11. Better Days
CHAPTER 11
BETTER DAYS
Zayn
10 years later
T he sound of Jeremy’s foot tapping on the floor is loud enough to be heard over Twist of Fate’s latest album, and the tapping increases as Dante’s old Camaro gets closer to Jessica’s house. From the passenger seat, my gaze flicks to the rearview mirror. We lock eyes. Mine are filled with reassurance. His express nervousness rather than excitement.
I get it. It’s a big step.
His first true love, at least he confessed as much a month ago. The first meet-up between the lovebirds’ parents. The first formal invitation after dating his high-school girlfriend for six months.
A serious discussion about safe sex ensued, which he considered to be the most embarrassing moment of his life, surely because it felt more real than the previous ones… However, unless he’s ready to share things with us, we don’t want to pry.
I can’t relate. My one and only love interest has been Dante, and I’ve never been formally introduced to his parents. Well, strike that. I have, but little did I know they’d become my in-laws—okay, that’s a stretch since we haven’t tied the knot, but still… Back then, I was a reserved seventeen-year-old exchange student. I met them as their son’s friend. That was then, this is now.
I sigh.
“You’ve got this, buddy.” Leaning his forehead on the back of my headrest, he grunts his response. His fingers search for mine, and I catch them with my left hand. Jeremy’s a good kid, but my heart can’t handle his stress. “Remember she said she loves you.”
“And, unlike us, you’ve met her parents already.” Dante’s right. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that Jessica’s parents prefer for Jeremy to come over to their place. She’s never set foot in our house, and we barely know her, but she sounds like a nice girl.
“That was before she told them I liked her, Father… Meeting the math tutor is different.” After transferring from Boston, Jessica was the new kid on the block, and the seniors were eager to show her around. According to Mrs. Torpey, she needed help to catch up, and Jeremy was assigned by said teacher.
“Right, but then again, tutoring must have played in your favor as a responsible young man. After you cracked the news, they still welcomed you and invited us tonight. What does that tell you?”
“It tells me I’m freaking out… What if they change their minds because they don’t like the way I hold my silverware or some stupid shit?”
“Language!” Yes, I’m trying to keep my teenager civilized. Sue me!
“I’m sorry. It’s just… never mind. You’re right, I’m pumped… I know Jessica can’t wait to meet you, too.”
“I’ve met her!” I counter.
“Running into her while walking Dixie isn’t actually meeting her, Papa .” He air quotes the word for emphasis.
Oh, yes, I forgot to mention we got a dog. Of course, she’s a she… There’s enough testosterone in our house for a lifetime or two. The twenty-pound one-year-old mutt barged into our lives with her telltale energy and protectiveness the morning after our conversation about love. Jeremy made a convincing case of how shelter dogs deserved love and how we should trust him enough to take care of a pet. Dixie arrived home that very afternoon. While we’re about to hit the “meet the parents” milestone with Jeremy, she’s enjoying our sitter’s company because, God forbid we leave her home alone.
“Technicalities…” I point out, joking, although we didn’t dare ask him if Jessica had been informed that his parents were a same-sex couple.
“They just want to make sure I’m good enough to take their daughter to prom before buying a fancy dress.”
“All the more reason not to worry since you are.”
“And you’re not biased in any way, shape, or form, Father.”
“Absolutely not.”
We laugh at Dante’s obvious conclusion, and Jeremy lets go of my fingers.
The late April sun casts long shadows along the tree-lined street and bathes everything in a golden light. My eyes widen at the landscaping with an elegant tree with red leaves as the focal point. The house itself is a classic California home with a modern twist, boasting clean lines and a facade of white stucco complemented by dark wood accents and large windows.
I give Jeremy’s shoulder a soothing squeeze when we all exit the car. “This is it.”
Dante pecks his son’s cheek, straightens his collar, and smiles, his eyes twinkling with the same mix of pride and anxiety I also feel.
The front door opens as soon as we step foot on the porch, revealing a tall couple with a familiar blend of curiosity and warmth. The brunette woman, who I assume is Jessica’s mother and looks to be in her early forties, steps forward first, her smile widening. Her husband follows suit, looking us up and down. He’s shorter than our 6’ 3”—Dante claims we’re the same height, but I’m slightly taller—and stocky with a graying beard. With his strong jaw and perfectly-styled hair, he resembles a Wall Street yuppie. He’s sporting preppy ivory shorts and a navy polo, which match the colors of his wife’s clothes. Still, I’ve learned from experience that you can’t judge a book by its cover.
As for us, we’re definitely overdressed in our button-up shirts and dress slacks, but that’s okay.
For a heartbeat, a look of surprise overtakes them both. His previously warm expression becomes impassible while her face morphs to an expression of utter confusion and her shoulders straighten.
Dusting something off her capris, she averts her gaze, looks up again, and inhales sharply before catching herself. “Hi, you must be Jeremy’s parents.” Her voice is slightly too bright. Her tone is slightly too high-pitched. Her cadence is slightly too fast. It puts me in defensive mode, and I’m tempted to snap back, “ Duh! ” Standing on either side of Jeremy, we nod instead. “I’m Laura… Laura Sullivan, and this is Oliver, my husband.” Again, duh!
Scrutinizing them, I can’t decide whether their reaction is due to our pairing or our multicultural background that Jeremy’s copper curls and freckled skin don’t betray.
Dante steps closer to her, making a point of addressing her first. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. and Mr. Sullivan.” His playful brown eyes bore into her serious blues, then he extends his hand for them to shake. His Patek Philippe Nautilus peeks out from his right sleeve. Lips parting at the view, Oliver’s blatant shock amuses me. They obviously don’t know who Dante is, and Oliver assumed such a luxury item wouldn’t belong on his wrist. “I’m Dante Reyes, and this is Zayn, my husband .”
Jeremy’s brow spikes up as I process the white lie: My man didn’t disclose my last name, unwilling to leave room for interpretation about our commitment. Our son doesn’t interfere, though, and I suppress a grin since he purposefully mimicked her clipped introduction.
For a split second, their eyes widen in surprise. Acknowledgment. Processing. Recalibration. Oliver’s handshake is more tentative than it should be. His grip tightens a fraction before he releases Dante’s hand and turns to me.
“Nice to meet you, Zayn,” he says with a nod, shaking my hand firmly. “Welcome.”
Laura recovers first, ushering us inside with a flurry of words. “Come on in! Jessica’s been so excited about tonight. Dinner’s almost ready.”
We are greeted by a spacious, orderly living area that resembles ours, aside from the color palette. Ours uses warm splashes of bright colors here and there, whereas the Sullivans’ minimalist design and dominating tones were torn straight from a magazine, with one exception: an impressive piece of colorful abstract art hanging above a modern fireplace with an unadorned mantel. Their dining area, next to the kitchen, features a massive dark wood table, surrounded by matching chairs.
Rushing downstairs, Jessica appears, her face lighting up when she sees Jeremy. She gives him a quick hug and then turns to us. “I’m sorry I’m—” Just like her parents, she halts, realizing the reality she’s facing. Looking my way, she relaxes a bit. “Hi, Mr. Reyes.” Her assumption reinforces Dante’s lie since that’s also Jeremy’s last name. “Thank you for accepting our invitation.”
A frown mars her lovely face as she glances at her boyfriend, who remains quiet; he mustn’t have felt compelled to clarify the “situation” because, to him, we are not a situation. Unease creeps in when Dante introduces himself to her, his voice steady and kind. “It’s about time we met. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Jessica offers a small grin.
Until dinner is served, it’s all strained smiles and lingering tension. With the conversation centered on the delicious food—and our mouths full—the discomfort lessens; it’s about time!
Halfway through the roast lamb and asparagus risotto, Laura glances at us. “You know… we weren’t sure what to expect tonight.” She takes a bite of her side salad, and the back of my neck stiffens. Is she going to address the elephant in the room? “Jessica talks about Jeremy all the time, and I’m really glad we’ve finally met his family.”
No elephant, then…
“Thank you, Laura.” A swell of gratitude tugs at my heart. “We’re happy to be here, and we appreciate your hospitality.”
By the time the strawberry shortcake is served, any awkwardness has melted away.
We leave later that evening with lighter hearts. The short drive home is relaxed. “See?” Dante murmurs. “It all worked out in the end.”
“Yeah,” Jeremy concedes, sighing. “It did.”
***
On Monday afternoon, Jeremy bursts through the front door, slams it behind him, drops his backpack with a heavy thud, and sprints upstairs. Another door slams. I brace myself for whatever news he’s about to deliver and knock on his bedroom door. “May I come in?”
He grunts a reply that I interpret as agreement. Arms hugging his knees, he’s seated on the hardwood floor with his back against the side of his bed. I sit next to him. His face is flushed, eyes red-rimmed with barely restrained tears. “Jeremy, what happened?” Concern tightens my chest.
Panting, he glares at me. His expression is a cross between anger, sadness, and something that cuts even deeper—betrayal. His voice cracks. “Prom isn’t happening.”
“What?” I gawk. WTF?
“Jessica… broke up with me,” he stammers in a strangled whisper. “No more tutoring. She and her parents don’t want to have anything to do with… ‘people like you .’”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. “People like me?” Dammit, I had a feeling something was wrong.
He shakes his head in disbelief. “You, as in my dads… my gay dads, Papa .”
“Jeremy, I’m so sorry.” I replay Friday’s exchange. Guess we misinterpreted when Laura said she was glad to meet us. “That’s awful.”
“Awful?” he snaps, his voice rising. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I don’t interrupt. “They consider my parents an abomination… freaks… and they… they… she hates me because of you .”
I swallow hard, searching for the right words. Maybe we should have advised him to give Jessica a heads-up, but why should we be held accountable? “Jeremy, we can’t control what other people think or say. Jessica’s parents?—”
He cuts me off, his eyes blazing with fury. “It’s not fucking fair, Papa ! We love each other. Why do you have to be so… so…” He trails off. “I just want to be normal,” he mutters to himself.
“Jeremy, we are normal. Our family is normal. We just… we happen to be different from theirs, but that doesn’t make us any less.”
“It does to them!” he shouts. “Jessica said she can’t be with someone who has two dads.” His words hang in the air. Troubling. Painful. Unfair.
“Jeremy, I know this is hard, but you can’t let other people’s prejudices define who you are or how you feel about yourself. Or us.”
He stares at me, tears streaming down his face. “I love both of you, trust me. But right now, I just... I don’t know. I don’t know how to deal with this.”
This time, I close the distance between us and pull him into a hug. He resists at first, then collapses against me, sobbing into my shoulder. “We’ll get through this, Jeremy. Together. It’s not fair, and it’s not right, but we’ll get through it.”
He clings to me, his anger slowly giving way to grief. “I just wanted her to like me … for me, not hate me because of you two.”
“I know you did,” I say softly, rubbing his back. “And I’m so sorry.”
We stay there for a long time, the house silent except for the sound of his sobs. I wish Dante were here so we could deal with this issue together. But he’s not. So, no matter how powerless I feel to console our son, I hold him tightly to convey that, no matter what, he is loved.
When there are no more tears to shed, he bolts out of my embrace, searches his desk drawers, and retrieves a pair of scissors and a picture of his mom holding him. I’ve never seen this picture before. I guess Eva’s sister, Rita—Elsie’s mother—must have given it to him when we were on vacation in Seaside. Baby Jeremy looks only a few months old. Before I know it, he raises the scissors to picture level, and I panic, thinking he’ll cut it to shreds, and yell, “Don’t!”
Shooting daggers my way, Jeremy halts, puts everything on his desk, then hurriedly scratches the upper right corner with the tip of the scissors. Elsie is unrecognizable. Erased. Ghosted.
With his eyes on the ruined picture, he screams, “I hate you… It’s all your fault. You did this to me!”
I’m speechless. Helpless. Powerless as he screams at the top of his lungs before flopping on the bed face down.
“Why, Mom?”