Chapter 26
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
ALLY
W hen Clay’s brother, Shane, and his fiancée, Julia, walked into their parents’ house, it was like Prince William and Kate had just arrived. Apparently, that made us Harry and Meghan.
“Look at what you brought us!” Judy exclaimed, cradling a loaf of sourdough bread like it was a newborn baby. Never mind that both Shane and Julia worked at Donner Bakery as bakers and hadn’t exactly driven far to come up with their donation to the dinner spread.
Not that I begrudged them bringing sourdough. Donner Bakery’s bread was the best in town and people often came from other areas just to get it. My point, though, was that Clay’s parents were gushing over it like it was the next best thing to...sliced bread. And Clay and I had spent a half hour assembling a charcuterie platter, garnishing it with dried fruit and flowers.
In addition, after this morning’s run, Clay had gone to a flower shop and selected the yellow and white blooms that were his mom’s favorites. Then he’d stopped by an art gallery and chosen a blown glass vase he thought his mother might like.
“Oh, Clay, did you find these on one of your runs? You’re always off on those long runs,” Judy said, smiling through what sounded like a criticism.
“Too soon for wildflowers,” Clay reminded her. “I went to a shop.”
“They’re sweet. I’ll put them in the vase.” She spun off to the kitchen to add water to the vase, returning a few minutes later with the charcuterie platter and a vase full of white roses, which she placed in the middle of the dining table. Clay and Julia were busy talking, and Shane looked away when I tried to catch his eye. Was it strange that his mom had foregone Clay’s flowers for these other ones?
I decided not to make something of nothing and reached for a cracker and a slice of Gouda. Clay’s mom watched me chew, and I made sure to keep my mouth closed in case she was studying my manners.
“How’s work?” Clay’s father, Clayton, asked the room.
Shane and Julia, who I knew from around town, effused about how busy Donner Bakery had been helping the Lodge cater a large wedding. Clayton nodded and turned to Clay, who put his arm around me.
“Still love teaching,” Clay said. “And this is the fun part of the year when the senior projects come in and we have the carnival, grad night, all the big send-off events for the seniors.”
“You teach at the school too?” Clayton asked me.
“I do. I have a lot of the same students, so it’s a fun time for me too, putting finishing touches on senior pages before the yearbook goes to press.”
Clay’s parents nodded and said a few pleasantries about teaching being a noble pursuit. His parents were kind, polite. I probably would have thought nothing of their manner or anything else except for the way they positively doted on Shane.
“And tell us about the symphony, Shane. Will you be there regularly? Should we buy season tickets?” Judy squealed.
“Nah, just a couple times a month when they’re playing composers with large French horn parts. The rest of the time, I’m happy playing at the jam sessions with Clay.”
“Did Clay tell you Shane used to play for the New York Philharmonic?” Judy asked me.
“Yes, that’s amazing.” Clay had also told me that his brother hated it and promptly quit the job and moved back to Green Valley to bake bread. That somehow didn’t make it into his mother’s story. “I just think it’s awesome that we have local jam sessions with such talented folks,” I said, willing Clay to brag about being a great guitar and ukulele player.
To hear his mom talk of it, Shane practically hung the moon by himself using only his left hand, while his right worked the bell of the French horn.
Wanting to make a good impression on Clay’s parents, I considered keeping my opinions to myself. But I was getting more and more riled up each time Clay started talking about his students and one of his parents interrupted and went off on a tangent. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“You should see how much the students look up to Clay. I’ve had at least a dozen put Shakespeare quotes on their senior pages because he inspired them to read the Bard,” I said.
His mother stopped fussing over the flowers and looked at me with a blank expression. “It’s nice that you two have similar interests.”
“It’s more than just an interest. Your son is great at his job. He’s molding these kids and they’re all the better for it.”
She nodded, but said nothing. It made my blood boil seeing his parents be so dismissive of the man I was falling for.
Clay’s dad was an older version of Clay, firm jaw, full head of graying hair, and hazel eyes that had the power to evoke a reaction. But he lacked all of Clay’s warmth. While Clay’s mouth turned up at the corner in that way I loved, his dad’s did the opposite, making him look vaguely disappointed, even when he was telling his wife how much he liked her baked Brie appetizer.
“Did you know Clay is running a faster mile time now than he did in high school?” I couldn’t help bragging. Clay’s hand wrapped around mine and he squeezed, but his face showed no emotion.
“Yes, the running’s been a thing since then, that’s for sure.” Judy blinked at Clay, assessing. I couldn’t figure out why his running seemed to bother her rather than make her proud. When I turned to Clay, a question in my eyes, he shook his head and held up a hand to stop me from going farther down that conversational path.
“Are we ready to eat?” Shane asked with more cheer than necessary, pointing us to seats around the table. I tried to make eye contact with Julia—surely I couldn’t be the only one who thought this was strange, but Clay’s hand wrapped around mine under the table and gave it a squeeze.
“I’ll explain later,” he said quietly.
We ate dinner around an antique oval dining-room table with high-backed chairs and itchy, uncomfortable cushions. I couldn’t imagine Clay growing up here. Everything I knew about him now, including his love for the outdoors and the exuberance with which he taught his students, felt lost in this formal environment.
Dinner went by quickly, with all of us oohing and aahing over Judy’s cooking and the bread Julia and Shane brought. Clay was quieter than I’d seen him, and while we were finishing up the meal, I caught Clayton staring at his son with his head cocked to the side, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle.
“You handling everything okay?” he asked so quietly, I wasn’t sure anyone else heard him since I was directly next to him. But Clay answered immediately.
“All good.”
His dad nodded.
“People count on you. No problem’s anything a good attitude can’t solve, right, Clayton?” Judy piped up.
It bugged me that she called him Clayton, even though, obviously, it was his name. It didn’t fit him. It fit his dad—a little bit stuffy, a little rigid, a little emotionally unavailable. Not that it was my place to come into her home and tell her what to call her son.
Judy rounded the table putting down dessert plates. Her constant motion reminded me of how I used to think of Clay, but lately, he’d slowed down. For me.
“Have you seen Clay’s house?” Judy asked me.
“Oh, I have. It’s in such a pristine spot there on the lake. He’s so lucky to be there.”
“Not exactly luck,” Clayton grumbled from the head of the table. Clay had told me how he’d inherited the house from his grandmother who felt a kinship with him because they shared some traits. It was starting to make sense now—they’d both suffered from depression, and his grandmother had been his true north when he dealt with the worst of it. Meantime, his parents resented that she’d left the house to him.
“Dad, stop,” Shane said, his annoyance seeming like this conversation happened often.
“I’m just saying luck had nothing to do with it. Hard to argue with fact.”
“Okay, enough. Can we not discuss this again?” Judy patted her lips and pushed her chair back from the table. “I’ll bring out the dessert. Julia, will you help me plate the pie?”
“Of course.” Julia looked at me and mouthed, Sorry , before following her future mother-in-law from the room.
“What the hell was that about?” I whispered the moment the screen door to the back porch slammed behind us. Now that we were outside in the backyard, I felt the air returning to my lungs, but I was no less riled up.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s just them.”
“Meaning you’re fine with your own parents treating you like second best when you’re awesome in every possible way?”
I had more to say, more anger for these people, more confusion, but it was stifled for now by Clay’s large hands cupping the sides of my face and his lips landing hard on mine.
He didn’t hesitate for a second out of fear we might be seen by his parents or anyone else. His kiss told me how much he’d been holding back while we were inside the house. Every impassioned answer to his parents’ prickly questions, every bit of determination to live a life on his own terms poured out in this kiss. Hungry, insistent, plundering.
His hands gripped my hair like he was afraid he’d lose me if he let go. Lifting my face and angling my lips more squarely against his, he groaned as I pressed against him. He walked me backward with the certainty of someone who knew the terrain and had a plan. I trusted that he wasn’t guiding me into a ditch and didn’t drop my lips from his.
The light changed, growing shadowy, and I opened my eyes to see we’d entered a stand of trees at the perimeter of the yard.
“Thank you,” he said before dipping down to kiss me again. I knew he wasn’t taking me ’round back for a quickie before coffee. He just needed to get out of that house as badly as I did. “Thank you for being you,” he said in between kisses.
“I will always be me. You don’t have to thank me for that.”
“Thank you for caring enough to get upset with my parents.” His hands didn’t leave my face, and he tipped his forehead against mine. “That’s just my parents. They don’t totally...get me.”
“What is there to get? You’re amazing. They’re lucky to have you as a son. What’s with all the weirdness?”
He shook his head. “They just don’t understand my depression. Never have. They kind of think mental health isn’t a real health issue.”
I was floored. “Not a real health issue? How can they think that?”
He shrugged, leaning against a tree. He spun me around so my back was to his front and he wrapped his arms around me. Now when he spoke, his voice was soft near my ear. “When I first told them about the bad episodes I was having, they told me to cheer up, try to look at the bright side of things. My mom would remind me how much worse some people have it.”
“Like Shane,” I said, realizing.
I felt him nod against my neck. “I mean, it’s how they see it. He had a real, visible challenge that he was born with, and he’s overcome it in amazing ways. My depression hit me later in life and it’s not something you can see. Maybe that’s why they’d rather think it’s not there.”
I turned in his arms to face him. “Do not let them convince you of that. It’s real and I’m glad you’re dealing with it.”
On a long blink, he nodded, but the anguish on his face told me there were complicated layers he still hadn’t shared. Did he want to share them with me?
“Ally,” he whispered, tipping his forehead against mine. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
I felt that sinking feeling again in my gut. Reining in my expectations, I reminded myself of everything I knew about Clay. He moved quickly through life, never got pinned down, didn’t have relationships. “It’s okay, Clay. I’m not expecting anything. You don’t have to worry.”
“That’s not the thing I’m worried about,” he ground out, shaking his head.
“What, then?”
He took a step back and his eyes washed over me like a painter studying a subject and deciding where to put the first daub of paint on a canvas. Assessing, undecided, appreciative. He shook his head.
“Clay, you can talk to me.”
He stared at the ground for so long I began to worry the earth was receding beneath our feet, so I looked down as well. I saw Clay’s feet move, but then I felt them standing toe to toe with mine. His hands cupped my face and he kissed me again, harder this time. All the unanswered questions satisfied with this kiss. It was wet, deep, so swoony. I had the sense of falling, tilting off my axis and into an abyss, a black hole where nothing exists except this kiss.
And that’s where I wanted to stay. But I also wanted to understand what was troubling Clay, which is why I was the one who pulled away this time.
“Talk to me,” I insisted, taking a step back so he couldn’t scramble my brain with another kiss. “Why do you look like you’re in pain each time you kiss me?”
He made no effort to look less agonized. “Because I’m scared that each kiss you give me might be the last. Because I’ve wanted you since I showed up at my friend’s house years ago and understood what it meant to fall for someone at first sight. Because I might want you, but I need you more.”
“I need you too.”
He shook his head. “Stick with me.” It was a plea, but I nodded like it was a basic fact. I was falling in love with him, so I saw no other choice.
Clay threaded his fingers between mine, and I leaned my head on his shoulder as we walked. I’d stick with him, even if I worried that he didn’t feel the same way about me as I did about him. Even if he’d end up leaving.
We went back into the house to say our goodbyes. Clay’s mom embraced me warmly and asked me to come again soon. It was such a strange contrast to the way she’d treated her own son so coolly all night long.
“I love your son.” The words slipped out, but I meant them. I wished I’d told him first. Wished I’d been able to formulate the simple three-word phrase when I’d stood in the yard moments earlier, but this final bit of indifference from his parents pushed me to say what I knew I felt.
Clay squeezed my hand, but I didn’t look at him, keeping my eyes focused instead on his mom.
“Well, that’s nice to hear,” Clayton said, clapping his son on the back. “I hope he’s smart enough to feel the same.”
“He is,” Clay said, dipping his face next to mine and kissing me on the temple. Plucking one of the stems from his mother’s vase, Clay gazed at the bloom before presenting it to me. His arm circled around my waist. “He loves her too.”
My heart cracked open when he said the words. Not because I needed to hear them, but because I could see how much Clay needed to say them. He needed to believe in us, and for the first time, I felt like he did.