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‘Sure thing,’ the perky young man says, spinning on his heel and heading towards the food and drink table.
‘Why didn’t you sleep?’ Dad asks.
I rub the side of my face, realizing I didn’t even shave this morning; I was that tired. ‘I, uh, ran into Caitlin last night.’
Dad’s eyes go wide. ‘Ouch,’ he says with a grimace. ‘How’d that go?’
I sigh heavily. ‘About as well as you’re picturing. She brought the tool bag, and they have a fucking baby.’ I realize after I’ve said it that I sound incredibly irritated by this. Why? It all happened so long ago.
Dad’s face says it all. I’m not about to tell him the details because those are fuzzy even for me. My heart has told my brain to block it out, but it hasn’t quite happened yet.
‘The whole damn thing played in my head night-terror style while I slept. It was like reliving it all over again.’
He rests his hand on my knee as he used to when I was a teen as he’d prepare to give me some speech he was dreading.
‘Before you say anything, I’m cool.’ I wave his concern away, standing from the bench to wake myself up. I pace a few steps back and forth, pulling my hair into the black elastic band always around my wrist and securing it at the back of my head. ‘I’m completely over it, but momentarily it did feel like a brick was thrown through my sternum with the shock of finally having a run-in with her five years later. I knew it would happen eventually but didn’t expect what I felt when it did.’
‘What did you fee—’
I hold up a hand. ‘Bad things, Dad. Terrible, horrible, really nasty things. I also felt like a freaking loser, so I’m trying to block it out.’
Dad crosses his arms over his chest as he reclines on the bench. ‘You’re not a loser. Caitlin chose the life she did. You probably got lucky.’
‘Maybe,’ I say, not sure luck is a part of that story at all.
‘My lack of sleep was a tad more complicated. I bring life into the world, and currently, those lives are being stubborn as hell. Thanks for asking,’ he says sarcastically, a smirk on his face. His way of changing the subject has always been to talk about work. No guy wants to discuss a woman giving birth beside him.
‘To womankind, you’re kind of like God,’ I joke.
He lifts a shoulder, smirking as if he agrees. ‘Only difference is, I didn’t father the children,’ he laughs.
I scrunch my face at the thought of it. Brand new nightmare material, my dad fathering every baby he delivers. Gross.
‘Is that a wrap?’ Mom asks after they’ve gone through their entire set several times.
‘That’s my line, Mom, and not until I’ve looked at the photos.’
‘Let’s do another shot to celebrate,’ she says, not meaning a photo shot. The four band members gather around their case of Fireball that I will end up with afterward because they’re not exactly the drinkers they once were.
These photos turned out great. I think we even have cover material here. Wow. I may actually finish this documentary on time.
11
JADE
What a night. I lay in bed and thought about everything River and I talked about for a long time last night. Our conversations often seemed to wander into flirtatious zones, but he eventually answered my questions. Now I’m stressing if he’s right about Conner, and I’m just a huge idiot.
Another part of me wonders why he didn’t kiss me that night so long ago. There was a chance we could have been more, but we both missed it. Now I’m curious if it’s still there somewhere. He’s so much fun. I never laugh as much as I do when he’s around. But that feels wrong considering I have a fiancé. Like the time Monica told Chandler a guy at her work was the funniest man she’d ever met and Chandler proceeded to be offended then told every joke he knew. Would Conner be offended that another man makes me laugh? At this point, I doubt it.
This morning, I’m headed to a restaurant in SE Portland called Jam. When Laney and I moved out, my parents created this once-a-month breakfast outing as a family catch-up date. Just the smell of the place reminds me of my mom, and as I drive, I dread walking in to see her missing from our table again.
As usual, nearly every chair is occupied. Jam is always busy, probably because the food is so freaking good. The interior is open, bright, and cheery with mint green walls, a bar counter at one end, tall house plants separating seating areas, giving patrons a bit of privacy, and local artwork covering the walls. The ceilings are high, and all the HVAC, piping, and ceiling joists are visible. I wonder what this place used to be.
‘Jade!’ my sister hollers without shame, waving a hand my way.
They’re sitting near the windows, with cups of steaming coffee in front of them as they scan the menus in their hands. I sit at the chair beside Dad, where a full cup of joe and a menu awaits me.
‘I’m so glad you guys can read my mind,’ I say, pouring sugar and vanilla-flavored creamer into the hot black liquid before me. As I stir, I glance through the menu. Seconds after the first sip of bean juice, our waitress arrives, taking our orders.
