Page 92 of The Lovers
Mom swings open the front door, dressed in a nightgown and housecoat combo. Willa’s sleek form makes an outline in the front window.
“Katherine?” Mom calls down from the porch. I’m sure she’s squinting to make sure that it’s me. “Is that you, Kitten?” I see a golf club in her hand, poised as a weapon.
“Yeah, Mom, can you come down here?” I stand with my car door open, blaring the horn a few more times. Mom covers her ears, abandoning her nine iron and stepping off the porch.
“Will you stop”—honk—“with that”—honk—“hideous noise?”
“Where’s Dad?” I ask, honking again and drowning out her reply.
“Jesus Christ—stop that!” She’s off the porch, a pair of Crocs on her feet, rushing around the front of my car. “He’s in the pool house—you know he sleeps like the dead.” She places her hand over the horn, blocking me from honking again. I shoot out of the car and down the driveway to where the gate sits open even though it’s almost two a.m.
“I told you guys to lock the gate at night,” I spit in her direction. “What is the point of having a security gate if you don’t use it?”
Mom’s shuffling behind me trying to keep up and she gasps for me to slow down.
“Please, my knees—Kitten, are you okay? You’re acting very erratic right now—you didn’t take drugs, did you? People are always taking drugs in the desert.”
“I didn’t take drugs,” I say as I scale the steps to the pool house front door. I proceed to bang on the door with the force of an eager intruder.
“You haven’t answered any calls or texts—is this about the bisexual thing?” Mom asks.
“Bisexual thing?” Stay calm. Stay in your body. Stay in this moment.
“You know…” She points toward the house where I assume her girlfriend is hiding from me and my car horn.
“Yes. It is.” I beat on the door again, and finally see the bedroom light flick on. Dad must have had a good writing evening if he fell asleep before three a.m. “Also, it’s not.”
“That’s so confusing,” she whines, scrunching her face into a pout.
The door to the pool house bursts open to reveal Dad, glasses askew on his face, dressed in a t-shirt that says “Tom Hanks is my hero” and some plaid pajama pants.
“Cupcake?” His voice is thick with sleep. His eyes slowly travel from me to my mom, who is in a growing state of distress. “Camille, why are you over here? My side—” He walks out to the edge of the porch. “Your side.”
Mom’s eyebrow fishhooks and she points a long finger at me.
“Your daughter is melting down and likely any minute the cops will arrive. You know that busybody Missy Green has it out for me—”
“Oh please,” Dad rebukes. “Like you haven’t given her every reason to despise you. Case in point, you called animal control on her for having a pet opossum—”
“Opossums aren’t pets and everyone knows tha—”
“Fuck me with a flamethrower, will you both please shut up?!”
That does it. Both of their mouths seal closed in shock.
“Please sit down,” I say, lowering my voice. I motion to the rocking chairs sitting nearby. There are three. One for each of us. Will Dad take his in the divorce? I blink back the tears that immediately well in my eyes. “I have to tell you something.”
They creep down into the two rockers farthest from each other. That never would have happened before. Before, they would have sat side by side, holding hands across the expanse between them.
I cannot fixate on this or I’m going to burst into tears.
The only solace I have is that Mom doesn’t seem to have seen the video yet. It’s a surprise that she hasn’t, but she’s never held anything in this long, so I’m guessing I’m in the clear. At least where coming out to my mom and dad are concerned.
“What’s up?” Dad asks, rubbing his eye with the tip of his pointer finger underneath his glasses.
I clear my throat and wish I’d gotten a little bit drunk before I woke them both up to tell them I’m queer.
“I—well, here’s the thing,” I stammer, eloquence and resolve dissolving beneath their gaze. I close my eyes for a split second, seeing Julia’s face first, and then the compass in my own soul.
