Chapter 36 Reason to Stay #2
My heart would know his anywhere, but it leapt to my throat when a cherub-faced toddler appeared on my screen wielding sticks behind a drum kit. The man holding him wore a vintage Cheap Trick T-shirt and a smile so familiar and radiant with pride and joy it made my eyes burn.
The phantom contractions were back in full force, and when I locked eyes with the adult version of that baby drummer, we both held tears.
I’d just met JD Crawford—Jude’s dad.
Kissing his cheek, I measured my questions carefully. Every mention of his dad so far had been positive, but I didn’t know if there were any sore spots to avoid. I didn’t want to ruin our limited time together by saying the wrong thing.
“I just realized you have the same initials. Same name?” I asked.
“Almost. He was John Daniel. Aunt Judy couldn’t have kids. Since she introduced him to Mom, she got a little more pull in the name suggestions.”
Remembering Aunt Judy said JD interchangeably for Jude and his dad made more sense now.
He leaned his head against mine, his voice soft and low.
“I’m trying not to freak you out, but I want this.
” He held a Polaroid of four-year-old me with strawberry-blond pigtails and freckles singing into a turkey baster next to the image on my phone.
“No pressure. Any timeline, whatever our future looks like—I’m just making it clear I want it with you. ”
I turned my head to steal a kiss. “You keep saying pretty things I’ll want to remember when I don’t have my notebook.”
“I’ll be happy to tell you again.”
The weekend flew by in a blur. The intense pace of our classes had worn us both down, and I’d already begun writing a paper for my Psych of Personality class. I was getting up stupid early and working late into the night trying to stay ahead so I could spend weekends with Jude.
Our phone calls were less playful. We entertained my siblings most of the previous weekend, and maybe our serotonin levels took a hit from the lack of one-on-one time.
After a late lunch with my dad, Jude and I went our separate ways. In hindsight, that was the worst possible note to leave on.
I’d introduced Jude as Daniel. It just came out.
I needed a barrier, and that’s what I chose.
The gentle stroke of his thumb over mine told me he understood.
The visit began the same as always—Dad tossed out a nickname that he insists he called me when I was little.
Then he told the story about me biting off the bottom of my ice cream cone when I was two and doing it again when he gave me his.
That story’s probably only funny because my grandfather was there.
Without him, I’m sure ice cream would have been forbidden thereafter due to my irresponsibility, and the one cute story he can pull from my childhood would cease to exist.
We’ve never been anything but awkward. I tried most of my young life to find common ground with him, and the Beatles were all I could ever come up with. I have a long memory, and now that I’m no longer in a constant state of fight or flight, I can clearly see the damage he inflicted on our family.
I helped mom with newborns when he was nowhere to be found and no help even when he was home.
It’s only recently that I’ve not jumped to my feet when I hear a key unlock a door.
I had to get the other kids fed, quiet, and out of sight as quickly as possible.
We never knew what kind of mood he’d be in.
Avoiding conflict was the best defense whenever he got home before Mom.
My last memory of childhood was the exhaustion of working for him every night of my senior year when I should have been doing homework or going to prom.
I’m bitter. Can’t deny it. I’ve built an internal dialogue of scathing responses for years.
There’s no reason to censor myself now, but I still do.
Special thanks to Jace for sharpening my skills, but a chilling fear can still come out of nowhere, falling through my chest and landing hard in my stomach like a skydiver with no parachute.
Logically, I know there’s no reason to be afraid of him, but my body’s still reviewing the paperwork.
After story time, we browsed the menu. Dad extolled the virtues of his carb-free diet while I stared longingly at loaded french fries.
“You’ll need to watch your carbs and even be careful with cheese if you want to avoid high blood pressure and type 2 diabetes. It runs in the family, Lucy, and you’ve got the Brooks body type. I’ve lost about fifty pounds. Establish good habits before things get out of control.”
“Yeah. You look great,” I told him. Once again.
I appreciate how hard that must be, but he’s lost the same fifty pounds repeatedly my whole life, and part of his dietary regimen was to restrict everyone else.
When I’m home, I eat healthier. Mostly. But when I’m out, I eat a small portion of whatever the heck I want, and I’m sick of him having an opinion about it.
“Lucy can’t afford to lose any weight or I’d lose her between the couch cushions. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” Jude interjected.
Dad knew better than to argue, so he redirected his judgment to my siblings under the guise of concern.
I was satisfied with my Cobb salad order, but Jude blatantly added loaded fries to his, bringing my hand to his lips without taking his eyes off my dad, as if daring him to comment.
Dad gave the server his order, complaining about the lack of healthy salad dressing options before inching toward subtle condescension and questioning my judgment throughout lunch.
“How long have you two been together?” he asked, suddenly realizing we’re more than friends.
Jude spoke up. “We’ve been friends for a year. Now we’re closer friends.”
He considers Jude but comes back to me. “I thought you were engaged.”
“Temporary lapse in judgment,” I responded dryly.
“And the country singer?” His inflection shifted to a familiar sort of amused dismissal that I can never quite explain. It makes me feel like I need to defend myself for no reason—against accusations he didn’t quite make.
“Well, I’m not married, Dad. I can sing with whoever I want.”
Jude squeezed my leg, soothing my nerves with contact through the hole in my jeans.
“Lu’s everyone’s favorite duet partner. But when the show’s over, she leaves with me.”
He popped a cheese fry in my mouth to punctuate his alpha declaration, and it took everything in me not to throw cash on the table and drag him outside to kiss his face off.
But the tense dynamic with my dad obviously bothered him.
He lost a man who by all accounts loved being a dad, while I have a perfectly able-bodied father who treats his family like an inconvenient drain on his resources.
I’d feel guilty if I didn’t try to see my dad while I still can, but maybe I’m looking at it all wrong.
Late that night, once we were back in separate zip codes, my annoyance was neatly compartmentalized, but Jude’s irritation had continued to simmer, and he didn’t hold back his opinion when we talked.
“You don’t have to keep putting yourself through that, Lu.
You called, you made plans, you drove to him, and he had the nerve to ask if you were making progress in school or still trying to be a backup singer.
The semester’s barely begun, and you’re already helping Sam while you write papers and work nights.
Your dad knows nothing about you,” Jude said, still affected by our interaction.
“I can’t believe you said I’m a highly sought-after collaborator and you know several artists who want to share the stage with me.” I laughed. “Liar.”
“You collaborated with Sam. You collaborate with Jace sometimes. I collaborate with you every chance I get,” he said without the humor I’d expect. “I don’t lie. I just said it … pretty.”
“You say a lot of things pretty. You said that like a warning.”
“Because it was.” Some agitation crept into his voice, and I didn’t know how to fix it over the phone.
“Bossy much?” I made a feeble attempt to joke, but he didn’t laugh.
“Yes. Because being a dad is a privilege. His time could run out at any minute, and all the crap he put your family through is the only memory you’ll have left.
Such a waste.” He took a breath as if to calm down but amped right back up.
“I get it now—why you’re so afraid to say the wrong thing or let anyone down.
It was like he was testing you and looking for holes in anything you said.
That ends now. If he wants to see you, he’ll have to get used to seeing me. ”
“Good,” I responded quietly, captivated by his fire. “I love you.”
He sighed deep and heavy. “I love you too. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. I love your passion, Jude.”
“I hate the sound of my own voice right now.”
“I don’t. It’s my favorite sound in the world.”
Annie didn’t have any in-person classes yet, so she went home to help her mom for the rest of the week, and I worked the evening shift at Pop’s.
I heard some mumbling about Nathan being there earlier in the day, but I wasn’t worried.
He hadn’t tried to contact me again, so … out of sight, out of mind.
I was worried about Jude, though. I turned his words over in my mind a few hundred times, searching for any sign he was upset with me, but he only seemed upset for me.
He didn’t like the way my dad talked to me.
He didn’t like being away from me.
He loves me.
Even exhausted and a little run-down, there’s never a reason to doubt him. Still, I checked on him twice. Both times I got short and sweet replies.
“I’m fine, baby. I’ll talk to you when you get home. I love you.”
When I got home after work, Jace was waiting for me, parked next to Jude’s SUV. Color drained from my face when Jace got out of his truck and came toward me.
“What happened?” I was terrified, but the stupid douche waffle just smirked.