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I am smart, Jeff. After all, I’m not contaminated by your gene pool.That’s what’s running through my head as I stand there like a stone.
When stepdaddy dearest doesn’t get a reaction out of me, he digs deeper. “I’d pay money to see you hustling around that country club, sucking up to all those rich pricks.”
That one hurts. I’ll think up a good comeback to that insult a couple of hours from now, but right now I’m cursing myself for being thin-skinned and unprepared. And now that he knows he’s hit a nerve, he digs in.
“I asked for my veal chop rare, boy,” he booms. Then he changes to a high-pitched, snooty tone. “I’d like the tuna salad. Can you ask the chef if the tuna is organic?”
Did you mean sustainably sourced, dumbass?
His tone changes abruptly when my mother comes in the door carrying grocery bags. “Just say the word, Liam, and I’ll get your application in to my boss.”
This surprises me, as Jeff doesn’t normally make an effort to kiss up to my mother. He must be looking to get laid tonight.
“Thanks, Jeff.” I lay it on thick when I add, “You’re always looking out for me.”
My mother notes the sarcasm in my tone and looks nervously between me and her man. I love my mother, and the fact that Jeff keeps his fists off her is the one and only reason that I tolerate him. He’s emotionally abusive towards her in more subtle ways, but in his eyes, he’s justified. I think she believes it too, which is sad more than anything else.
I do love her, but time and time again she’s disappointed me. She’s stayed with Jeff in exchange for stability, which has cost her in terms of dignity and self-respect. I can’t view her as a role model in any way, and I hope to God that my older sister wakes up someday and sees herself as someone who deserves better. But what stings the most is knowing that my mother has kept her mouth shut too many times when he’s picked on me for no good reason, and that while I never once hesitated to stand up for her, she wasn’t so quick to block his path when he went after me. That’s a truth that’s hard to acknowledge.
I act as if he isn’t even in the room when I go to her and take the bags from her hands. “How are you, Mom?” I ask before kissing her cheek.
“I’m good, sweetie. I’m making lasagna for dinner. Can you stay?”
“Thanks, but I’m working the dinner shift tonight. Tips are good on Saturdays and,” I turn to Jeff, “someone has to feed those rich pricks, am I right?”
“Okay,” she takes in Jeff’s red ears and his grimace, “but promise me you’ll come for dinner soon.”
“Will do.” It’s an empty promise and she knows it.
I feel like I can breathe again once Jeff grabs a beer from the fridge and leaves us alone in the kitchen.
“What’s new with you?” she asks.
“Nothing much. I have to start up with Mike again soon, getting the boats ready for the season, so I’ll be busy.”
“Are you keeping the job at the club this summer?”
“If I don’t get fired first. They’re not too keen on my look.”
She shoots me a wide-eyed look of mock horror. “They don’t like gorgeous people?”
That earns her a chuckle. “They love gorgeous people, but ones with reasonably short hair and less ink.”
“Their loss. Summer might be a bust there anyway.”
“Yep. They’ll all be heading to their summer spreads. I should ask Lorraine if she can get me a couple of shifts barbacking at Dunes.”
“Lucky us,” she deadpans. “We get to live by the seashore all year long.”
The part of Neptune that my mom and Jeff live in—the town where I grew up—isn’t seaside. We’re notfarfrom the beach, yet we are worlds away from high living on the Jersey Shore. The people from the club whosummerhere wouldn’t set foot on a street like this one. Although they live only a few minutes away in posh towns like Avon and Spring Lake, it’s completely different.
This part of the shore is where the help lives. The house cleaners, the restaurant waitstaff, the landscapers—my people. And even among us there’s a hierarchy. Florists, hairdressers, yoga instructors and caterers are the top tier, while people like me, who clean boats and wash bar glasses, are on the bottom rung of the ladder. My mother and sister are right there beside me. They clean houses for a living. Lorraine, my sister, also juggles a second job waiting tables to support her kid and her lazy-ass boyfriend.
My mother turns back to me after she finishes putting the groceries away. “Was Jeff giving you a hard time before?”
“Just busting on me for being the slacker that I am.”
“You’ve never been a slacker. But do you think maybe he has,” she pinches her thumb and forefinger together, “just a smidgen of a point?”
