12. Wreckage
CHAPTER 12
WRECKAGE
Dante
T he sweet girlfriend, turned bigoted ex debacle hit us hard. Prior to The Sullivan incident, we’d been a united front.
Jeremy’s mercurial mood and shattered heart disrupted our family’s equilibrium. A confused Dixie sensed something was off and stayed away from the brooding, closed-off, and irritable teenager for weeks, opting to spend hours outside chasing rabbits.
We showed support. We gave room. We demonstrated patience. To no avail. Our helplessness made us question our skills as parents. By blaming his mother, Jeremy indirectly blamed us; supposedly, things wouldn’t have gone sideways with so-called “normal parents.” Bullshit! If it weren’t for our sexual orientation, they would’ve found another reason: skin color, assumed religion…
Thankfully, despite the difficulties, some things remained stable: Jeremy’s grades, our conviction that “normal couples”—as our son so subtly put it—have to deal with the “I hate both of you” and “You don’t get it, you never do” teenager complaints, and last, but not least, our powerful support system near and far.
Without betraying too much about Jeremy’s struggle, I extensively discussed how to raise kids with my mom. Granted, it was a little late for such advice, but her feedback about my own teenage years gave me food for thought. “Give it time,” Tricia had said. “He has to process his first heartbreak on his own,” Sully had said. “A change of scenery will be beneficial for your son; send him over to Italy,” Farah had said…
Italy was the plan, followed by an August family trip to the Dominican Republic to see my relatives, especially my dearest abuela, who wasn’t getting any younger. We could only hope it’d cheer him up before heading to college to study engineering at Berkeley—where Jessica Sullivan wasn’t accepted anyway—in the fall. Maybe living in the dorms will help him to clear his mind.
He’s been too reclusive to keep in touch with Sully’s daughter. Back in the day, their unlikely connection was endearing. He’s been ghosting her for months, though, and she’s understandably upset. I’m guessing their five-year age difference is a mental roadblock for him, but why not tell her? Surely, I wasn’t going to broach the subject with him in his current state.
To channel my bottomless anger and frustration, I asked my personal trainer to ramp up my workout routine. Holy shit! I’m fucking sore all the time. It’s my favorite kind of soreness… Trust me, Zayn and I embrace our horny activities with pride, and I’ll never complain about that ache.
I would advise Jeremy to get back on the saddle, but we’re not the meddling kind. Since the shit hit the fan, we’ve been weathering rough seas without land in sight.
Wait and see… So here I am…
Waiting…
… For the ache in my muscles to subside after my morning session, since the long shower and magnesium tablets have been useless so far. Hence, I’m sprawled on the massive living room sofa, drinking gallons of water and answering fan posts on social media wondering when my next album will be released. Never isn’t a suitable answer, but someday won’t do either. I end up redirecting them to the latest artist I discovered and whose first album I produced.
… For Zayn to return from his weekly creative writing seminar. The urge struck after publishing two acclaimed IT-based thrillers. Imposter syndrome grew, and he felt compelled to confirm he was doing things right, as if there was one way to craft a novel. Anyway, he’s having a blast like I am with my songwriting and producing gigs. Actually, I’m surprised that my diligent boyfriend didn’t take the class before starting his first draft, but let’s not delve into that.
… For Jeremy to text me saying he’ll be home late yet again. But then again, the kid is full of surprises. As if proving my point, my brows spike up when the front door swings open, and animated voices follow. My son walks in with the inseparable duo, lanky Liam and petite Emily. They’ve been friends since their first day of kindergarten! The same goes for my strong friendship with Emily’s mom, Tricia.
“Hey, y’all,” I call out, hesitant to rise to greet them. Expecting the new normal version of my son, I stay put. My eyes widen even more when I hear laughter and jokes being shared, as well as the telltale thump of backpacks being dropped by the staircase.
Damn, I love my son!
Watching them from the corner of my eye, I pretend to be otherwise occupied with my phone. He saunters straight to the kitchen, adjacent to the living room, with his friends close behind.
My shock increases when he acknowledges me. “Hey, Father.” That’s a first! He hasn’t directly spoken to me in weeks. Per usual, Emily and Liam greet me timidly, although we’ve known each other for more than a decade. Both pat Dixie on the back. She makes cute piggy noises to express her happiness at the attention… Jeremy joins in, scratching the top of her head, which she loves. She snorts. “ Helllooo , you. I’ve missed you sooo much… I’m so sorry I was rude to you.” But not to me…
Okay, then .
My jaw nearly drops, but I catch myself. Proud, Dixie prances to look out the kitchen’s French doors now that she’s had her fill of TLC. Once he’s washed his hands, Jeremy grabs some sparkling water from the fridge, tossing a small bottle to each of them. Liam doesn’t think this through, twists the cap, and jumps backwards when it erupts all over his T-shirt. He bumps into Em’, causing her to splash her drink across her chin and shirt. “Seriously, Liam! Again?” the brunette squeals, and I bite back a grin. He’s the clumsiest person I’ve ever met, while she’s the brainiest. I like to think that Jeremy is the link between them. They all burst out laughing again. I take that as a good sign.
“How was school?” I venture, hopping up from the sofa to release Dixie—and then to hopefully be near my son without him fleeing.
“School was uneventful. You know nothing ever happens in June!” This is the longest exchange we’ve had in a couple of months. Baffled, I put on my best poker face. “Well, except prom…”
Curious, I lean against the marble island. “Oh yeah?” I recall him swearing that he wasn’t going to set foot at prom. “What about it?”
“Well…” Jeremy guffaws, shaking his head. “Jessica kinda ruined it for me.” It’s the first time he’s uttered her name since the breakup.
Liam voices his approval after gulping some water. “Yeah, prom’s corny as hell, you know? All hype.” This tells me that Liam doesn’t have a date, unless he plans on taking Em’?
“Corny isn’t our thing, right?” Her gaze flicks their way, then to me.
I raise an eyebrow, taking them in. “So, what’s the plan then? Prom isn’t for everyone, I get it. You should do what makes you happy…” I hesitate. “But it’s also?—”
Jeremy snickers, cuts me off, and mimics words he’s heard countless times: “A rite of passage, and rites are important…” I grunt at his borderline mocking tone. “I know that, Father. You didn’t want to go, but Mom insisted, and you’re glad you did.” My shoulders unwind. The mention of his mom sounded painless, unlike last time.
With one shoulder resting on the doorframe, Zayn doesn’t interrupt. How long has he been observing us? Not sure what he’s caught so far, but he didn’t face this decision anyway: French proms are a recent phenomenon.
“I agree with you, Father. Rite of passage and all that. We’re gonna make our own memories.”
Zayn smiles, surely understanding their perspective. “That sounds like a solid plan. Just make sure whatever you do, you stay safe and have a good time.”
Hugging me, Jeremy grins, a tad too wickedly to my taste, unless I’m imagining things. “Thanks. I knew you’d get it.” Then, he strolls to hug his dad and turns to Liam and Em’, raising his water bottle in a mock toast. Silly selfies ensue. Grimacing. Gawking. Giggling. “To non-traditional traditions!”
Is everything back to normal then?
***
Tongue lolling from her mouth, our exhausted dog recovers by the French doors. Zayn and I just got back from walking her for an hour after enjoying an early Saturday breakfast. I’m sitting at the end of the kitchen island.
Freshly showered, I can focus on work—if I can tune out her snores. Immersed in the lyrics for Twist of Fate’s next single, I’m frowning, thinking hard, and sipping on my third cup of coffee. The love of my life breaks my trance when he jumps from the high stool, grabs his current read and steaming coffee, then rounds my chair. In a flash, his breath fans across the side of my neck, and a kiss follows.
Such a simple action, yet pure bliss.
I shiver, amused that he can be so mindlessly sweet when he’s about to pick up where he left off with Franck Thilliez’s latest book, which is sure to be filled with fifty shades of darkness. Granted, seeing him make disgusted faces as he reads the French author is entertaining.
Footsteps indicate that the prodigal son has finally risen from his post-prom slumber. My lips stretch into a content grin; our bedrooms being on opposite sides of the house is a perk for so many reasons, especially when he returns in the wee hours of the morning.
Hiding his eyes behind a hand, Jeremy teases us for our PDA— “Gross!”—making my man halt. In ripped jeans and my ancient Soundgarden T-shirt, he yawns, jutting his head in Dixie’s direction. Eyes laced with humor, he lets her be for now, grinning at her sleepy grunts. His hair’s a damp mess of tangled curls, indicating that he had the bright idea to shower. “Morning, Dads.” Not quite morning anymore, but who am I to split hairs? His hoarse voice insinuates that he either had too much to drink or screamed too much last night. Fearing the former, I’m glad that Em’ was their DD.
“How was prom?” In the blink of an eye, his face flushes at Zayn’s question. Standing nearby, my boyfriend shoots me a sidelong glance.
Ignoring us, our teenager walks over and snatches a banana from the counter along with a cereal bowl. He hums a tune that I can’t place, his head bouncing from side to side. He hesitates, peels the banana, then cuts it into small pieces. We know better than to push him.
Eventually, Jeremy clears his throat, rubs the back of his neck, then blurts out, averting his gaze, “ Interestiiiing …” Fascinated by his late breakfast prep, he busies himself. Yogurt. A peach. Granola. A drizzle of honey.
“Care to elaborate?” I set down my coffee, pointedly staring until he looks up. I cage his brown eyes with mine.
He holds my gaze and holds our attention with his answer. “Don’t be mad, okay?”
“That’s not a good start,” Zayn deadpans, blows on his java, and resumes his position on the stool next to mine.
“Nothing bad, I promise…” A spoonful of breakfast is lifted to his mouth to let us stew. “Just… you might get a call from school.” Another spoonful to allow us to register the news. The crease between my brows deepens. “Hear me out, okay? Here’s the thing: Liam and I have been texting for a couple of days….” Jeremy empties his bowl in record time. “Wanting to get back at Jessica for going with that… jock…” He trails off. I narrow my gaze, not liking where this is going. Zayn’s audible sighs prove he’s feeling the same, but he keeps his mouth shut. “We decided the best thing to do was either ditch prom or go together, including Em’, of course. But missing prom implied Jessica won.”
“Won? What are you saying?” My voice strained, I raise an eyebrow.
Jeremy shakes his head. “Not like revenge… Well, kinda like it, but not in a mean way. We’re best friends and always have each other’s backs. Liam convinced Em’ that we should make a statement, show Jessica that what she did was wrong, you know?”
Perplexed at where he’s going with this, I gulp more coffee. “And?”
“We went as a throuple and entered the place arm in arm. People stared.”
“Huh?” Yup, that’s how good I am with words at times…
Apprehensive, we’re both silent. “We pretended to be together, like romantically.” I swallow hard. WTF? “We danced pretty suggestively… and one thing led to another… and we… kissed.” Jeremy sighs, looks at us alternatively, and runs a hand through his hair.
“What’s the big deal?” Maybe Zayn’s French heritage is to blame, but they do kiss all the time. Jeremy’s eyes widen at my question. Looking at his shelf-shocked expression, it dawns on me that his admission sounds guilty.
“You used tongue, right?” His lighthearted tone makes me do a double-take.
Ohhh, the French kind of kiss!
“Yup… I kissed a boy, and I didn’t like it.” Instinctively, the back of his hand swipes across his mouth. “And I kissed Em… Worst idea of my life, and they felt the same way.”
“Swapping spit with friends you’re not into isn’t your idea of fun after all?” Zayn’s mirth is unmistakable. Chuckling, Jeremy shakes his head. “Was there alcohol involved?”
“What about the school calling?” I blurt.
“Obviously, people managed to sneak booze in, despite the chaperones. Most of us got buzzed pretty fast. I doubt Em’ drank a lot, being our responsible DD and all… Remember the French kiss scene in Cry-Baby ? That was our inspiration. By then, it wasn’t just about Jessica anymore. We were standing up for the freedom to love who you want and not be judged for it.” He’s on a roll. “Well, I guess we inspired others… Before long, half of the crowd was making out, regardless of gender pairing. It was wild and hit social media before chaperones could do anything. They’re calling it The Pride-Baby Rebellion. But then, they threw us all out. It still felt liberating. I know it was petty, but I somehow got my revenge.” He worries his lip. “Also, I’ve been meaning to apologize for ruining Mom’s picture.” Strolling our way, he awkwardly hugs us. “You are the best parents anyone can ever dream of.”
“Thank you.”