Page 17 of The Men of Summer
Dusting something off her capris, she averts her gaze, looks up again, and inhales sharply before catching herself. “Hi, you must be Jeremy’s parents.” Her voice is slightly too bright. Her tone is slightly too high-pitched. Her cadence is slightly too fast. It puts me in defensive mode, and I’m tempted to snap back, “Duh!” Standing on either side of Jeremy, we nod instead. “I’m Laura… Laura Sullivan, and this is Oliver, my husband.”Again, duh!
Scrutinizing them, I can’t decide whether their reaction is due to our pairing or our multicultural background that Jeremy’s copper curls and freckled skin don’t betray.
Dante steps closer to her, making a point of addressing her first. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. and Mr. Sullivan.” His playfulbrown eyes bore into her serious blues, then he extends his hand for them to shake. His Patek Philippe Nautilus peeks out from his right sleeve. Lips parting at the view, Oliver’s blatant shock amuses me. They obviously don’t know who Dante is, and Oliver assumed such a luxury item wouldn’t belong on his wrist. “I’m Dante Reyes, and this is Zayn, myhusband.”
Jeremy’s brow spikes up as I process the white lie: My man didn’t disclose my last name, unwilling to leave room for interpretation about our commitment. Our son doesn’t interfere, though, and I suppress a grin since he purposefully mimicked her clipped introduction.
For a split second, their eyes widen in surprise. Acknowledgment. Processing. Recalibration. Oliver’s handshake is more tentative than it should be. His grip tightens a fraction before he releases Dante’s hand and turns to me.
“Nice to meet you, Zayn,” he says with a nod, shaking my hand firmly. “Welcome.”
Laura recovers first, ushering us inside with a flurry of words. “Come on in! Jessica’s been so excited about tonight. Dinner’s almost ready.”
We are greeted by a spacious, orderly living area that resembles ours, aside from the color palette. Ours uses warm splashes of bright colors here and there, whereas the Sullivans’ minimalist design and dominating tones were torn straight from a magazine, with one exception: an impressive piece of colorful abstract art hanging above a modern fireplace with an unadorned mantel. Their dining area, next to the kitchen, features a massive dark wood table, surrounded by matching chairs.
Rushing downstairs, Jessica appears, her face lighting up when she sees Jeremy. She gives him a quick hug and then turns to us. “I’m sorry I’m—” Just like her parents, she halts, realizing the reality she’s facing. Looking my way, she relaxes abit. “Hi, Mr. Reyes.” Her assumption reinforces Dante’s lie since that’s also Jeremy’s last name. “Thank you for accepting our invitation.”
A frown mars her lovely face as she glances at her boyfriend, who remains quiet; he mustn’t have felt compelled to clarify the “situation” because, to him, we arenota situation. Unease creeps in when Dante introduces himself to her, his voice steady and kind. “It’s about time we met. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Jessica offers a small grin.
Until dinner is served, it’s all strained smiles and lingering tension. With the conversation centered on the delicious food—and our mouths full—the discomfort lessens; it’s about time!
Halfway through the roast lamb and asparagus risotto, Laura glances at us. “You know… we weren’t sure what to expect tonight.” She takes a bite of her side salad, and the back of my neck stiffens. Is she going to address the elephant in the room? “Jessica talks about Jeremy all the time, and I’m really glad we’ve finally met his family.”
No elephant, then…
“Thank you, Laura.” A swell of gratitude tugs at my heart. “We’re happy to be here, and we appreciate your hospitality.”
By the time the strawberry shortcake is served, any awkwardness has melted away.
We leave later that evening with lighter hearts. The short drive home is relaxed. “See?” Dante murmurs. “It all worked out in the end.”
“Yeah,” Jeremy concedes, sighing. “It did.”
***
On Monday afternoon, Jeremy bursts through the front door, slams it behind him, drops his backpack with a heavy thud, and sprints upstairs. Another door slams. I brace myself for whatever news he’s about to deliver and knock on his bedroom door. “May I come in?”
He grunts a reply that I interpret as agreement. Arms hugging his knees, he’s seated on the hardwood floor with his back against the side of his bed. I sit next to him. His face is flushed, eyes red-rimmed with barely restrained tears. “Jeremy, what happened?” Concern tightens my chest.
Panting, he glares at me. His expression is a cross between anger, sadness, and something that cuts even deeper—betrayal. His voice cracks. “Prom isn’t happening.”
“What?” I gawk. WTF?
“Jessica… broke up with me,” he stammers in a strangled whisper. “No more tutoring. She and her parents don’t want to have anything to do with… ‘people likeyou.’”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. “People like me?” Dammit, I had a feeling something was wrong.
He shakes his head in disbelief. “You, as in my dads… mygaydads,Papa.”
“Jeremy, I’m so sorry.” I replay Friday’s exchange. Guess we misinterpreted when Laura said she was glad to meet us. “That’s awful.”
“Awful?” he snaps, his voice rising. “Are youfuckingkidding me?” I don’t interrupt. “They consider my parents an abomination… freaks… and they… they…shehates me because ofyou.”
I swallow hard, searching for the right words. Maybe we should have advised him to give Jessica a heads-up, but why should we be held accountable? “Jeremy, we can’t control what other people think or say. Jessica’s parents?—”
He cuts me off, his eyes blazing with fury. “It’s not fucking fair,Papa! We love each other. Why do you have to be so… so…” He trails off. “I just want to be normal,” he mutters to himself.
