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After an awkward silence, we move on to future plans and how we both want to do some more surfing when the waves are good. The rest of the hour goes by quickly and then, after we've finished the food, it's time to leave.
We shake hands again and hug, and I walk him to his van, just down the block.
"Don’t be a stranger," he says.
We fist bump. "I won't."
I watch him drive off in his van and think how much he's changed since we were in the Army together.
Back then, he was a wild man who picked up every piece of ass that passed his way and offered. He was an adrenaline junkie who seemed to defy death with every fall and crash and IED. He loved the ladies, he loved his beer, and he loved being a soldier.
Now, he's a security analyst with two kids and an ex-wife, looking for a good woman to move in and take her place.
Is that my future?
I don't want to become the man in the gray flannel suit who is so strapped by debt and busy with responsibilities that I never have any fun.
Is that what India wants?
I can't see her staying at home with kids and a house to clean, giving up business to raise a family. Maybe I don't really know her.
I want her. That's not the issue. I want us to be together. I also want us both to focus on Pacifica and our mutual success.
She was thinking of cashing out and leaving Pacifica.
Fuck…
Chapter 17
INDIA
Mom is getting better with each day, and is going home tomorrow. The doctors think she'll regain full use of her arms and legs, so that's a relief. She'll have to take it easy for a while and get some rehab but she'll return to a normal life.
"No more climbing ladders," the neurosurgeon says, pointing at her. He smiles at her and she agrees she won't.
When my mom's tray comes for her supper, I check it out and laugh.
"I'm making chicken parmesan for Dad, too."
"Oh, I wish I was home with you two," mom says, staring at her much more assembly-line-looking chicken breast with a half-melted slab of mozzarella on it.
"If I don't kill Dad with my own version, I'll make it for you when you get out."
"You won't kill him," she says with a grin. "Just remember to set the timer. I know you two get distracted and have a tendency to burn stuff, so remember to time it."
"I will." I kiss her and leave, relieved that she's doing so well.
I take my SUV and drive to their place. I turn on my car mix and the next song up is “I Go Crazy” by Paul Davis. It’s one of my father's favorites and makes me sad to hear it. Will that be Jon and me?
I pull into the driveway, a knot in my gut that things are so uncertain with Jon. My dad is standing at the door, waiting for me, his apron already on. I swallow my feelings and force a smile.
He and I are not gifted cooks. It was my mom who cooked for us when I was growing up. But we'll try to follow the recipe I printed off the internet. The recipe was apparently fool-proof and so even my dad and I should be able to handle it.
Two hours later, we're sitting at the island in my mom's professional kitchen, smiling at the successful meal we cooked together. I really enjoyed it. My dad and I always shared a love of technology and spent time when I was growing up putting computers together, but we didn’t do a lot of talking about life and personal things. That was always my mom's job.
So now, here we are, smiling across the island, a glass of red wine in hand and a demolished dish of chicken parmesan in front of us.
"So, tell me about what's going on with you. Your mom said you and Jon got together but that you're having second thoughts."
