a word. She should have, right? What if . . . ?
Alexa’s eyes quiver open, find
me, and she smiles. Morning.
But then they must really focus
because she adds, What’s wrong?
You look kind of freaked out. Did
you forget I was here or something?
“Nothing. It’s just, I started
thinking we . . . didn’t . . . uh, use
protection.” I bolt upright into
a sitting position, heart racing,
all panicky. Alexa reaches out,
strokes my chest. Hey. No worries.
I told you I come prepared. I’ve been
on the pill for two years, mostly to
regulate my periods. I wouldn’t have
made love to you otherwise. I mean,
you’re really attractive and everything,
but I don’t want you to father my babies.
I smile. “Believe me, no one wants
me to father their babies. Insanity
runs in my family.” I kiss her forehead.
“Dad’s probably sleeping. Let’s sneak
into the bathroom for a shower. I’ll
wash your back if you wash mine.”
It’s the Best Shower
I’ve ever participated in,
and it’s definitely all about
the participation. We wash
each other’s everything,
which leads to the need
for even more washing.
We towel off, bodies steaming
into the cool morning air.
“Just so you know, this is by
far the most sex I’ve ever had
in any one twelve-hour period.”
She laughs. Ditto. A short pause
for effect. Well, there was that
one time . . . Another pause to
assess my reaction. Hey, I was joking.
“I knew that. Come here.”
I dry long drips on her back,
lift her damp hair to kiss her neck.
For a few seconds, I didn’t know
she was joking. And what’s really
disturbing about that is how much
I cared.
Dad’s Still Asleep
When I take Alexa home, but by the time
I get back, he’s up, drinking coffee, and
it’s weird, but I think he’s waiting for me.
Had company last night, did you?
Oh man. Did he, like, hear us? My face
flares. “Uh, yeah. How did you know?”
She left her jacket on the couch.
It wasn’t Hayden, I take it. Can’t see
that girl wearing black leather.
Not to mention spending the night
in my bed, doing unmentionable
things to me. I’m so busted. “No.”
Have some coffee. He watches me pour
a cup. I wouldn’t recommend overnight
guests with your mother present.
No kidding. “I didn’t plan for her
to stay over. It just kind of happened.
We were only supposed to talk.”
He out-and-out guffaws, and I realize
how lame that sounded. How cliché.
Absolutely, and yet his easy dismissal
pisses me off. “I don’t guess that’s what
you thought when Mom came knocking?”
He looks surprised that I’d mention it
but decides to cowboy up. We both
knew exactly why she was there, son.
“But you let her in anyway, despite
being in love with someone else.”
I don’t shade the statement with opinion.
Now he assesses me, as he might
a complete stranger. That’s right, I did,
and it’s something I’ve long regretted.
Regret. This house is a sponge,
absorbing regret until it can hold
no more and disillusionment drips
through the bloated pores. If Dad
could do it all over, he wouldn’t cheat
on his girlfriend with Mom. Wouldn’t
get her pregnant, no need for a quickie
wedding. And of course there would
be no me. I think maybe I resent that.
Dad and I Rarely Talk
Let alone openly communicate,
but what the hell? Is one time
in eighteen years too much?
“Were you and Lorelei
having problems? I mean,
if you don’t mind telling me.”
He thinks it over. I guess
maybe we were—the pressure
of maintaining grades while
excelling at sports is never
easy. Figure in nurturing
a relationship when what
you really want to do on your
off hours is party, well . . . But
it was nothing we couldn’t have
worked through, and she might
have forgiven me, except for . . .
“Except for me.”
Unbelievably, he agrees,
Except for you.
We Both Sip Our Coffee
Slurping into the silent gauze
between us. Someone has to rip
through it. “But you stayed with
Mom all this time. Did you ever
love her? Just a little, even?”
Love is a funny thing. Sometimes
it barrels into you like an angry
bull. Other times it infiltrates you
like an alien vine, and no matter
how hard you resist, it grabs hold
and squeezes. That’s kind of what
happened with your mom and me.
Believe it or not, we’ve shared many
happy days, and that includes having
you and Luke. Eventually, it becomes
a matter of scale. When the good
outweighs the bad, you stay. When
the bad is the only thing you notice
anymore, you think about your future,
or what’s left of it, consider options.
Makes Sense
But it seems to me
it’s better to consider
options before you shrivel
into a bitter, old slice of regret.
“You don’t know it would
have been better if you’d stayed
with Lorelei, though.”
True. I don’t.
Honesty. How refreshing.
“Mom thinks you’re going
to leave her. Are you?”
I’m not sure.
Honesty. How unnerving.
“You know Lorelei and
her husband are divorced.”
It isn’t a secret.
Kind of evasive. “Are you
thinking about getting
back together with her?”
He Doesn’t Respond Immediately
Just sits, staring out the window,
and after so much unusual
forthrightness, I have to wonder.
“Are you already back together?”
I guess he figures he has nothing
to lose when he finally confesses,
We’ve been seeing each other
for a long time, Matt. See, the thing
about the barreling-into-you kind
of love is, it leaves deep, wide scars.
I tried, but I never stopped loving her.
My turn to focus on the world
beyond the kitchen glass, where
the sun has decided to appear,
its thin rays of winter light magnified
by water droplets on every branch,
every blade, every needle. Stunning.
A lump balloons in my throat.
“Why did you stay? All you did was
make Mom
miserable, make me feel
like a failure, give Luke another reason to—”
No! Don’t you dare blame me for that!
Blame
It’s not a game, not at all, but
suddenly I know, “You’re the reason
Lorelei divorced her husband.
He found out about you?”
Actually, he always suspected,
but chose to look the other way.
She was the one who finally
grew tired of the deception.
Do people really do that—
pretend not to see something
so hurtful? “And Mom? Has she
been looking the other way?”
He nods. I figured she’d stop excusing
it and either boot me to the curb
or hook up with someone else. But
as far as I can tell, she’s stayed faithful.
So, basically, crap relationships
run in my family. Genetically,
I’m predisposed to lying, cheating,
and having sex for all the wrong reasons.
One Last Thing
I wouldn’t bother to repeat
it, but since I’m stressing
over how much holding on
is too much, I go ahead.
“You still haven’t told me
why you’ve stayed with
Mom, despite everything.”
He draws a long, slow breath.
First, it was because of you.
A boy needs his father, that’s
what I thought, someone to
teach him to play basketball.
Then your mother miscarried
and had a breakdown. Not sure
you knew that. I figured it had
to be mostly my fault because
I was glad she lost the baby.
Then she got pregnant with Luke,
a speck of redemption, and now
I had two sons to worry about.
After that, I found satisfaction
in my professional life. Personal
fulfillment became less important,
and maintaining my marriage
seemed easier than shredding it.
Easier
Having sex with a person
you don’t care about.
Easier.
Staying in a toxic relationship
because people might talk.
Easier.
Not having sex with someone
you do care about.
Easier.
Because if you have sex,
that might change everything.
Easier.
Easier.
Easier.
But who ever said the easiest path
is the one you should choose?
I Can’t Remember
The last time I’ve gone fifteen
hours without checking my cell.
I expect a half-dozen texts from
Hayden, wondering where I am.
What I’m up to. Why haven’t
I called? Surprise! Not even a “hey.”
There is one from Alexa, though.
THANKS FOR AN AMAZING NIGHT.
I LEFT MY JACKET THERE. ANY CHANCE
YOU COULD DROP IT OFF? My first
reaction is, no way. My second
is, what the hell is my problem?
It’s not like she asked me to move
in, she just prefers not to freeze
to death. She didn’t even sign off
with “I love you.” But she does love
me. She said so, and there was more
emotion in her single declaration
than in all of Hayden’s halfhearted
reciprocations combined, and that
makes me angry. Why hasn’t she
texted me? What’s happened to her?
To us? Thinking back over the past
few weeks, retracing every step,
I can find only one answer. Judah.
My Personal Corner of the World
Has never been rich
with happiness. Overall, joy
has been in short supply.
It’s funny, because when
you’re a little kid, it doesn’t
take much to spark satisfaction—
you master fractions or land
a ridiculous jump on your bike.
You go looking for fun,
create it with your friends,
and in my case, sometimes
with my little brother.
Yeah, I got that my mom
and dad were a little off.
Compared to, say, Vince’s
ever-present, ever-interested
parents, mine were distant, cool.
But what did it matter? Once
Vince and I were out the door,
our playing field was level.
But my memoir was all
a single chapter then, unmarred
by major transitions. And now,
the pages are shredding,
my life disintegrating.
Luke is gone forever.
Hayden is a wild card.
Mom and Dad are melting
down completely, every vestige
of imagined stability in flux.
Will I even have a home
next week? With or without
one or both of my parents?
Everything is upheaval.
I need order.
I’m used to order.
Artificially constructed,
yes, I understand that. And easy.
That stinking word again.
Familiar pressure builds
in my chest. My breath
flutters like sparrow wings.
Inhale.
Palms up.
Exhale.
Palms down.
What will happen to me now?
What will happen to me?
A thought strikes suddenly.
(Palms up. Palms down.) I’ve spent
my time here passively. Waiting
for some external stimuli to initiate
action through reaction. (Breathing
begins its return route to normal.)
Why can’t I be my own stimulus?
If I want order, I have to take charge,
and there has to be more control in
claiming the wheel, deciding where
to steer, how hard to punch the accelerator,
when to pass slower-moving vehicles,
obstacles in the path of forward motion.
And the first obstacle I need to clear
is a certain youth minister impeding
the progress of my relationship with
Hayden. Yes, that’s a great place to start.
It’s Strange
Because I’ve always
believed girls despised
male aggression.
Yet Hayden claims
to feel unappreciated
due to my lack of it.
And Alexa was totally
turned on when I tapped
into a small reservoir of it.
Is there something
to that caveman’s club?
Would Hayden love me
more if I dragged her
around by the hair?
Should I set loose
my inner Neanderthal?
What Have I Got to Lose?
I grab Alexa’s jacket with every
intention of dropping it off later.
But first I head straight for Hayden’s,
no forewarning call to announce
my imminent arrival. All the way
there, I summon my inner primitive
man, keep poking him with a sharp
stick. Ugga! I knuckle-drag the sidewalk
all the way to her front step, ring
the doorbell. Unfortunately, it’s her
fath
er who answers, and his expression
is somewhat less than welcoming. Yes?
Oh. It’s you. What can I do for you?
I give him my best caveman grin.
“What’s up, Mr. DeLucca? Is Hayden
here? I’d like to take her out to lunch,
if that’s okay.” No ugga. One point for me.
Except he’s the one keeping score.
He glances at his watch. Lunch was
two hours ago. Anyway, she isn’t here.
That’s a double ugga for the man.
“Can you tell me where she is?”
My impatient toe-tapping isn’t winning
him over. Have you tried calling
her cell? I’m not her secretary.
I don’t schedule her appointments.
Wow. What a hairy Sasquatch dick.
But rudeness won’t serve my purpose.
“I’m sorry, Mr. D., but what is it about me
you so dislike? I shower every day,
sometimes twice.” Ooh. Way too civilized.
“I’m at the top of my class, kicked tail
on my ACTs.” Kicked tail. Better. “And
I’m totally in love with your daughter.”
Oops. I think I just went too far.
His eyes narrow into slits. Don’t you dare
toss around words like love. You are
a teenaged boy with adolescent cravings.
But beyond that, you are headed down the low
road to hell and I don’t want you dragging
my daughter in Satan’s direction with you.
As I See It
I’ve got two choices.
Play defense.
My usual position,
and in a situation like this,
doubtless the right way to go.
Attempt offense.
Survival of the fittest.
Triple uggas, and if I opt
for this tactic, he’ll probably
forbid Hayden to see me.
Good luck with that, Mr. D.
Better straddle the line.
“Just because I don’t go to church
or sing praise hymns doesn’t mean
I’ve been condemned to spend eternity
with some mythical pork-footed,
dual-horned demon. I’m a good
person. I treat Hayden right. I’ve
never even tried to have se—” Oh shit.
Now he thinks I’m gay. “And I’m
not queer, either. I mean, the reason
I never tried is because I respect . . .”
The Door Slams
Okay, Plan A went about as well