Page 178 of Don't Leave Me

“Hi mom. Jack and I are going to come visit this afternoon if that’s okay. We are leaving Lake George soon so should be there by about 4. Please tell daddy to be easy on us.” I let Jack read the text as I typed it - he nodded his approval and let me send it.

“Is there something I should do or say to help your dad be more comfortable with me?” Jack asked a little nervously as we headed south on the freeway towards Connecticut.

I gave Jack a crooked smile as I held onto the steering wheel, the traffic light but the snow on the ground making me nervous.

“Are you reallythatnervous to meet my parents?” I teased him.

“Of course. I want to win over every member of your family. You’re making him seem like the Grinch,” Jack quipped back lightly.

I let out a laugh - a real laugh that I didn’t know I was capable of anymore.

“He’s not the Grinch. He’s just…very protective of me. He barely approved of Michael and he met him right when we started dating. I’m not sure of how he’s going to react to someone that I married in secret,” I explained.

Jack was quiet for a moment.

“What about your mum? Maybe I can get to him through her,” he suggested, still eyeing me intently from the passenger seat.

I shrugged. “She’s more open-minded. She’s the less conservative one but she’s also sort of stuck up in ways. She cares about money and status and all that shit. But if you can make her laugh and you’re good to me, I think she’ll love you,” I quickly turned to him, waiting for his reaction.

There was another pause. “I make quite the living from my paintings, Hana. I went to NYU for fine arts, my family is well-off. Adam and I got signed to a major record label. Are those things I should mention?” he asked, almost defensively.

I furrowed my brows at him and then quickly looked back at the road.

“I suppose. It’s just…when we first met you told me you were poor,” I shook my head, confused.

None of that mattered to me, of course. But why did he lie to me in the first place about being poor? Why did he not tell me about getting signed to a label? I guess we didn’t talk much about things like that; we talked about whether or not I would give a good performance to make people believe I was willingly his wife.

“I was being modest, Hana. No one likes a show off,” Jack responded bitterly. “It wasn’t always this way. I was cut off from my family for years. I was homeless at one point in Wales, when my heroin use was at its worst,” he explained. “Jess was the only one who cared about me, at every point in my life. That’s why she helped me, Hana. Don’t take it personally – she’s just family. She wanted desperately to be your friend the whole time she’s known you,” he went on, straying from his point.

“We’re the outcasts of the family. No one wanted us to come to the states. No one believed that we could make a home here. My mum had never been supportive of either of us, not until she came to see Jess on Broadway and came to see my art exhibits. She finally got it then.”

His voice was quiet and despondent. I felt almost the exact same way - my parents were horrified that I, their dearest only child, their Yale graduate, chose writing as a career.

“I had no idea,” I finally responded, my empathy giving me a lump in my throat.

“Well don’t feel sorry for me now, sweetheart. Now I’ve got you and that’s all I need,” Jack was chipper again as he put his hand on my thigh.

I smiled and stared out into the open road. As cheesy as he was sometimes, it often made me forget about how we started this relationship.

“Don’t feel the need to impress my parents. They’ll come around. They always do,” I said aloud, unsure if that statement was more for Jack or myself.

* * *

We pulled up to the gravel driveway of my childhood home. I started to worry that Jack would resent the wealth of my family, or maybe he would want to take advantage of the wealth he had just married into.

“Impressive,” Jack observed as I cut the engine.

I sighed, not realizing that I was starting to shake. Another performance, another test of my loyalty to Jack.

“Wait right there, sweetheart. I’ll get your door,” he said sweetly, ignoring the look of panic on my face - or maybe I just learned to hide it well now.

As Jack opened my car door for me, my mom opened the door with a stiff smile and her arms crossed. What a contrast to the welcome she gave me and Michael at the train station months ago. I took Jack’s hand and guided him to the door.

“Mom, this is Jack. Jack, this is my mom, Jemma,” I introduced the two of them.

Jack smiled warmly at her. “Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Miller,” he said sweetly, his accent so apparent in just his few words.

My mom smiled immediately and shook her head at me.

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