14. Good Old Days
CHAPTER 14
GOOD OLD DAYS
Dante
2 years later
I push open the front door, both hands laden with shopping bags, and step inside. The house’s warmth is a welcome contrast to the outside temperature. Granted, it’s California, but my Dominican heritage favors hot weather. I stop in my tracks, unsure whether to make my presence known.
A Pearl Jam song and animated voices spill from the living room, and I let my mind drift to the sound of Eddie Vedder’s voice. Gael’s deep timbre has often been compared to Vedder, while fans later claimed that mine is reminiscent of Chris Cornell’s unplugged album, Songbook . Jeremy listens to their albums on repeat, especially since I disclosed that his mom was a huge fan and one of their songs inspired his name. We both love this song, but I can’t deny that it is a disturbing one to be named after, not that I would ever tell him that.
What I never told him either is that my former best friend and her former fling, Luke Haywood, sparked her obsession when he invited her to see them in concert, and I suspect they made Jeremy around that time. They didn’t last for too long. She never admitted to anything. He never broached the topic of her pregnancy. Some things are better left unsaid…
The house smells like burnt marshmallows. I bet the three amigos—Jeremy’s trio—failed at making s’mores yet again.
Ah, kids!
Well, they’re not kids anymore , I scold myself, a grin tugging at my lips.
Considering that Dixie didn’t sprint my way as soon as I stepped through the door and there’s no sign of Zayn, I’m guessing that he took her for one of their routine long walks. They help him to clear his mind and let the characters of his future bestseller stew, and she loves to chase squirrels and bark at bigger dogs. She’s lucky we don’t get snow out here; she made her distaste pretty clear when we visited my mom in Oregon last winter.
And yet, it actually snowed when we arrived. If I had faith in anything other than the people surrounding me, I’d say that God was sending a hello from my late father. That can’t be accurate, though; his stubborn ass refused to “forgive me,” as he so graciously told my mom. He died of a heart attack while driving home from a football game two years ago, around the time that Zayn and I were driving back from our magical stay in Tahoe. Thankfully, he didn’t cause an accident and was alone in the car. Yet, my long-distance relationship with her strengthened after he passed away. I do my best to exhibit nothing but respect for my father while in her presence, even if he never came around to my life choices. He was the love of her life, I get that.
So now, on top of our annual Christmas trips, we text daily and make time for video chats, and, naturally, we see her in August. Nearing fifty, I haven’t performed at the Seaside Music Festival in years, but I’m always in the audience, on the lookout for new talent and cheering on Rupert Smith, who also made this event a constant in his career. This year will be a little different. My mom and Aunt Rita are en route and will spend Christmas here, and the last week of the year will be spent in Paris with my man and son. A first, to celebrate my birthday.
The intensity of the conversation filtering from the living room catapults me back to the present. I peek around the corner, far enough from the threshold so that if I get caught, I can claim that I was minding my own business, putting things away in the closet under the staircase.
Jeremy’s sitting on the ottoman with his back to me, and the other two are sprawled on the couch. I can see a sliver of Jeremy’s face from my angle. Open bags of snacks, small plates, and a couple of beer bottles are scattered on the coffee table, along with Liam’s feet. They’re resting on its edge, tapping the glass at regular intervals with the rhythm of the song. To my relief, he has socks on. Socks with South Park characters on them. Twenty-somethings are still kids then! I can’t argue that the kid has good taste.
“We get it, man! You’re not picky… Spit it out! Have you fucked the whole Berkeley student body yet?” Liam bursts out laughing at his own question.
Careful not to make too much noise, I set the bags down and edge closer, shamelessly eavesdropping since my curiosity is piqued. Who am I to judge? I, too, had my fair share of lovers before my second chance with Zayn.
“Give him a break.” Emily slaps her friend’s bicep. “He just told you he’s experimenting. That’s what college is for, isn’t it?”
Liam glares at her. “Ohhh, is that what they teach you in your finance classes? Last time I drove from Philly to Boston, there wasn’t a line of guys waiting to get into your pants.”
“Who says I’m not into girls , asshat?” Liam’s jaw drops as his cheeks redden. “And, I’ll have you know that I’m a size double zero, so squeezing into my pants is always a challenge… But I meant every word I said, and what applies to you guys ,” she stresses the word, “also applies to me : good grades and good sex aren’t mutually exclusive.” She snags a beer and takes a swig. “I love sex as much as Jeremy here. As long as the other person is on board, I’m game.” She high-fives Jeremy, who snickers at Liam.
That’s what I get for spying on them: TMI!
“So you two really don’t care whether you fuck a boy or a girl? No preference?”
It’s my turn to gawk. Is Jeremy bi? How did I miss that?
Rubbing the back of my neck, I can’t wrap my head around the fact that he never confided in us about this… Well, maybe not in me . I inwardly berate myself. This isn’t a competition. Elsie initially selected me to be Jeremy’s legal guardian, but he’s always been closer to Zayn. I’m proud of the bond they have. Jealousy has no part in this.
And why would I assume that Jeremy has to be okay discussing this with us? My rational brain computes that our same-sex partnership doesn’t necessarily translate into kids being more at ease with such topics, although he felt comfortable enough to approach us about love and attraction at seven.
“You missed a few options, Liam. Hellllooo ,” she gestures frantically, “I identify as pan?”
“Right… Guess I haven’t been keeping track.”
“Or rather, you were more interested in Jeremy’s record-breaking exploits because, as a guy living in a patriarchal world, you glorify his manwhore behavior but would probably shame a woman and call her a slut in the same situation.” She pauses, letting her friends process the double standard. The clever girl does have a point, and it’s unfortunate. “Why should I be ashamed of fucking whoever I’m attracted to?”
Liam apologizes, and they bolt out of their seats for a group hug, singing along with Pearl Jam before resuming their position. They’re so deep into their conversation that nobody’s noticed me yet.
Jeremy clarifies in an even voice, “Yeah, sex is fun, but I’m not like you, Em’… I’m not looking for the four-letter word. I prefer experimenting… If you want to slap a label on it, call me bi-curious or allergic to commitment.” He wets his thumb, uses it to collect crumbs from his plate, and sucks on it. “College is hard. Blowing off some steam with a willing hookup helps with my concentration. End of story… You should try it sometime, man. Also, in case you missed the memo, sex isn’t always about fucking, as you so nicely put it.”
“Will you two get off my dick already?”
“I didn’t realize your dick wanted any part of us, my friend! Mouth, tongue, pussy, ass, which is it?”
My son’s bluntness shouldn’t stun me; he’s always been pretty straightforward. Am I turning into a prude because I’m getting older or because I’m in a long-term relationship?
Emily doesn’t look shocked, and she snickers at Liam’s expense.
“Fuckers! You should help me score some pussy rather than mock me. That’s what friends are for.”
Emily’s voice follows, gentle but firm. “Sorry, Liam, but you started it.” She lets out a loud breath. “You know we’re here for you, right? Always. No matter what.”
The distance between them was never an issue; they’re like siblings… Well, close siblings, kind of like my two younger brothers. They have a special bond that I’ll never understand or be a part of, although I deeply appreciated their unexpected support after my disastrous coming out to my father.
“Thanks. I’m glad y’all haven’t changed over the years. I love you guys.”
“The feeling is mutual.” Jeremy nods at Emily’s confirmation. “But do I have to remind you yet again that” the three of them shout in unison “people don’t change!”
“I know, I know, I got carried away,” Liam confirms. “People don’t change … People evooolve .” He makes a big production of enunciating the word and waving his arms in every direction until they collapse in laughter.
Guilt gnaws at my insides, and I finally slip back into the hallway and start rustling the bags.
A very sudden silence fills the living room, and Jeremy appears with his two acolytes soon after; their flushed faces betray their heated discussion. I put on my best poker face and greet them.
“Hey, Father.” He hugs me, trying to sound casual. They really were oblivious to my presence. When I release him, I mask my unease with a genuine smile. At last! He juts his head towards his friends. “They were about to head out… I’ll see you two later.” He looks at them, then back at me. “There’s this new club and—” he starts babbling, exposing his nerves.
Is he wondering how much I heard?
Meanwhile, Emily and Liam interrupt him to say their goodbyes. Once we’re alone, his brown eyes meet mine. “Get all your Christmas shopping done?”
“Almost,” I reply, hiding the bags under the staircase since they contain some of his gifts. “I’m still waiting for the VR headset I ordered for Zayn. Sully helped me pick the right brand. Believe it or not, I used to be into gaming when I met your dad.”
We make small talk, and he sweetly offers, “Need help with dinner?”
“Sure… unless you slaughter it like the marshmallow,” I tease as we saunter to the kitchen. He is a good cook when he puts his mind to it, so he chuckles at his failed attempt, and I suggest, “Why don’t we fix sancocho ? Let’s prep the sofrito first.”
In the blink of an eye, we get to work, retrieving everything from the fridge, including a large onion; I read that putting it there for a half-hour helps to reduce the tear-inducing chemicals. I don’t miss how his freckled face brightens and his brows knit at my not-so-subtle message. You see, the Dominican dish somehow became our go-to recipe for bonding and often accompanies important conversations.
Too bad Zayn’s not back yet; the three of us enjoy prepping this together. Oh well, he’ll catch up upon his return, or I’ll talk him into making dessert.
Slicing the peppers and tomatoes, he asks about my mom—his abuelita— and Aunt Rita’s arrival and probes about any plans we might have agreed on before he got back home yesterday.
“Besides the Seaside ladies and our big lunch on the 25 th with the usual suspects, not much…” I explain, chopping the onion while sobbing because the trick was a bust. “Emily will be there with her mom, so you can invite Liam if you want.” I sniff in between words. Tears roll down my stubbled cheeks, which makes him laugh.
The traitor reaches for his nearby phone to gather evidence of my misery. I pause the task at hand and grumble protests, which garner the same level of success as my attempts to block my puffy eyes and wet cheeks with my arm. My actions only encourage his paparazzi tendencies. He sends me the worst shots as a souvenir and resumes working on the dish as if nothing happened. To be honest, I enjoy this carefree side of him, so I wipe the tears away.
He grabs a fistful of cilantro, and I take care of the garlic next.
“Susie and her sisters are gonna be there too?” He sounds genuinely thrilled.
I nod, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. He hasn’t seen the Tulyakorndolpak girls in years. Looking conflicted, Jeremy runs a hand through his short hair; his college days marked a turning point, from his previously laidback attire to a preppy look, as well as shearing off his copper curls.
He washes his hands and dumps everything in the food processor.
Averting his gaze, I hear my son mutter, almost to himself, “We used to be so close, and then I fucked it up, being a self-centered teen and all.”
I don’t think he ever was, but I don’t tell him that. Instead, I add the rest of the ingredients to a bowl and supply, “It’s true you were protective of her as a kid.”
“Was I?” I nod. “I’m not sure I mentioned it, but her profile came up on Instagram a few months back. Apparently, she’s a huge Pearl Jam fan… Well, she loves grunge music in general and reads fantasy novels. So we have more in common than I expected… I debated whether to follow her after the way I treated her.” He looks at his feet, swallows hard, and concludes, “I really hope she doesn’t hate me for ghosting her. I’d love for us to be friends again.” His voice carries a mixture of excitement and uncertainty.
Once the ingredients form a smooth paste and the food processor no longer drowns out my thoughts, my hand lands on his shoulder, and I suggest, “If you want to know where you two stand, maybe you should try and reach out before we all get together.”
He grumbles, “I really hope she forgives me.”
Giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, I capture his gaze and add, “What about trying the old-fashioned way? Give her a call! I bet her number hasn’t changed.”
“I will.”