Page 19 of The Men of Summer
“Hey, y’all,” I call out, hesitant to rise to greet them. Expecting the new normal version of my son, I stay put. My eyes widen even more when I hear laughter and jokes being shared, as well as the telltale thump of backpacks being dropped by the staircase.
Damn, I love my son!
Watching them from the corner of my eye, I pretend to be otherwise occupied with my phone. He saunters straight to the kitchen, adjacent to the living room, with his friends close behind.
My shock increases when he acknowledges me. “Hey, Father.” That’s a first! He hasn’t directly spoken to me in weeks.Per usual, Emily and Liam greet me timidly, although we’ve known each other for more than a decade. Both pat Dixie on the back. She makes cute piggy noises to express her happiness at the attention… Jeremy joins in, scratching the top of her head, which she loves. She snorts. “Helllooo, you. I’ve missed you sooo much… I’m so sorry I was rude to you.” But not to me…
Okay, then.
My jaw nearly drops, but I catch myself. Proud, Dixie prances to look out the kitchen’s French doors now that she’s had her fill of TLC. Once he’s washed his hands, Jeremy grabs some sparkling water from the fridge, tossing a small bottle to each of them. Liam doesn’t think this through, twists the cap, and jumps backwards when it erupts all over his T-shirt. He bumps into Em’, causing her to splash her drink across her chin and shirt. “Seriously, Liam! Again?” the brunette squeals, and I bite back a grin. He’s the clumsiest person I’ve ever met, while she’s the brainiest. I like to think that Jeremy is the link between them. They all burst out laughing again. I take that as a good sign.
“How was school?” I venture, hopping up from the sofa to release Dixie—and then to hopefully be near my son without him fleeing.
“School was uneventful. You know nothing ever happens in June!” This is the longest exchange we’ve had in a couple of months. Baffled, I put on my best poker face. “Well, except prom…”
Curious, I lean against the marble island. “Oh yeah?” I recall him swearing that he wasn’t going to set foot at prom. “What about it?”
“Well…” Jeremy guffaws, shaking his head. “Jessica kinda ruined it for me.” It’s the first time he’s uttered her name since the breakup.
Liam voices his approval after gulping some water. “Yeah, prom’s corny as hell, you know? All hype.” This tells me that Liam doesn’t have a date, unless he plans on taking Em’?
“Corny isn’t our thing, right?” Her gaze flicks their way, then to me.
I raise an eyebrow, taking them in. “So, what’s the plan then? Prom isn’t for everyone, I get it. You should do what makes you happy…” I hesitate. “But it’s also?—”
Jeremy snickers, cuts me off, and mimics words he’s heard countless times: “A rite of passage, and rites are important…” I grunt at his borderline mocking tone. “I know that, Father. You didn’t want to go, but Mom insisted, and you’re glad you did.” My shoulders unwind. The mention of his mom sounded painless, unlike last time.
With one shoulder resting on the doorframe, Zayn doesn’t interrupt. How long has he been observing us? Not sure what he’s caught so far, but he didn’t face this decision anyway: French proms are a recent phenomenon.
“I agree with you, Father. Rite of passage and all that. We’re gonna make our own memories.”
Zayn smiles, surely understanding their perspective. “That sounds like a solid plan. Just make sure whatever you do, you stay safe and have a good time.”
Hugging me, Jeremy grins, a tad too wickedly to my taste, unless I’m imagining things. “Thanks. I knew you’d get it.” Then, he strolls to hug his dad and turns to Liam and Em’, raising his water bottle in a mock toast. Silly selfies ensue. Grimacing. Gawking. Giggling. “To non-traditional traditions!”
Is everything back to normal then?
***
Tongue lolling from her mouth, our exhausted dog recovers by the French doors. Zayn and I just got back from walkingher for an hour after enjoying an early Saturday breakfast. I’m sitting at the end of the kitchen island.
Freshly showered, I can focus on work—if I can tune out her snores. Immersed in the lyrics for Twist of Fate’s next single, I’m frowning, thinking hard, and sipping on my third cup of coffee. The love of my life breaks my trance when he jumps from the high stool, grabs his current read and steaming coffee, then rounds my chair. In a flash, his breath fans across the side of my neck, and a kiss follows.
Such a simple action, yet pure bliss.
I shiver, amused that he can be so mindlessly sweet when he’s about to pick up where he left off with Franck Thilliez’s latest book, which is sure to be filled with fifty shades of darkness. Granted, seeing him make disgusted faces as he reads the French author is entertaining.
Footsteps indicate that the prodigal son has finally risen from his post-prom slumber. My lips stretch into a content grin; our bedrooms being on opposite sides of the house is a perk for so many reasons, especially when he returns in the wee hours of the morning.
Hiding his eyes behind a hand, Jeremy teases us for our PDA— “Gross!”—making my man halt. In ripped jeans and my ancient Soundgarden T-shirt, he yawns, jutting his head in Dixie’s direction. Eyes laced with humor, he lets her be for now, grinning at her sleepy grunts. His hair’s a damp mess of tangled curls, indicating that he had the bright idea to shower. “Morning, Dads.”Not quite morning anymore, but who am I to split hairs?His hoarse voice insinuates that he either had too much to drink or screamed too much last night. Fearing the former, I’m glad that Em’ was their DD.
“How was prom?” In the blink of an eye, his face flushes at Zayn’s question. Standing nearby, my boyfriend shoots me a sidelong glance.
Ignoring us, our teenager walks over and snatches a banana from the counter along with a cereal bowl. He hums a tune that I can’t place, his head bouncing from side to side. He hesitates, peels the banana, then cuts it into small pieces. We know better than to push him.
Eventually, Jeremy clears his throat, rubs the back of his neck, then blurts out, averting his gaze, “Interestiiiing…” Fascinated by his late breakfast prep, he busies himself. Yogurt. A peach. Granola. A drizzle of honey.
“Care to elaborate?” I set down my coffee, pointedly staring until he looks up. I cage his brown eyes with mine.
