From the Ashes (26 page)

“Yeah, right.” Jesse’s words were a sneer and a
fuck you
all rolled together, and he didn’t care if he hurt her. “I bet Dad would love that.”

On the other end of the line, he heard a small gasp. His shot had hit the mark. “Your father doesn’t live here anymore.”

Woah.
Jesse stopped where he’d been pacing. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how he felt—whether he was angry at his dad or sympathetic toward his mom or what. All that registered was surprise. “Oh.”

His mom didn’t say anything, leaving Jesse to twist in the wind with his feelings. He imagined his mother living alone in their big, drafty house. Funny, but he’d never given much thought to what had happened to his parents after he left. He’d imagined they’d stayed crystallized exactly as they were forever.

Looking around his and Tomas’s house, at their new bed and the throw pillows they’d gotten at Target to match the loveseat, Jesse realized things could change pretty fast.

“So, uh, you’re divorced?” He hoped they hadn’t broken up over him, but of course they had.

“Separated,” she said. “But I don’t want to talk about it now. Maybe when we see each other.”

Okay, now he really didn’t think he could get out of it. Much as he was pissed at his mom, Jesse felt sorry for her. Maybe he’d been selfish for never bothering to call once he’d left.

“I can’t do Christmas. I promised I’d be with Tomas’s family.” Jesse wondered if that made him a traitor.

“Oh,” his mom sighed. “That’s your…friend?”

“Yes.” Jesse rolled his eyes. “My boyfriend.”

“Well, if you want to come back some other time…” Her voice quivered, and then broke. “You should bring him. I’ll…I’ll make chicken pot pie.”

Jesse’s eyes welled up with tears. “You don’t play fair, Mom.” Tomas was an okay cook, and his mother was excellent, but the flavors and textures were different from what he’d grown up with. Even the turkey on Thanksgiving had tasted unfamiliar.

She chuckled wetly. “Well, it’s a long way. I don’t expect you to come here for nothing.”

“I’ll think about it, okay? I’m not sure I can get the time off.”

“Okay,” his mom said. “Whenever you want. It doesn’t have to be Christmas. And…” She paused. “Maybe I can fly out and see you after the New Year.”

“No.” The idea of his mother showing up at Speedy Coffee, or Tomas’s house, or in one of his classes, was too terrifying to consider. “I’ll come out. Um, maybe the day after Christmas?”

This was all happening too fast, and Jesse needed to grab on to something to keep himself safe. So he added, “I’ll have to bring my dog too.”

His mom thwarted his efforts to get out of the visit by chirping, “Oh, that’s fine. You know I love pets.”

“I can’t believe all this snow, man.” Tomas tried to make conversation. “Good thing I’ve got four-wheel drive.” They’d been driving four hours already, and Jesse’s miserable mood had Tomas wanting to turn the truck around.

“Yeah.” Jesse stared outside at the landscape of flat, gray fields. “I miss it, kind of.” He rolled down the window so cold air flooded the truck’s cab. “The snow, I mean. I thought maybe we’d get some at Christmas.”

“Oh, be glad we didn’t.” The worst thing about snow in Seattle was all the car accidents. They were almost never fatal—just Chevies and minivans that slipped on the city’s steep side roads and ran into nearby cars. More damage to property than anything else. Tomas always had to work overtime. “Seattle types don’t know how to drive in the snow.”

Jesse turned to him for the first time in a while. Shadows hung dark under his eyes, but he was smiling. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Tomas poked him in the side. “Hey, you could have driven if you wanted.”

“Nah.” Jesse smirked. “It’s more fun to watch you struggle.”

Snow covered the flat plains outside, but as they drove farther, hills lifted and dipped in the distance.

“We’re getting close.” Jesse pulled a leg under him, shifting Chardonnay’s bulk to accommodate his new position.

Tomas hated how nervous Jesse looked. “Hey, it’s gonna be fine.” He put a hand on Jesse’s knee and squeezed.

“You’ll drive me back if I want, right?” Jesse took his hand, holding tight.

The car smelled like wet dog, and the cup holders were all filled with coffee.

Hero he might be, but Tomas was not going to drive over the mountains again until he got a night of sleep. “If it doesn’t work out, we’ll stay at a hotel, okay? I’ll pay.”

Jesse smiled. “Okay. I’ll buy the drinks.”

The house was just like Jesse remembered. Same white porch, same porch swing with a two-foot shelf of snow on the seat. The screen door seemed to mock him, daring him to pull it open and hear that ominous creak.

He’d hated that sound when he’d lived there. Every day, Jesse had inched open the door, knowing his mom—and his dad, if he was home—had heard him come in. After the thing with Bobby, they’d never bothered to say hello.

“You ready?” Tomas’s work boots made a crunching sound as he hopped out onto the snow. He led Chardonnay across the seat to jump out on his side.

She was freshly bathed and wearing a doggie sweater in size XXL. Of course, the first thing she did was lie down on the driveway and roll around, trying to scrape the sweater off her back.

The inner door opened, and his mom appeared behind the screen. She wore loose jeans and a Christmas sweater. With her brown hair streaked through with gray, she looked older than he remembered. Or maybe it was Jesse who’d aged.

“Mom.” His chest tightened, as if he were a second from crying.

“Hi.” Tomas saved Jesse from the awkward moment by giving Jesse’s mom a friendly wave. “I’m Tomas. And this is Chardonnay.”

His mom’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s her name?”

Jesse stomped over. “She was my old landlords’ dog. They named her.” He took the leash and stood there on the porch, nudging snow with the toe of his shoe. He’d forgotten what it was like to be really cold. It bit at his skin.

“Oh. Well, she’s a beautiful girl.” His mom opened the screen door and reached through to Chardonnay’s muzzle. “Aren’t you? Aren’t you a pretty girl?” She scrubbed Char’s face, getting a handful of slobber for her trouble. Wiping her hand on her jeans, she darted her gaze at Jesse.

He could tell she wanted to do something. Hug him, maybe? Pat his shoulder? She settled for reaching out and squeezing his arm. “Jesse.” With shaking fingers, she brushed the wetness from under her eyes. “I’m so glad you came.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Thanks for doing this.” Jesse fiddled with the tablecloth, but then noticed he was doing it and laid his hands flat on the table to stop his fidgeting.

The table was set with his grandmother’s silver and some plates he didn’t recognize. He didn’t want to ask whether Dad had taken the other set when he left.

“It smells delicious,” Tomas said, ever the momma’s boy.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I used to make this all the time when Jesse was a little boy.” His mother set down the chicken pot pie and serving knife. “Do you want to do it?” Handle turned out, she offered the knife to Jesse.

“Sure.” That had always been his father’s job when they’d been seated around the table. Jesse tried to ignore the twinge of fear that his dad was going to burst in and ask for his knife back.

He pressed through the flakey crust, then took his mom’s dish and served her first.

“Oh, I can wait. Give it to…” She paused, and Jesse knew she was about to say
your friend
. His mom recovered, though, and said, “Let Tomas have the first piece. He’s the guest.” She handed the plate to Tomas, who set it in front of him.

Jesse wanted to ask about his dad. Did he know Jesse was in town?

“Anyone else coming over?” Tomas asked, as if he’d read Jesse’s mind.

“Um…” His mom picked up a fork. She took a quick breath and then rushed to say, “Well, your father may stop by later.”

Shit.
His father knew where he was. Oh hell, he could walk in any second. Panicking, Jesse struggled not to raise his voice. “Why, so he can yell at me?”

“No,” she said quietly. “I told him I wouldn’t let him see you unless he could promise to be nice.” Primly, and with shaking hands, she ate a bite of pie.

Jesse didn’t know what to say, so he copied her. Slowly, the flavor unfolded in his mouth—rich and sweet and thick. He was back at the kitchen table and eight years old, wet from snow, with his mom feeding him dinner before his dad came home.

Rosemary from the garden, the crust grandma had taught him to make once, even though his dad had grumbled he should have been playing outside instead. Jesse sniffed. He wiped a hand across his face, trying to shove back his emotions.

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry. Maybe I should have told him not to come. I’m so sorry.” She patted the back of his hand quickly. It was her way not to touch too long and to keep what she was thinking close to her chest. “I just thought… Well, I thought maybe it would do you both good.”

“No.” He cleared his throat and pressed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “No, it’s okay.” His mom looked even more upset than he was, so he tried to make her feel better. “The pie’s great, by the way.”

She looked down, hiding tears of her own. “I should give you the recipe. It’s too much bother to make when it’s just me.” She took a sip of water. “But I suppose as you’re two bachelors, you probably don’t—” His mother stopped short, her face red and embarrassed. “I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s cool.” Jesse gave her a smile. He held it long enough that she’d know he meant it. “I understand.”

A knock sounded at the door, too loud to be a solicitor. Tensed from the tips of his hair all the way to his toenails, Jesse listened. Whoever was outside opened the door without waiting for it to be answered.

“Oh for Pete’s sake.” Jesse’s mom pushed out of her chair with some difficulty. She’d been almost forty by the time she had Jesse, and her mobility wasn’t great.

“It’s okay.” Jesse didn’t want to make her face his father alone, so he got out of his chair. “Don’t stand up, Mom. I’ll go.”

Jesse stepped into the hall to find his father in the entrance.

He blanched when he saw Jesse. “Oh, hi.” Advancing a step, he kicked the snow off his shoes. “Your mother told me you’d be here.”

“Yeah.” Jesse cleared his throat. “Visiting Mom for Christmas.” He stepped to the side, not wanting to get in his father’s way. “How are you?”

His father didn’t seem able to form words. His mouth moved, but nothing came out. In the end, he nodded.

“I’m doing fine,” Jesse continued as if his father had asked. He sounded bratty but didn’t care. “School’s going great.”

“Oh. Well, good.” His father crossed into the living room and rifled through the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a scotch. “You’re going to UW, then?” he asked with his back turned.

“Yeah.” Jesse tried to come up with something to say, maybe good grades he could flaunt to make his life sound more impressive. He hadn’t gotten his report card yet though, and telling his dad he rocked midterms was just too pathetic.

If only he had the balls to pour himself a drink too.

Chairs scraped in the dining room, and Jesse breathed a sigh of relief that his mom and Tomas would come in and save him from trying to make conversation.

“Evan.” Tension radiated off her as Jesse’s mom came into the living room. “Merry Christmas.”

Tomas joined them, like a calming force that made everything seem better. Jesse wondered if his mother got that vibe from Tomas too.

“Hello, Mr. Smith.” Tomas’s voice was low and soothing, warm despite the chilly atmosphere in the room.

“Oh. Um, Tomas is…” Jesse’s mom looked back and forth from his dad to Tomas. She wrung her hands, obviously panicking at having to explain who Tomas was. “He came out from Seattle with Jesse.”

His father finished his drink in one swallow. “A friend of yours?” he asked Jesse. It wasn’t a question, though, because Jesse was sure his dad knew the answer. No, his dad was giving Jesse a warning. Telling him he should lie.

“No.” Jesse crossed his arms and pushed out his hip, mimicking the way Michael stood when he was about to tell someone off. “He’s my boyfriend.”

“Pfft.” His father spit out a sarcastic laugh. Under his breath, he muttered, “Great. And I thought the last one was a piece of work.”

Jesse’s hands curled into fists. He was sick of his father’s elitist crap as much as all the homophobic shit. His dad worked at a university. He was a professor of physics, for fuck’s sake. Something logical. He had no right to be closed-minded. “He’s a firefighter. And I don’t care what you think.”

“And you’re okay with this?” His father rounded on Jesse’s mom. He glared at her with as much disgust as he used when looking at Jesse. “Inviting him into our house?”

His mom trembled but didn’t back down. “You don’t live here anymore, Evan.” Touching Jesse’s arm, she added, “And Jesse’s welcome to visit whenever he likes.”

His dad flushed purple, all the way up from his collar. “I never wanted kids anyway.”

Jesse’d known his parents hadn’t been sure and that’s why they’d waited so long to have him, but he’d never known the exact nature of their disagreement. Suddenly his mom’s kowtowing made more sense. Hell, a lot of things from his childhood made more sense.