I could fall over. She scoots over and pats the spot beside her. A minute later, we’re shoulder to shoulder, backs leaning against the truck window and staring up at winking stars, ginger beers in hand.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.
“Not yet.” I shift to look at her. “I want to make sure we’re okay. And Maddie. What happened with her?”
Her face angles in my direction and the moon reflects in her sharp green eyes. “It’s a long story that I’ll fill you in on later. But for now, you can know that she let me cry on her shoulder and I realized I need to do that more often.” She pauses, her eyes dropping to my hand, and then she reaches over to take it in hers. “Jack…thank you for wanting to be there for me the other night. And for encouraging me not to give up on my dreams. Historically, I have an incredible record of handling things on my own pretty well. But lately…since my grandma passed…” She presses her tongue into her cheek. “Um, there’s just been this…” She’s pushing through stopped-up emotions. “This sadness and loneliness that I have struggled to climb out of. And I don’t like for people to see me in those places, because I’m afraid if I do, I’ll be even harder to love.”
I push her hair back from her face, just wanting to be close to her. “I can relate.”
“Of course you can,” she says with a smile. “That’s why you scare the hell out of me. I’ve never…I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel so seen and known as you do, Jack. And to be honest, your friendship lately”—tears race down her cheeks—“has been one of the best things to ever happen to me. And I was scared that you’d think you wanted me, and then you would get close to me and realize that I’m too tough to love. Hell, I’m difficult to even be around some days, and now I can add sad to the list too.”
She shrugs. “I guess I’m saying I don’t actually want to go slow with you. I love you, Jack. I don’t want to be friends with benefits. I want to hug each other when we’re sad and help each other find the bright side of things when all we can see is the dark.” Her hand squeezes mine like she’s reminding herself I’m still sitting here. “And I realize I don’t have a lot to offer you at this moment in my life besides a very messy person who is somehow also a perfectionist and enjoys bickering more than she should. I can be a porcupine sometimes, but I also make really great buttered noodles and have the best movie nights with an incredible selection of snacks, and, oh!” She brightens like she was struck by a revelation. “I can also help you grade papers when you’re behind. I’m very good at grading. I have a supercute sticker stash too that you’re welcome to use anytime you—”
I kiss her.
I kiss her long and slow for just a minute. Just a heartbeat. My tongue sweeps her mouth in a lazy summertime backstroke. And then I pull away and I hold her face in my hands—forehead to forehead. “I love you too, Emily…I don’t need anything from you other than for you to unlock the door for me so I can come lie with you when the darkness is too heavy to crawl out of. And if you need to fight, you can fight with me. And if you want to make love, make it with me.” I kiss her once more. “You think you’re unlovable, but I think I’ve never known how to love until knowing you.”