Page 3 of Avalanche
My thumb presses dial. Mom answers on the first ring.
“Seth! You called!”
There’s a rustling sound and then, more muffled, “Pete—no, turn that off, it’s only the news. No one wants to watch that. It’s Seth. Your son, remember?”
Dad makes some response that I don’t catch. I can’t help but smile, a real smile that has my cheeks hurting.
Mom must take her hand off the receiver, because there’s another loud crackle and then, “How are you doing? You’ve been busy right? I think that’s what your last text said—something about it being the busy season right now? I hope you’re eating enough…”
“Hey Mom, Dad. Yeah, I’m good.”
I rub at my throat, my feet moving without any real thought, taking me from the kitchen to the hallway, then back to the living room again.
“Work has been insane,” I continue, the words a rambling rush. Sound to fill the space while I work up the courage to tell her what I really want to say. “No one’s had a day off since Christmas. But it should calm down in a week or so, apparently. Once all the kids go back to school. I’ve had it easier than the other guys—they’re all working until like seven each night.”
“The other guys? Those are your roommates, right? I think you said you had five of them?”
“Yep. Five.” I clear my throat. “Four guys and one girl. Lily.”
I take a deep breath, but it does nothing to stop the squeezing feeling in my chest, the breathless constriction strangling my lungs. My hand trembles, fingers flexing around my phone.
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to tell you. My roommates. We’re… um… well…” I plaster on a smile, even though she can’t see it. Like maybe if I smile it will be enough to chase away the pure terror that’s risen up at the thought of telling my parents about this. Telling them about the girl I’ve fallen for and the guys who feel like family. About this incredible, terrifying thing growing between the six of us. About our plans for the off-season.
“I met someone.”
“So, New Zealand.” Dad’s voice is full of careful cheerfulness, but I can hear papers rusting in the background—the familiar sound of him nervously flipping through a case file or some notebook. “That sounds like an adventure.” He clears his throat, then adds with sheepishness that always precedes a dad joke: “If you need help filling out the paperwork for a work visa, I know a good lawyer.”
I snort out a laugh, shaking my head. “Seriously?” I plop down on the couch, my legs suddenly feeling weak. “I tell you I’m dating five people and your response is to offer to help me fill out paperwork?”
I smile into the empty silence of the living room, an almost frantic explosion of joy burning behind my ribs. My eyes sting and I swipe at them with the back of my hand, then pull my knees up to my chest.
“Well.” Another cleared throat. “I mean, you’re happy, right? And these people, they’re good people?”
I nod furiously in response then let out a croaked: “Yeah.”
“Well, that’s all that matters.”
I bite my lower lip, brow dipping at the sound of sniffles coming over the line.
“Are you… is Mom crying?”
Mom lets out a choked sound, some inarticulate response to my question. I scrub at my face, not sure whether to be worried or laugh.
“I’m just so happy,” she cries. There’s a loud rustling noise, then a muffled: “No, it’s my turn to have the phone, Pete.”
“It’s on speaker dear, you don’t need to hold it… Oh, fine.”
Mom gives another loud sniffle, then, voice noticeably louder: “After you broke up with Claudia I thought that was it. We’d never have grandkids. She told us you were asexual. And you know, you’d just make such a good dad. I mean, when you’re ready. We’re not rushing you. But you’ll be thirty soon…”
I stare in horrified silence at the wall of beer cans, my cheeks burning at my mom’s words.
“This Lily, does she want to have kids?” Mom asks. Then, before I can even start to contemplate an answer: “I’ll be the best grandma. I promise. I’ve started knitting—well, I knit a scarf the other day, but I’m going to try a sweater next. Are you planning on bringing her to Canada for a visit? You could come before you go to New Zealand, you know. We’ll pay for it. For all of you guys. No, don’t give me that look, Pete, it’s just six plane tickets. This is the future mother of our grandchildren. I’m meeting her.”
“Mom,” I groan, dropping my forehead to my knees.
“Penelope,” Dad chides.
“Mom,” I say again, mind racing as I think of what I can possibly say in response to Mom’s outburst. “I’m twenty-one. That’s not even close to thirty.”
