Chapter 7 A Strong Tucker
A Strong Tucker
It started with this tiny thing he said when we were out with friends.
It was a rare night without the kids. Marcus was staying over at a classmate’s house while Joshua spent the night at my parents’ with his new best friend Kirkland Junior—an unlikely pairing who bonded over video games at the Halloween thing.
My husband and I were near to finishing a rather neck-and-neck game of pool against Mindy and Joel when he made a sudden offhanded remark about how I’m “a total helicopter mom over the oven” and that everyone in our house has “learned to keep well away from the kitchen” until whatever I’m making is finished.
I laughed it off like I was supposed to. Of course it was a joke, right?
Then why did it bother me?
Tanner didn’t bring it up later. Neither did I. When we got home and changed out of our clothes, I decided to set it aside and make a sexy game out of pulling off Tanner’s boxers the second he put them on.
But the alcohol won, and before we could manage even a minute of making out, Tanner was snoring on the bed.
And I sat up with my thoughts.
All night.
I made myself some chamomile tea, drank it all, then listened to the silent, childless house, imagining the fun they were having at their respective places.
Had half a mind to drop by my parents’, but didn’t want to cramp Joshua’s style.
Also, it was 3 AM.
Am I really such a monster in the kitchen? Have I bitten any of their heads off and miraculously don’t remember? Is he making a reference to something I did six and a half years ago when I was stressed out about a cake his mother asked me to bake last-minute for a baby shower?
Why would he make that joke?
Fast-forward to a long weekend in the middle of November. “Really? Like, never? Not even once?”
Bobby chuckles at my reaction. “I dunno. What’d you want me to say?”
“That Jimmy also makes you climb up the walls sometimes!” I laughingly answer.
This is Bobby, the soccer-playing, quick-footed husband of Tanner’s younger brother Jimmy. How both of the mayor’s sons ended up married to men is a question no one asks.
We’re at a sort of outdoor brunch thing in town, and it’s the first time I’ve run into Bobby in months. (I swear, Jimmy keeps the poor guy all to himself, greedy bastard.) Everyone’s here. Even Lance and Chad, who never seem to leave their house out in the country anymore.
“We both made the crazy decision to marry a Strong boy,” Bobby points out. “I think if we’re honest with ourselves, the boys drove us crazy even when we were dating. Nothing’s different. It’s just … years later.” He eyes me. “We knew dang well what we were gettin’ ourselves into.”
I snort. “Touché.”
“And while we’ve certainly had our moments,” he goes on with a smile, “I wouldn’t say I ever thought of kicking him to the curb.”
His husband Jimmy, on cue, hops onto a picnic table to prove to someone that he can, in fact, do a modified Michael Jacksonish grab-his-crotch-while-on-his-tippy-toes dance move.
He grips his hat—the same old threadbare thing he’s worn for years, loose muscle shirt billowing in the wind, third bottle of beer in the air—and does the move with gusto.
Twelve times in a row. Each time spilling his beer over the table to a crowd of whistling friends and coworkers from the gym he runs with his husband.
Bobby bristles. “Yet,” he then adds.
I lean back against the wooden fence lining the pond. “So you do want to wring his neck now and then?”
“Since the day we met.” He goes for a sip of beer—then stops.
“Jimmy’s like a party that has no end. Even when I want it to.
Even when I’m tired and whiny and just wanna go to bed.
Is that what it means to be a Strong? To just …
be strong? Keep the party going and going?
” He glances off. “But I love it. I love that he’s always a party …
because it’s a party I’m always invited to.
” He rethinks it. “And I guess it makes me appreciate the calm much more.”
I glance across the grass at Tanner, hanging out with Harrison and chatting over beers.
If a Strong’s purpose is to be strong, then I guess a Tucker’s purpose is to tuck. And we Tuckers tuck all our problems away like dust under a rug.
Out of sight.
But still totally fucking there.
My dad did it for years until a heart attack crept up on him however long ago. Mom, too, numbing her worries by pouring herself into the diner like it’s a second child of her own.
“Why are you asking?” Bobby turns to me suddenly. “Are you and Tanner—?”
“Oh, no,” I cut him off at once, shaking my head. “We’re as happy as can be. The happiest. Totally great, nothing’s up.”
Perhaps I said it too many times in a row.
He’s staring.
“R-Really,” I insist. Great. Now I’m stuttering. “We’re perfect. I love my husband. He’s a total party, too. Nonstop. A … nonstop party. Please don’t tell Jimmy.”
“Don’t tell Jimmy what?” asks Bobby, eyebrows pinched.
Why did I just say that? “Nothing. I mean …” My fingers drum on the fence.
I stop that nervous habit at once. “I mean sure, like any married couple, we have our … our disagreements. And yeah, I wish sometimes he’d take me more seriously.
And take initiative with the kids. Like, yes, thank God we were blessed with two boys who are empathetic, smart, and independent.
It’s not easy gettin’ them to open up about their childhoods and what the two had to endure before they met us, but it doesn’t mean my husband gets a free pass on bein’ the hard parent now and then, leaving that task up to me so I always look like the uptight helicopter chef.
What even is a helicopter chef? Like, okay, I’d love to just wind down and be a free spirit all the time, but …
Y’know what? Fine. Life’s a big party if you’re a Strong boy.
I get it. I should enjoy that party more, too.
I appreciate the stupid metaphor. But someone has to set up the party, too.
The punch bowl doesn’t fill itself. The guest list and the decorations and the food don’t just happen.
Life takes effort. Parties can be work. A lot of work.
And I …” Suddenly I find myself slumped against the fence.
“I guess sometimes I … I just … I feel so fuckin’ alone with my stresses, Bobby. So fuckin’ alone.”
I don’t know half the words I said after I say them.
I’m just numb and squeezing a can of beer too tightly.
Is the secret to life just holding everything in until you dump it all on your brother-in-law’s totally sweet and attentive husband?
Bobby puts a hand on my arm, stirring me. “Y’know,” he says, his voice lowered, “if it’s getting to be too much, maybe you ought to hire Malcolm.”
I frown at Bobby, not following at all. “Uh … Malcolm?”
“Yeah, you know. Mario Tucci’s son. Nadine’s Malcolm. Ever since she’s brought him into her team, he’s proven to be quite the event coordinator. I bet he could take a lot of your stress away.”
I am still twenty steps behind Bobby, standing on a rock in the sea of his words. “Why would I, uh … need an … an event coordinator …?”
“Your vow renewal ceremony.” Bobby spreads his hands, lips twisted into a frown. “That’s what you’re venting about, isn’t it? That Tanner isn’t helping you out with your ‘party’ enough?”
I stare at Bobby, blank-eyed.
Of course. That’s what it sounded like.
I guess.
The metaphor has become literal. I’m complaining about Tanner not helping with the plans for our impending vow renewal event, scheduled for the very end of the year—exactly on our eight-year anniversary: New Year’s.
That’s what I’m all stressed out about.
Nothing more.
I’m almost thankful for the misunderstanding. What in the hell was I even thinking, letting all of that out?
“Yeah,” I finally say, coming out of it. “Malcolm. I’ll … I’ll get in touch with Malcolm.”
Bobby pats me on the shoulder. “We’re all so happy for you two.
Jimmy’s just about as excited for the ceremony as Nadine herself, and that’s sayin’ some—What the hell’s he doing now?
” He squints across the field at Jimmy, who appears to be attempting a headstand on the table.
Instead of getting annoyed, he laughs like it’s the most adorable thing in the world.
“Those damned Strongs, am I right? Party never ends. Oh, hey, have you written your vows yet? Or is it too soon?”
I stare at Bobby blankly for an answer.
The wind plays at the grass with a sudden breeze. I twist my eyes up to the sky, watching the clouds roll in. The windier and windier it gets, I wonder if the weather is trying to compete with the restlessness in my heart, twisting and pushing and roiling.
No, I haven’t written my vows.
Haven’t given them much thought at all, in fact.
Maybe the problem is that I’ve been resisting the party. Bobby looks so calm facing the chaos of Tanner’s younger brother, who is ten times more energetic and spontaneous.
Do I just need to invite myself in more?
Bring the beer, so to speak?
It’s that evening that I stand in front of the TV, weatherman giving us his worst, warning of floods and strong winds and the potential for tornados, when I spot Joshua at his bedroom door, his eyes wide with terror.
“Don’t worry,” I assure him. “Tornadoes hate Spruce, Texas. You and I are safe, totally safe.”
The wind and rain grow louder outside, as if in retaliation for my answer, causing the walls to creak. Both Joshua’s and my eyes snap to the nearest window, startled.
“A-Are you sure?” he whimpers.
This is when I’d be the one to march around the house and ensure everything is in order.
I’d ask Tanner a thousand times if he remembered to secure the patio furniture.
I might even impose on Nadine and Paul to see if they wouldn’t mind us heading over to wait out the storm in their house on account of a pair of slightly freaked-out kids. She loves playing the hero.