Page 13 of The Plus One
Before Jude could respond, Maria pulled away, calling for Jude’sdad. “Don,” she hollered, dragging Jude in the house behind her. “Don, get over here.”
Don, an imposing but gentle man, quiet in nature, walked in, eyes going wide as he took in Jude. With a sharp inhale, Don moved forward, embracing his son.
“Hey, Dad,” Jude whispered as he hugged him back.
“Don’t hog him,” his mom eventually said, wedging her way in and hugging Jude again.
The tiny woman oh-so-gently manhandled Jude into the sitting room, plunking him on the couch. Jude looked around the room, taking in the small trinkets over the mantel, Dad’s chair in the corner, the old maroon carpeting marked with perfect lines from the vacuum cleaner. It wasn’t much, but every fiber of this home was infused with pride.
“What are you doing home, sweetheart?” Maria asked, eyes wide with wonder and happiness.
Jude cleared his throat. “My GHCO director gave me an extended leave to attend Collin’s wedding.”
Maria clapped in excitement, shooting a smile to Don, who sat in his chair with a serene look on his face. “That’s so wonderful. How long are you home for? When did you get in? Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? Are you staying with Collin? Do you want to stay here?”
Her questions were delivered with such dizzying speed, Jude could only blink at her.
“You’re so thin,” she continued, clucking her tongue as she held his face between her palms. She rubbed her thumbs over the hollows below his cheeks. “And you look so tired, honey. Are you not sleeping well?”
Jude couldn’t force any words out of his mouth, staring at his sweet mom and her round face and warm smile, comfort spreading like a ball of warmth through his chest.
But as the good feelings flooded in, fear came close on their heels, chasing away anything that made him feel safe.
He was once again frozen by the all-too-familiar weight of his disjointed mind, slow to process, distrusting of everything good.
“Don’t worry,” she said, patting his cheeks and grinning. “I’m making sauce. We’ll fatten you right up.”
Maria ushered him to the table, dragging her husband along with them. With both men seated, she whipped around the small kitchen, grabbing plates and plopping pasta on top.
“You have perfect timing, sweetheart,” she said, sliding a large dish of linguini with red sauce in front of Jude, then spooning heaps of parmesan cheese on top. “But you always could smell my sauce from up the block, so I’m not surprised.” She winked at him before scooping parmesan with gusto on to Don’s plate too.
Jude managed to smile at this. Regardless of the stress his parents faced while Jude was growing up, they’d always made Sunday lunch—served precisely at three p.m.—a priority.
Don would spend his Sunday mornings making the noodles while Maria would get her sauce simmering before Jude even woke up, her hair frizzed from the humidity of the kitchen. Jude always had to be home at a quarter till, washed up and setting the table so they could enjoy together.
“I’m so glad nothing’s changed,” Maria added, scooting her chair close to Jude’s and pressing her palm lovingly against his cheek again.
Jude’s heart tipped out of his chest, shattering on the linoleum floor.
God, how he wished that were true. It felt like his gut was being squeezed through a metal tube, panic oozing out of his skin.
Somehow, Jude found that little trap door in his brain—the one that let him slip away from chaos, drift into numbness—and he disappeared through it. Numbness was easier than looking at his sweet parents and telling them just how much everything had changed.
Jude’s leg started bouncing, and he picked up his fork with shaky fingers, pretending to dig in, trying to swallow past the closing of his throat as his parents continued to talk.
“Your best sauce to date,” Don said through a mouthful, smiling at his wife.
“You say that every week,” Maria responded, giving him a playful swat.
Jude let himself slip further away—dissolve into the gray space where things passed through him. He retreated so deeply into himself, he was shocked to realize that two hours had passed and the meal had been eaten, not remembering any of it outside of the basic mechanics. In some far-off, disconnected way, he knew they’d asked him questions. He’d answered. He’d asked his dad about work, his mom about her latest class of kids, letting them carry the conversation without being present for any of it.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” his mom asked quietly, taking his hand in hers. Her eyes traced his face, and Jude blinked away.
Guilt eroded his insides like acid at the soft and subtle worry lining his mom’s features, but he couldn’t let himself go there. If he opened the door to anyone, even a crack, all the badness would flood out.
“Fine, Mom,” Jude said, giving her hand a quick squeeze before pulling his own away. “Stuffed to the brim,” he added, trying to put on a smile while he patted his stomach. Every inch of him felt hollow. “And it’s getting late. I actually better start heading back.”
Maria’s look was skeptical. “Do you want to stay the night? We always keep your room made up.”
