Chapter 22 #2
Trish says all of this so rapid-fire that I stare blankly at her for a moment.
Then her last words start to sink in … that she and Jim are proud of me.
Because of TJL, because of my story. These parents who only just met me.
They are proud of me for all the same reasons my parents cast me out.
For a long moment, I can only hear my heart pounding in my ears.
Danny’s warm fingers slip onto my knee under the table, and I come back to myself. I catch his eye, and he’s channeling every bit of support and understanding he can in his gaze. I take a deep breath, nod at him, and turn to Trish as she scoops an enormous amount of mashed potatoes onto my plate.
“Well, let me first tell you about how Daniel”—I glance pointedly at Danny, who grins as he pours wine into everyone’s glasses—“moved in front of the camera with me the very first day of filming so I wouldn’t have to smoke a cigar alone.”
Trish claps her hands and rubs them together eagerly. “Nothing like a cigar to mark the momentous occasions of our lives.”
I launch into anecdotes of Danny’s and my time working through TJL, but I’m interrupted every five seconds with more questions from Trish, or clarifications from Danny, or playful commentary from Charlie.
We’re laughing and talking over each other as the stories unfold, and it feels so much like being with my friends that I’m struggling to reconcile how a biological family could behave this way or have this much fun.
Only Jim patiently listens and watches his family with a quiet smile. So that part of Danny comes from him.
The intensity? That’s all Trish.
Jim slips gently into the conversation—everyone else halting midsentence to make space for him.
“So how did you get out, sweetheart? I’ve been in the South for many years now.
You must be a remarkable person to have escaped the fundamentalist beliefs that plague many religious branches here.
And being a pastor’s kid magnifies the toxicity by a factor of ten. ”
“You can answer that as much or as little as you wish,” Trish adds. “But we are mighty curious.”
“No, it’s okay.” I slide my hand across the table to grip Danny’s without thinking, and he immediately secures me in heavy warmth. Then I realize Jim, Trish, and Charlie have zeroed in on our joined hands. I glance at Danny, and he just nods encouragingly.
I hit the highlights, nothing as in depth as what I’ve told Danny on and off camera, but I briefly cover Hilltop, my dad, my ex, my books, and EMDR. They listen now without interrupting.
When I say it all again like this, I can see why Jim and Trish might be proud of me.
“So I wanted to live,” I say as I come near the end.
“I made TJL to live in the world, to experience all it had to offer.” Then I meet Danny’s eyes, the flames of which seem to be flickering inside of me.
The next thing flies out of my mouth as if the truth has just been waiting to be released: “But I don’t think any of it would have felt as much like living if I hadn’t done it with Danny. ”
My heart is racing at the revelation. I’m not sure the Jezebel List items matter nearly as much as completing them with him. Sharing the world with him is what turned joy into magic.
Danny’s chest is heaving as he stares at me and tightens his grip on my hand. I revel in the exposure of his searing gaze.
“Charlie angel, you weren’t kidding about these two, were you?” Trish whispers.
Danny and I break eye contact, and his family is studying us in awe. Charlie smirks. “You should have seen them do yoga together.”
“Well, Big Brother,” Trish says to Danny, throwing back a swig of wine, “it sounds like you’ve had all sorts of fun on this documentary. And I do mean all sorts of fun, if the state that Charlie found the two of you in is any indication.”
I choke on nothing and Danny sighs heavily. Charlie just laughs loud and bright.
“I’m so glad you’ve had some fun, Daniel,” Jim inserts steadily. “You work far too hard, and you deserve all the happiness in the world.”
A beat of understanding passes between father and son. “Thank you, Dad,” Danny says quietly.
Why do I feel like I’m about to burst into tears?
Trish claps her hands. “Charlie angel, would you grab that other bottle of Pinot on the counter? We haven’t even done highs and lows yet.”
“Highs and lows?” I ask.
“We always go around and say what our high and our low from the past week was,” Danny explains. “Basically, the best thing that happened and the worst thing that happened.”
“I’ll start!” Trish says.
“You always start, Mom,” Charlie calls from across the kitchen.
The boys snicker.
Without ceremony, Trish launches into an animated story about an appeals case at her law firm that is simultaneously her high and low for the week.
They all listen intently and react and laugh and ask questions.
I realize this is their family’s way of recapping their week with each other, of sharing life.
Charlie takes over next, sharing extremely intimate details about his hookup with a girl last weekend that have me blushing and gaping but only have Trish asking clarifying questions.
When Charlie finishes he darts his eyes between Danny and me, calculating. Danny waves his hand. “It’s Christina next, for sure.”
Charlie nods. “I was gonna say.”
“Why am I next?” I ask.
“We go in the order of how quickly we can decide on our highs and lows,” Danny says. He points to his mother. “Mom always has hers locked and loaded, then Charlie’s right on her heels. I usually go third and Dad is always last, since even then he can still barely decide.”
Charlie jumps in. “You’re definitely one degree more carefully thoughtful than me, but also one degree more quick-witted than Danny.”
Trish hums. “You fit perfectly right in the middle of the family, dear.”
Charlie snorts. “Subtle, Mom.”
But I’m feeling something warm expand through my chest and down my limbs.
I don’t think I’ve ever fit perfectly anywhere outside of my friend group—not as I am.
I always needed to cut myself up and carve myself to fit in my family, my church, my university, my relationships.
Trish isn’t just referring to me fitting in the high and low lineup.
She’s talking about the way I fit in this dinner.
And I’m not performing one bit. Being with Danny’s family is like some extension of being with him.
Yet on the heels of the warmth is an ache. Not like the good achy-melty way that Danny makes me feel. I can’t quite tease it out; I put it aside as best I can for now.
“You know, on any other week, I feel like my high would be obvious,” I say. “But this week has been kind of spectacular at every turn.” Danny presses his knee into mine under the table. “Am I really expected to only choose one high?”
“Them’s the rules,” Charlie confirms.
“I may be able to help,” Danny says, a smirk forming. Oh lord, last time he offered to help me, he fed me orgasms until nearly 2:00 AM. I’ve been feeling phantom vibrations through my core all day.
“You don’t know what my high is!” I squeak, slightly panicked because apparently sharing sex details is appropriate dinner conversation for the Reeves family.
His smirk widens. “Oh, but I do.” Jesus, he’s about to tell them about when I begged him to fuck me on the stairs earlier this week because I literally couldn’t wait to get to the bedroom.
I open my mouth without a plan of what to say, but he saves me: “It’s The Coze, Christina. The Coze is your high for the week.”
I exhale loudly. “Yes, it’s The Coze.”
He throws me one more sensual look. “And all the time we’ve spent in The Coze this week.” He is referring to all the books we’ve read, yes, but also eating me out on the chaise lounge. And he is one hundred percent correct.
“What the hell is The Coze?” Trish asks.
Charlie stands. “Road trip, everyone. Let’s go see how Danny took away my crash bed and made me fight on the phone with an adult bean bag chair company for express shipping.”
We all traipse after Charlie with wine glasses in hand.
Jim and Trish positively melt, especially as I give them a tour of how I’ve organized all the shelves.
I’m also grateful for the little sojourn because I get to wrap my arms around Danny and inhale his masculine scent in the doorway. He gently kisses the top of my hair.
When we return to the table, I throw out the only low that even remotely comes to mind. “I stubbed my toe in the kitchen. Hurt like a motherfucker.”
Everyone laughs except Danny, who is looking at me with so much tenderness I can barely breathe. He knows what I know: that low was actually a high because Danny propped me up on the kitchen counter and delicately kissed my toe, then the top of my foot, then my ankle, my calf, up and up.
“Alright, Big Brother.” Trish motions to Danny. “Lay it on us.”
I interject. “I think it’s only fair that I select your high since you selected mine.”
Danny’s quick grin flares. “Sure, baby, go ahead.”
I narrow my eyes at him and search his face like I’m trying to read his mind. Trish titters. Then I lean back in my chair dramatically. “I’ve got it.”
“You don’t have it.”
“Yes, I do, Danny boy.”
“Show your hand, then.”
“Cards on the table?”
The quick grin. “Gather ’em up and lay ’em out.”
I cross my arms triumphantly. “It’s this. This dinner. All of the people who you”—I break, just for a split second, but quickly recover—“who you care about in the same room, having fun. This is your high for the week.”
He blinks once. Twice. “I fold.”
Trish and Charlie explode in cheers, and even Jim chuckles. But my heart is pounding because of what I almost said.
Love.