Chapter 28
Natalie
I’m jittery the entire drive to my parents’ house. Nothing helps. Chugging two energy drinks only increased my heart rate, just like the warning on the can said it would.
“Dude, calm the hell down. You're shaking the car with your leg twitches,” Megan warns, driving like a madwoman.
We left at the ass crack of dawn because she hates traffic and loves soaking up as much time as possible with our mom and dad.
The drive is only a few hours, so there was no need to leave before the sun came up.
Now, the sun is blaring into my retinas, causing temporary blindness, all thanks to her ridiculous planning.
“You’re one to talk, you’re practically scratching your skin off. Nobody’s gonna believe that’s not a stress rash building on your neck. It looks contagious,” I sneer, keeping a skeptical eye on her disgusting skin condition.
“Shut up. I am stressed. I’m an empath, fucking sue me.
I can feel your negative energy radiating through your body and making its way to me.
Plus, there’s this couple who comes into the cafe every morning just to flirt with me, and I don’t know, it’s getting to me,” she mumbles, digging her sharp nails against her jawline.
“A couple? As in both the man and the woman are flirting with you? Are you sure they’re not just cheap and trying to score free coffee?” It’s not the first time she’s had some strange customer pester her for free iced coffee.
“Oh, trust me, I’m sure. The wife wears these low-cut tops, and the husband practically gropes her right in front of me and asks what I think.”
“Well, how are they?” Playfully, I elbow her shoulder, teasing her in the way she constantly does to me.
“Grow up,” she deadpans, leaving me laughing by myself. “There’s nothing appealing about putting my face between a woman's legs, so don’t even test me. This couple, though, is relentless. I’m stealing Dad’s pepper spray.”
“Okay, that’s a little extreme. Just because the exhibitionist couple is spicing up their love life doesn’t mean they deserve to get maced in a coffee shop.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not being sexually harassed daily. I’m one more boob touch away from joining a support group,” she says frantically, turning into the driveway.
I don’t bother looking over at the house I lived in before.
To me, that house doesn’t even exist. It could burn to the ground, for all I care.
In fact, I’ve spent many nights contemplating it.
Therapists say you should write your grievances and then burn them.
The same goes for homes never filled with love.
“Coming?” she asks, slamming the door and grabbing her luggage from the backseat, bringing me back from my violent daydream.
“Girls!” Our mom rushes out of the house, short blonde hair sticking up at every angle.
Bold, colorful makeup smeared all over her eyelids, and cheeks covered in flour.
What she lacks in height, coming in at barely five feet, she more than makes up for with the tone of her voice.
She’s all the things I love in a typical stay-at-home mom: warm and bubbly, but also loud and silly.
This woman would live in the kitchen if she could.
In all the years I’ve lived here, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without her famous red and white checkered apron.
“Dennis, they’re here! Get moving!” she shouts, her voice echoing through the quiet neighborhood.
When she’s not baking every muffin recipe from the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook, she’s bossing our dad around, insisting he’s not moving at an acceptable pace.
Somehow it works because they’ve been together for almost thirty years.
Megan rushes past her, bags in hand, heading for our dad first. Meanwhile, I’m left to fight off her million sticky kisses. She insists lip gloss is the greatest invention since the KitchenAid mixer, but she buys an off-brand that leaves behind the evidence and sticks to your cheeks for days.
“Come in, come in. It’s freezing out here. You two weigh about a hundred pounds together. You’re going to blow away if you linger out here much longer.” She pushes me inside, taking my duffel bag with her.
Instantly, I’m graphically attacked by nostalgia.
This house was built in the 50's, and no one has changed anything since, except for the occasional appliance upgrade, or two.
Our mom has stayed at home since she was first married and has kept this place in pristine condition.
Dinner on the table by five, homemade breakfast buffets on the weekends, and holidays that would make an event planner jealous.
This part draws me to Candace, it’s a familiarity.
Growing up with someone who was always around played a pivotal role in growing up.
There’s so many similarities between those two: the way they’ve laid down their dreams for their children, and have made their home a place of safety and refuge.
Before this, I didn’t have that. Nobody was home cutting the crust off my turkey and cheese, and my former mother rarely remembered when crazy hair day was.
Megan would show up to school with five different lunch options, and always had the coolest hair on crazy hair day.
I love my mom, and I could never thank her enough for what she’s done for me.
The fact that she was home every day when I burst in from school, sweaty and complaining about the lack of diversity within the literature they were feeding us, was a lifesaver.
Being a daughter to a stay-at-home mom isn’t the same experience as being in a relationship with one.
For starters, my mom would nail me to the wall if I encouraged her to get out there and find a hobby or a job.
I literally can’t help it with Candace, and obviously, it keeps getting me in trouble. She’s just so stuck in her ways, and I don’t want that for her. I’m so freakishly obsessed with the chick, but I need her to take off this exhausting mask and let the real woman inside loose.
“Snap out of it, we’re here to relax,” Megan scolds, knocking me out of my trance once again as she barrels through the living room like a bull in a china shop.
“What’s she snapping out of?” Dad asks, finally joining us all in the living room, where apparently I’ve been staring at the brown paneling that hides behind our family portrait wall.
“She’s in love with a single mom. It’s their first time apart, and she’s tripping out.” Megan laughs, plopping down on the floral-patterned couch.
“Single mom?” he asks, pretending Megan hasn’t already filled them in on all my dirty gossip. “How wonderful! Did she use a sperm donor, or were the children adopted?”
“Oh, she’s straight. The twins came from their dad’s ball sack,” Megan puts her two cents in, as if she hasn’t done enough in the four minutes we’ve been here.
“Megan, what the fuck! You’re disgusting.” I throw one of my mom’s many hand-crocheted pillows at her face while my dad bends over laughing at his unfiltered daughter.
“Can we at least eat first before we start the interrogation?”
“Sure thing, sweetie.” My dad kisses my forehead. “Welcome home,” he giggles, then heads off to the kitchen to bother Mom.
Dinner’s finally ready after what felt like an eternity of pacing my bedroom, racking my brain on whether or not I should call Candace.
I settled with a ‘got here safe, miss you’ text and hoped that would suffice for now.
Megan wasn’t wrong. I am tripping out a bit.
The way her parents show up out of the blue freaks me out.
What if they come over while I’m here and fill her head with some bullshit?
She’ll have no backup. The girls are with their dad, and Court’s working most of the week.
What if she cracks like a ceiling and everything comes tumbling down before the week is done?
“Can you pass the dinner rolls, please?” Mom passes around the food, while everyone else walks on eggshells, avoiding me.
“Dear, this roast looks divine.” My dad compliments, and it’s making me gag. This is straight out of a Leave It to Beaver episode.
“Okay. Can we cut the theatrics? Just ask. Your performance is giving me a headache. If you’re gonna grill me, just get it over with,” I say, stuffing my face with mashed potatoes.
“We’re just a little concerned, honey. A single mom? Who’s never been with a woman. That just seems overwhelming. Are you sure you’re ready for that?” my mom questions, kicking off the conversation.
“And isn’t she quite older than you?” Dad chirps, adding to the long list of things I need to remember to go over.
“Yes, she’s older. Doesn’t bother me. Yes, she’s got kids.
They’re cool as shit, and not a dealbreaker.
Technically, yes, this is the first time she’s been with a woman, but also not an issue.
We’re working through all of it and going slow.
” I’m trying my best to be reassuring, but my tone is coming out like a panicky teenager who just got caught smoking.
“You’re sure leaving a lot out, buddy.” Megan interrupts with a mouthful of steamed carrots.
The death glare I give her does nothing to calm me down or scare her into shutting up.
“There’s been some issues with her neighbors having opinions on my drop-ins.”
My dad frowns midway through his bite of roast. “Anything else?”
“Her parents have been a little overboard. They constantly pop in unannounced, claiming they’re concerned about their granddaughters, but really, they wanna spy on me.
They barge in and destroy everything we’re working towards.
” The words spill out of me like projectile vomit, and the grip I have on my butter knife is stronger than I intended.
It’s not until I slam the handle into the table, describing my latest altercation, that I notice how heated I’ve gotten.
“Nat, let’s take a breather,” Mom calmly says, reaching for the butter knife. “We all know you can get a little…”
“Passionate,” Dad interrupts.
“Yes, passionate.” Mom nods. “But let’s just talk about this, there’s no judgment here. We’re just trying to help and understand. We’re a family who works through problems together.”
Before it’s my turn, Megan hops back in, taking one last swing.
“I hate to be the voice of reason because I know how much you love being reasonable, but have you considered how much you’re asking her to change?
She wasn’t like you. I bet the only experimenting she did in high school was to perm or not to perm.
Now you come in and want her to change her entire way of thinking because you like her. ”
“I more than like her, Megan, don’t dumb this down to fit your narrative.” My finger nails skim across the butter knife, distracting me from the anger that’s building.
“Dude, there’s no narrative, come on. Nothing in your world will change except a potential zip code and access to your sugar mama’s credit card.
She’s got to come to terms with the fact that she likes a woman and not just any woman, a charming, level-headed lady like yourself.
” She blows a kiss at me before returning to her plate.
Megan's words eat at me like flesh-eating bacteria. My support system is here in front of me, shoving delicious food down my throat, and all she’s got is a cranky younger sister who may or may not be my arch nemesis.
Maybe she’s right, none of my neighbors give a shit what I’m doing, and my parents could walk in on me giving myself a Brazilian, and my mom would ask when it’s her turn.
“I'm so sorry, guys.” I shake my head, embarrassed at how quickly that escalated. “When I'm away from her, I don’t feel like myself. She knows how to mellow me in a way no one ever has.”
“You must feel strongly for her if you're willing to dig a knife into my grandmother's antique dining table.” Mom winks at me, trying to get this volcano to simmer.
“I do, and we’re supposed to be moving slowly, but I’m ready to move in with her tomorrow. Whatever she wants, I’m game. However long I have to wait, I will. I swear you guys, she’s it for me.”
“You have our full support always, honey. Please don’t make any irrational decisions, and remember to look at every angle and move forward with love and patience rather than bulldozing your way through a complicated situation.” she says, giving me a smile so warm it's reserved only for mothers.
“I can’t wait for you all to meet her. You’ll love her.
Oh, and obviously her daughters. They’re amazing.
So cool and smart. They have shit taste in music, but I’m rectifying that by introducing them to the greats.
You’ll go crazy when they’re running around here asking you a million questions.
” My heart is racing just thinking about the girls, but it slows when I see everyone’s faces.
They nod, but their eyes stay fixed on mine, absorbing everything I say. I pick around on my plate for a while before asking to be excused, knowing they’re going to dissect my life once I’ve left the table.