Page 18 of The Men of Summer
“Jeremy, we are normal. Our family is normal. We just… we happen to be different from theirs, but that doesn’t make us any less.”
“It does to them!” he shouts. “Jessica said she can’t be with someone who has two dads.” His words hang in the air. Troubling. Painful. Unfair.
“Jeremy, I know this is hard, but you can’t let other people’s prejudices define who you are or how you feel about yourself. Or us.”
He stares at me, tears streaming down his face. “I love both of you, trust me. But right now, I just... I don’t know. I don’t know how to deal with this.”
This time, I close the distance between us and pull him into a hug. He resists at first, then collapses against me, sobbing into my shoulder. “We’ll get through this, Jeremy. Together. It’s not fair, and it’s not right, but we’ll get through it.”
He clings to me, his anger slowly giving way to grief. “I just wanted her to likeme… for me, not hate me because of you two.”
“I know you did,” I say softly, rubbing his back. “And I’m so sorry.”
We stay there for a long time, the house silent except for the sound of his sobs. I wish Dante were here so we could deal with this issue together. But he’s not. So, no matter how powerless I feel to console our son, I hold him tightly to convey that, no matter what, he is loved.
When there are no more tears to shed, he bolts out of my embrace, searches his desk drawers, and retrieves a pair of scissors and a picture of his mom holding him. I’ve never seen this picture before. I guess Eva’s sister, Rita—Elsie’s mother—must have given it to him when we were on vacation in Seaside.Baby Jeremy looks only a few months old. Before I know it, he raises the scissors to picture level, and I panic, thinking he’ll cut it to shreds, and yell, “Don’t!”
Shooting daggers my way, Jeremy halts, puts everything on his desk, then hurriedly scratches the upper right corner with the tip of the scissors. Elsie is unrecognizable. Erased. Ghosted.
With his eyes on the ruined picture, he screams, “I hate you… It’s all your fault.Youdid this to me!”
I’m speechless. Helpless. Powerless as he screams at the top of his lungs before flopping on the bed face down.
“Why, Mom?”
CHAPTER 12
WRECKAGE
Dante
The sweet girlfriend, turned bigoted ex debacle hit us hard. Prior to The Sullivan incident, we’d been a united front.
Jeremy’s mercurial mood and shattered heart disrupted our family’s equilibrium. A confused Dixie sensed something was off and stayed away from the brooding, closed-off, and irritable teenager for weeks, opting to spend hours outside chasing rabbits.
We showed support. We gave room. We demonstrated patience. To no avail. Our helplessness made us question our skills as parents. By blaming his mother, Jeremy indirectly blamed us; supposedly, things wouldn’t have gone sideways with so-called “normal parents.” Bullshit! If it weren’t for our sexual orientation, they would’ve found another reason: skin color, assumed religion…
Thankfully, despite the difficulties, some things remained stable: Jeremy’s grades, our conviction that “normal couples”—as our son so subtly put it—have to deal with the “I hate both of you” and “You don’t get it, you never do” teenager complaints, and last, but not least, our powerful support system near and far.
Without betraying too much about Jeremy’s struggle, I extensively discussed how to raise kids with my mom. Granted, it was a little late for such advice, but her feedback about my own teenage years gave me food for thought. “Give it time,” Tricia had said. “He has to process his first heartbreak on his own,” Sully had said. “A change of scenery will be beneficial for your son; send him over to Italy,” Farah had said…
Italy was the plan, followed by an August family trip to the Dominican Republic to see my relatives, especially my dearestabuela,who wasn’t getting any younger. We could only hope it’d cheer him up before heading to college to study engineering at Berkeley—where Jessica Sullivan wasn’t accepted anyway—in the fall. Maybe living in the dorms will help him to clear his mind.
He’s been too reclusive to keep in touch with Sully’s daughter. Back in the day, their unlikely connection was endearing. He’s been ghosting her for months, though, and she’s understandably upset. I’m guessing their five-year age difference is a mental roadblock for him, but why not tell her? Surely, I wasn’t going to broach the subject with him in his current state.
To channel my bottomless anger and frustration, I asked my personal trainer to ramp up my workout routine. Holy shit! I’m fucking sore all the time. It’s my favorite kind of soreness… Trust me, Zayn and I embrace our horny activities with pride, and I’ll never complain aboutthatache.
I would advise Jeremy to get back on the saddle, but we’re not the meddling kind. Since the shit hit the fan, we’ve been weathering rough seas without land in sight.
Wait and see… So here I am…
Waiting…
… For the ache in my muscles to subside after my morning session, since the long shower and magnesium tablets have beenuseless so far. Hence, I’m sprawled on the massive living room sofa, drinking gallons of water and answering fan posts on social media wondering when my next album will be released.Neverisn’t a suitable answer, but someday won’t do either. I end up redirecting them to the latest artist I discovered and whose first album I produced.
… For Zayn to return from his weekly creative writing seminar. The urge struck after publishing two acclaimed IT-based thrillers. Imposter syndrome grew, and he felt compelled to confirm he was doing things right, as if there was one way to craft a novel. Anyway, he’s having a blast like I am with my songwriting and producing gigs. Actually, I’m surprised that my diligent boyfriend didn’t take the class before starting his first draft, but let’s not delve into that.
… For Jeremy to text me saying he’ll be home late yet again. But then again, the kid is full of surprises. As if proving my point, my brows spike up when the front door swings open, and animated voices follow. My son walks in with the inseparable duo, lanky Liam and petite Emily. They’ve been friends since their first day of kindergarten! The same goes for my strong friendship with Emily’s mom, Tricia.
