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Have I ever told them how much I’ve come to depend on them, on their presence, their complete acceptance of someone like me? Someone who used to be afraid and ashamed of who I was, who fucked up everything before seeing what was important?
Or rather, who.
But I know who I am now. I know who is important to me. I just want my parents to see me. See how happy I am.
Again, that dangerous feeling. That hoping and wishing, and ah fuck, my palms are damp and my heart is pounding as if I’m about to take a test that will determine the rest of my life.
It won’t, I remind myself. And nothing bad will happen.
Just ring the damn doorbell.
When I finally do, nothing happens for so fucking long I wonder if I misunderstood and nobody’s in. I ring again, and this time I hear footsteps and the door opens.
“Joel, that you?” a suspicious voice says, my mom’s voice, I realize with a second’s delay. “Come on in.”
She steps aside and I enter. I’m always shocked by how much shorter she is than me, even after all these years. In my mind she always leans over me, tucking me in bed or patting my knee.
“Hey, Mom.” I smile at her.
She gives me a faint smile back. “Nice to see you. Lost your key?”
I threw it away after that fateful day when I rushed to the hospital to Jet’s and Candy’s side.
“I did, yeah.”
“We’ll make you another copy.”
Weirdly, she’s dressed in heels and a short black dress, and I say weirdly not because I have something against heels and short black dresses but because Mom is always dressed in sports clothes, always ready to head out to one of the fitness clubs she frequents.
“What’s the occasion?” I ask, gesturing at her clothes. “Going out somewhere afterward?”
She rolls her eyes at me as she leads the way into the living room, and then it also strikes me that it’s very quiet. No sound of TV playing, or Dad cursing at the baseball game.
And then I see Dad. Dressed in a blue shirt and black pants. His shoes are polished.
“You, my boy.” He opens his arms for me. “You alone?”
“Er. Yes.” Why wouldn’t I be?
Reluctantly I walk into his arms and hug him. It’s an unfamiliar feeling. It’s been a long time since I’ve hugged or been hugged by either of my parents.
Reluctance seems to be the theme of the evening.
I pull back and Dad claps me on the back. “We thought we’d get to meet her.”
Meet her. I open my mouth, close it again. “I told you that—”
“You said that you have a fiancée.”
“I have a relationship.” I rake a hand through my hair. “Fuck.”
“Language,” Mom says, but her smile has faded. “We were really excited to meet her, Joel. I’m sure she’s a great girl to be with you. You’re the best guy any girl could dream of.”
“That’s not—” I shake my head. “Not the issue.”
“Then what is? What’s wrong?”
“Can we sit down first? To talk?”
