AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Bastard.”
He falls into a silence that I knew I’d be wise to maintain. He hasn’t pressured me about Nida’s name, but I’m aware that with each passing day, and the closer we become, a part of him gets angrier about my treatment at Nida’s hands.
That was probably another reason why I hadn’t been psyched about inviti
ng him over to my parents’ place. I knew there would be some conversations that wouldn’t exactly be comfortable.
When we pull off the freeway, finally getting out of the gridlock that was traffic—there must have been an accident for there to have been so much of it at this time of night—I saw the entrance to the suburb and slinked down in my seat.
I really didn’t want to come here tonight. I’d have preferred to go to a restaurant somewhere in the city with Max. But this was tradition, and my mom would have hounded me if I hadn’t come.
She calls me twice a week, and I know she would like me to visit more but I just don’t have it in me to come around more often.
I go once a month and on special occasions. It’s enough for me, but not for her.
I get that though. We were close before, and she wants that back but my trust in her has been destroyed, I guess. We’ll never be close again because I just can’t forgive her for expecting me to get on with life, for not allowing me to mourn and to react after what had happened to me.
Two years on, only Max has done what therapy couldn’t.
I finally felt like I was moving on. Because of him.
When we pull up outside my parents four bedroom house, I hide a smile at how cookie cutter the place is. Each house is almost identical to the next one, and the only differences can be found in the cars outside the properties and the furniture in the yard. From a swing set to a bench, they’re the only identifying markers.
I hate my building, don’t get me wrong, but a part of me would die if I had to live here for the rest of my life. This was my childhood home but I was grateful it wouldn’t be my adult home anymore.
When Max and I walk toward the front door, I wince when it opens and we’re still twenty feet away.
She was waiting on us.
The excitement on her face wasn’t there just because she’s psyched to see me either. It’s because Max was there too.
“Jessica! Happy Birthday, darling!” she cries, stepping out into the cold, wintry night in nothing more than a pair of slacks and a thin sweater.
She shivers even as she hugs me, and I hug her back. Even if she hadn’t been there for me when I needed her most, I love her.
“Thanks, mom,” I told her, rubbing her back. “We’d better get inside before you freeze to death! It’s too cold to be out here without a coat.”
She nodded briskly, but even as she stepped toward the door, she was looking over her shoulder at Max. “And who’s this?”
Her bright tone had me cringing.
Could she be any more obvious?
Still, Max looked oblivious as he helped me out of my coat then handed his over to her.
“I’m Max.”
“Max,” she murmured softly. “Well, I’m Jessica’s mother, Sarah.” She tilted her head and called over her shoulder, “Steve, Jessica’s here! Turn off the television, we have another guest too.”
As we headed out of the hallway and toward the kitchen, I heard the sounds of the TV switching off, and then my father’s trudging steps. When he appeared in the kitchen door, I looked him over. My mother was slender and trim, still youthful thanks to her dyed hair and the care she took with her makeup. My father looked older; his face was lined and he was almost totally bald. He was heavy-set, but my mother controlled his diet so if he did have a tendency towards a belly, it was kept strictly in check with her monitoring—she was anal about things like that.
“Pumpkin,” he told me, a happy note to his voice as he opened his arms to me.
No, we’d never been close but he loved me and I loved him. There was a warm acceptance whenever we were together; like he never expected me to be anything other than what I was. It was only after Nida that I’d come to appreciate him more. I kind of regretted that, but more than anything, I regretted that I barely got a chance to see him.
He finished work at eight every night save Sunday then had an hour’s commute home. Sundays, he was free, but he’d always slept late, and then had spent his hours in his den with the TV on and football switched on. Throughout the week, after work, he ate and pretty much fell into bed.
It wasn’t, I realized, much of a life.
