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Burying my face in my hand, I said, “Tell Ma I’m fine. No need for applesauce.”
Jude snorted again, and I considered this punishment for lying to my parents. God was smiting me. That had to be it. He gave the Egyptians the ten plagues; my punishment was a hot rocker hearing about my bathroom habits.
Once I convinced my parents I was not, in fact, on death’s door, the subject was mercifully dropped. We went through our Sunday ritual of me telling them everything about school, and them telling me what my brothers were up to and everything that happened at church. Before my mom said goodbye, she said a prayer for me, and my heart swelled. These two drove me the craziest, but they loved me the deepest. As overbearing as they’d been my entire life, I missed the hell out of them and my goofy brothers.
Not that I had any plans of going back.
When my mom wandered away, my dad cleared his throat. “Have you heard the latest Arcade Fire single?”
“Um, no. They put out a new one?”
“Ah, baby girl. I thought you knew music. You’re telling me your old man is more on top of it than you?”
“I’m impressed, Dad. I’m going to have to track it down.”
But of course, he had to play it for me on his computer, because this was what we did. From the time I showed an interest in music—hearing my dad’s Ramones record had been a revelation—we’d formed this bond that was only ours. Dad had had a couple punk rock years before he’d traded in his studded leather and anarchy symbols for Dockers and Sunday suits, but he never lost his taste in music. My mom didn’t approve, but she didn’t begrudge his time in the garage listening to records from his misbegotten youth. I’d spent many nights out there with him, discussing music, arguing over our favorite drummers, and both learning and teaching.
It didn’t compute for a lot of people, this conservative, traditional Catholic man banging his head to rock ‘n’ roll, but my dad was multidimensional, not some caricature.
When I hung up, I was smiling, and I found Jude reclining on my bed behind me, his arms tucked under his head. Without considering the propriety, I stretched out next to him and studied the stars stuck to the ceiling.
“So, your parents are fucking awesome, huh?” he asked.
“Sort of, yeah.”
“That’s cool. I’m not surprised. I could tell you were the kind of girl who grew up in a nice home with good people around her.”
“How?” I asked.
My eyes were still on the ceiling when he shifted, the bed dipping as he turned to his side, facing me. My heart sped up at having him so close. We’d clearly slept wrapped in each other, but that had been under the influence. I barely remembered falling asleep last night. But this moment, with Jude so close I could feel his sunny heat, I’d remember.
“Because you’re completely open. You were shy when I first met you, but not closed-off. You haven’t been hurt. You’ve been loved and cherished. And I’m really fucking glad you’ve had that.”
It took all my strength to turn my head and face him. “I wasn’t coddled.”
“No, I didn’t think you were. But you walk around with the knowledge that you’re deeply loved. I think that gives you an insulation against life’s bullshit.”
My fingers itched to stroke the dark stubble on his cheeks, but I held them at my side. “Are you not loved deeply, Jude?”
He shrugged, like it didn’t matter. “Let’s just say my parents wouldn’t notice if I missed a phone call.”
“I doubt that.”
He scoffed, and his knee brushed against mine. Instead of pulling back, he left it there. “I haven’t talked to my mom since I visited her over the summer, and my dad? Who the hell knows. He’s busy with his new family. He’s got a pretty little wife and a new baby to suck up his attention. But fuck, I’m twenty-two years old. My parents cut the cord a long time ago.”
That made me grin, even though it also made me sad. “Pretty sure if you take a drive up I-95, you’ll see my cord stretched from here to New York.”
Jude tossed his head back and laughed, so deep and low, I felt it in my chest.
“Fucking gross, Stripes,” he said through cackles.
“Are you going to call me that nickname for the rest of my life?”
He sobered, eyes darting around my face. “Am I going to know you for the rest of your life?”
“I hope so.” It was too honest, too bare, but once it was out there, I couldn’t take it back.
“Then yeah, Stripes, that’s your nickname for life.” His voice had gotten quiet and raspy, like he had to force the words from his throat.
