Chapter 5 Love Makes Room,Something
Love Makes Room, Or Something
“Um, sorry … what exactly do you mean by ‘disturbing’ …?” I ask, wide-eyed, phone pressed to my ear.
Principal Whitman lets out a hefty sigh.
If the man’s known for nothing else, it’s his hefty, burdened, tired-of-the-world sighs.
Tanner’s always thought he’s a condescending jerk.
The authority-obsessed man has unfortunately, after all these years, not proven himself otherwise.
“Instead of having this out over the phone, we should discuss it in person with your son present. Do you think you could manage that today, Mr. Tucker? After school?”
Mr. Tucker, he calls me.
I don’t think I’ve been called that in over eight years.
The next thing I know, I’m sitting in the principal’s office for the first time in my life, flooding me with major back-to-school-nightmare anxiety I didn’t know I had. Honestly makes me regret the bagel with cream cheese I had before leaving the house.
Next to me sits a bored-looking Marcus, who can’t be any less bothered sitting in the principal’s office. It brings me to wonder for the very first time if Marcus has sat in a principal’s office in the past, before he and Joshua became a part of our family.
“This is the offending article in question,” states the principal.
Then slaps down a charcoal drawing in front of me.
It appears to be some kind of amorphous, screaming monster. Oh, two of them, maybe? Or one monster with two heads? Twisted horns coil out of their skulls, and long, sharp objects I can’t make out are gripped in their hands, wielded like weapons.
Maybe I should find it disturbing, like the overly-sensitive and depressingly closed-minded Principal Whitman does.
But instead, I find it incredibly expressive, detailed, and artful.
It could be the front cover of a gripping horror novel.
Or artwork for the latest album of some up-and-coming heavy metal or emo band.
Marcus plays a lot of video games and watches anime.
What if this is some character he likes, or derivative of one?
If Mindy was here, she’d be gagging over how bad-ass this looks.
But that sort of reaction isn’t what the principal is hoping for from the mayor’s son-in-law, I imagine. I glance at Marcus. “What is this a drawing of?” I ask him, sounding as neutral as possible.
Marcus just shrugs.
I frown. Not a usual reaction from him.
“It’s quite disturbing,” states the principal, as if answering on my son’s behalf. “The Art Club teacher himself didn’t even know what to say. He was stunned speechless. And also horrified.”
I highly doubt either of those things are true. “Sir …”
He leans forward in his seat abruptly, causing it to creak. “Are matters okay at home, Mr. Tucker?”
That name again. Tucker, instead of Tucker-Strong.
It feels like something’s missing. Like something’s wrong. All the hairs stand up on the back of my neck with indignation. I want to correct him, yet I find myself frozen in place, an emotional knot stuck in my chest somewhere.
Then the office door crashes open and a sweaty-faced Tanner appears.
“Sorry, broke away from the boys as soon as I could! Mr. Whitman.” He comes up to my chair and whispers, “Hey, babe,” with a squeeze of my shoulder before slapping his other hand onto Marcus’s, startling him.
“Marco-man, my buddy, what’s goin’ on here?
Oh, is this yours?” Tanner snatches the illustration right off the desk.
“Dude, this is totally sick! You did this yourself?”
“Yes,” answers the principal, misunderstanding, “that is sick, very sick. An inappropriate interpretation of his assignment.”
“What was the assignment?” I ask, more to Marcus than the principal.
But it’s the principal, yet again, who answers: “To draw your happiest memory, that’s what.
And this is clearly a blatant show of disrespect to the club and to this school.
” He looks up at Tanner, who seems to still be observing the work of art with an awestruck expression, which only further baffles the man. “Coach Strong?”
Tanner kneels down between the chairs, still gripping the art, and nudges Marcus with his elbow.
“I remember this chat. On the first day we brought you back to our house, wasn’t it?
You said … if I can remember it right … that Billy and I were like the angels who saved you and Joshua from the smoky demon monsters your little brother kept having nightmares about. Somethin’ like that?”
Marcus blinks at Tanner, appearing totally lost.
Tanner faces the principal. “Happiness looks different for us all. I don’t know about you, but my happiest memory is the first time I tried the insanely spicy Tackler Burger at Biggie’s Bites, back when Billy worked there himself and his pastry-chef dreams were just dreams.” He glances at me.
“I can still feel the tears of agony in my eyes and on my tongue.”
I find my throat catching, thinking of that day. “You were so stubborn,” I murmur quietly, remembering. “I warned you, too.”
“You did,” he agrees, “and I dived into danger anyway, just to impress you. Like some kinda lovesick schoolboy.”
I swallow, struck by the moment. My heart dances, as if even it can remember the feeling of being entranced by Tanner Strong’s charm way back when, how devastatingly irresistible he was, even when he angered me, even when he didn’t listen, even when he—like most of the Strongs—exercised his stubbornness to the max.
We leave the principal’s office with the understanding that, while Marcus might have a curious way of interpreting creative assignments, he should practice restraint sometimes.
Tanner and I visibly disagreed, but nodded at the principal to placate him, then dismissed ourselves with our son.
Tanner kisses me on the cheek, startling me, before saying, “Gotta get back to the boys. We’re makin’ up for that big loss two weekends ago, I’m tellin’ you, us Spruce High footballers, we never give up!
” He gives Marcus a sort of dorky high-five, then heads off down the hall in an energetic jog that draws my eyes right to his ass.
His musclebound, plentiful, soul-stealing ass.
Some things never change.
Is this something I should set aside to put into my vows for the renewal ceremony? A soliloquy to his tight football buns?
“If something’s going on between you and Dad,” says Marcus without prompt, causing me to turn to him with a start, “can you at least give me and my brother a heads-up?”
The question pulls the floor straight out from under my feet.
“We’ve done the moving family-to-family thing already,” he goes on. “It’s worse not knowing. Joshua takes it harder.”
I’m still reeling from Tanner’s heroic grappling with the reins in that principal’s office, I can barely make words. “We’re not … no … no, no, Marcus, we’re not …” I swallow hard. Am I lying to him? Or am I trying to believe it myself? “We’re fine. Totally fine, buddy. We’re not going anywhere.”
Marcus is staring down at his drawing clutched in his fingers.
I don’t know if it’s just the teenage too-cool-to-look-me-in-the-eyes-in-public thing, or if he doesn’t buy what I’m selling.
I nod at his drawing. “So Joshua used to have nightmares?”
Now Marcus looks up from the drawing, then shrugs. “I just drew this ‘cause I thought it was cool. Don’t know what all of that was that Dad said. Can I go home with you? I don’t really feel like going to Art Club, and I sorta promised Joshua I’d game with him.”
I blink, stunned.
Tanner made all that up?
I don’t know whether to be mad, disappointed, or utterly impressed.
It’s hours later when Marcus and Joshua are in front of the TV playing their game, Tanner is still at the school with his coaching duties, and I’m curled up in Nadine’s old armchair, but can’t seem to focus on the book I grabbed, my mind everywhere else.
On the words Marcus said to me in the hallway outside the principal’s office.
Tanner’s big speech about the Tackle Burger he nearly died trying to eat in front of me.
How I felt when the moody principal kept saying just half of my last name.
Omitting the Strong.
And the shame I felt for not correcting him.
It sounded so wrong without the Strong part.
It was a Friday morning, just before the weekend, just shy of two years ago, that Tanner and I were in a cold, cluttered agency office.
I had no faith whatsoever in the caseworker we sat across from, but despite how rigid she seemed before, her voice warmed when she said, “Joshua is a wonderful, incredible boy. So bright and curious. It’s no mystery you two keep gravitating toward him. ”
I remember Tanner’s arm was around my back so tightly.
We had already faced disappointment and rejections before.
It was the thing we both wanted most: a family.
We’d dreamt of it. Discussed it to death.
We were ready. Our hearts wanted so desperately to welcome a child into our expansive family of Strongs and Tuckers, a child to call ours, to share our love with, and maybe to someday burden with our wishes and dreams for their success—y’know, like a proper set of helicopter parents do.
Then the caseworker said: “Joshua has an older brother. Four years older. Marcus. The two have never been apart.” She adjusted her glasses, noting the surprise on our faces.
“I know this may not have been what you were expecting to hear, but I assure you that Marcus is protective over his little brother. Smart, too, the both of them, cut from the same cloth. I think you’ll be mighty surprised.
” She adjusted her glasses again, then winked at us. “They’re kind of a package deal.”
Tanner turned to me, stunned. I looked back at him, rendered just as speechless. “Love … makes room, or something. Right?” he said, his voice cracking slightly.