Christmas and on her birthday, but otherwise I’m too busy. Doing what, I’m not sure. But besides that, she has a family now, a husband and two children, and I don’t want to suck up her time. I already sucked up almost ten years of her life.
“Just needed to hear your voice.”
“What’s the matter, Justin?” Her voice sounds worried and caring. After all these years, she still has a wonderful English accent. I loved listening to her read to me as a child. The simple sight of a childhood book brings back the sound of her voice in my head.
“There’s this girl I met,” I say, clutching my phone and watching the dark waves roll in.
“Someone doesn’t love my sweet boy? How can that be?” she says heatedly, and I’m imagining that if she knew how I’d used women over the past three years, her attitude would definitely change. “Tell me about this girl who has you so devastated you’re calling your nanny.”
I spend the next half hour describing Allie. How her ex hurt her and how I scared her away. Olivia asks questions every now and then, but mostly she lets me talk. Staring out over the rolling water, I realize how much I just needed to talk.
When I’m done, she says, “It sounds like she needs you as much as you need her.”
My sigh echoes in the empty room. “She said she needs time.”
“What she needs is to know you’re there for her. Unlike that other boy.”
I almost laugh at her calling Trevor and me boys. “Maybe…” Hopefully. “I’m not sure what to do.”
“Listen to me closely, Justin. Love isn’t fear. It’s courage. Courage to trust, courage to give, courage to fight. Be fearless and fight for this girl. It’s obvious to me—even from miles away—after forty minutes of listening to you talk that you’re in love. Use your love to be courageous.”
“Damn. You have me feeling like the pussy Gabe called me,” I blurt.
“Words and manners, Justin,” she reminds me, like I’m still five.
“Ah, yeah. Sorry.”
“Now tell me, what are you going to do?”
My mind reels. “Go to her? Talk to her? Tell her how I feel?”
“That’s a start.” Her cheery tone has me imagining her smiling into the phone.
Before we hang up, Olivia makes me promise to visit her this summer. I went to Maine once when I was twelve and felt out of place, but Olivia had only a boyfriend then, not an entire family I’d be invading, But I tell her I’ll visit before hanging up, then getting off my bed and snagging the keys from the dresser.
As I’m walking down the stairs, my parents come in the front doors. They’re dressed to the nines. My mother recently turned fifty, but she has been dressing like a politician’s wife for years. Perhaps that’s her true calling. My father wears expensive tailored suits, but with his graying blond hair down to his jaw, he will never look like a politician.
“Justin!” she says, staring at the keys in my hand. Her forehead scrunches. “Are you leaving?”
“Yeah, got tired of waiting.” I plop onto the marble bench across from the doors and reach for my shoes.
My mother sets her tiny purse on the entryway table. “Well, we’re here now.” She frowns at me. “You made it sound like an emergency on the phone.”
Behind her, my father takes off his shoes and opens the entryway closet. Like her, he doesn’t so much as offer a hello.
I shrug. “Just needed to get away and clear my head. It’s clear now so I’m going,” I say, sounding even to my own ears like a pissed-off teenager.
“Mix me a drink, darling?” she asks over her shoulder. Turning back to me, she shakes her head. “When are you going to grow out of the melodrama? You’re almost twenty-one.”
My father steps past me and mutters, “Perhaps his emergency had to do with three Cs and one B.” He’s referring to my winter semester grades, which he has access to online.
Irritation shoots down my spine. My hands clench the edge of the bench. They haven’t seen me since Christmas. Though I never come home, I show up unannounced and this is the bullshit they spout? Wrapped in their own little superficial world, they are so clueless, so selfish.
I’m about to blow. My fingers dig into the marble. Anger swells in my chest until I slowly release my grip, and with it I let go of the need for their attention. My body and mind instantly lighten.
As usual, I hate admitting it but Romeo is right. I need to grow up. I got dealt a shitty hand when it came to parents. But it’s time for me to step up to the plate of life. First of all, there are people out there like Gabe, whose cards are far shittier. Second, there comes a time when you have to let go, man up, and let your actions speak for you instead of letting the past or your parents or any other bullshit define you. A man needs to define himself.
My parents are my parents, not the worst, sure as shit not the best, but there’s no fixing them. But there’s a girl who I’m madly in love with. I need to talk to her, be with her, and prove myself to her. Wasting anger or time or emotion on something I can’t change suddenly makes no fucking sense.
Ice clinks in the kitchen as my father mixes drinks. I slip on my boots, then face my mother as she crosses her arms. “Guess I got homesick for a minute, but I really have to study tomorrow.” I bend and kiss her cheek. “See you in July.” And with a newfound feeling of freedom, I close the heavy front doors on her startled face.
It’s almost midnight by the time I get home. Like Todd last weekend, I got burned with a walk-in just before cutoff time at nine. The guy’s eagle took me until almost eleven o’clock to ink. Normally, I don’t mind late walk-ins, especially since Ben stays at my parents’ house on Saturday nights. But this week has been crazy. After dealing with Trevor’s antics all week, I’m drained.
Alone finally, I’m debating if it’s too late to call Justin. All day I’ve been thinking of how to explain the realization of my feelings through the painting I made last night.
Yet no sooner are my boots off and my butt on the couch when a knock sounds at the door. Having an awful suspicion about who’s on the other side, I stay on the couch, but the knocking grows loud enough to irritate my neighbors. A look through the peephole confirms my suspicions.
Trevor flies in as soon as I release the dead bolt.
“I’ve been driving past your place all night,” he says almost too fast for me to understand the words. “You’re lucky you’re not out with that douche bag.” As he leans on my dining room table like he owns it, I notice his wrinkled clothes. His bruises have healed and without them to distract me, I notice the dark circles under his eyes.
“You should have tried the shop,” I reply. “I had a late walk-in.” Pushing the door closed with my foot, I ignore his gesture for me to sit in a chair. I’m not sitting. The sooner he’s gone the better. “Why are you here?”
“First off,” he says, yanking an envelope from his back pocket and waving it in the air, “I got this in the mail today.”
I cross my arms. This riddle talk has been coming out of him all week. “Am I supposed to know what
“It’s a court date. For my arraignment. You were supposed to tell douche boy not to press charges.”
“We haven’t been talking much lately, but I doubt that has anything to do with Justin. The police came. People were arrested. The state or city or whatever is pressing charges.”
He folds his arms over his chest. “Well, that’s good news.”
“What?” I’m confused why he would be happy that charges are being pressed.
Pushing out his chest, he steps toward me and places his hands on my shoulders. “I’ve decided I want to work out things between us. I want you, Ben, and the shop back.”
Part of me feels like he has socked me in the gut. Another part is pissed. We’re divorced. That he believes I
