4 Meadowlark (O Happy Bird!)
Jensen's not sure what he expected, probably some dreary little box smelling of Pine-sol and gym socks, with grey, unfinished wood floors and milk crate furniture, something like a cross between a dorm room and a hovel. With maybe a sketchy, nose-rubbing, sniffling roommate. Instead, it's nice; an average two-bedroom apartment, just like his and Jeanette's first place. Jared's front door opens into the living room, and tilting his head, Jensen can see an open doorway into the kitchen, the corner of a 1950s style, enamel-top table visible.
"Come in, come in," Jared crows. As soon as Jensen steps inside he smells sandalwood incense, and he smiles. Memories of college days..
Jared points at a hall tree. "Coats," he says, then points at a shelf on the floor next to it. "Shoes." He swirls around and points at two directors' chairs facing an afghan-covered futon holding down an orange shag rug. There's also an oversized leopard print bean bag, big enough for two people to sit snugly, next to a wide bookcase holding a decent size TV and stereo setup, and tons of books. Jared waits while Jensen hangs his coat and slides off his moccasins.
"Come sit here with me." Jared's patting the backs of the director's chairs. He sounds…proud. Happy.
Jensen grins at him. Everything about the apartment appeals to his designer's eye. The vibrant colors-apple green, royal blue, a touch of orange here and there, the arrangement of furniture and art. It's obviously low budget, but beautifully put together, with a great eye for style, color, and balance. Jensen's impressed. Over the futon are framed movie posters: Willie Wonka, A Clockwork Orange. Jared notices Jensen noticing, and says, "Zack's got a friend who works at the Midtown, they usually let him take the posters."
It really hasn't been that long since college. Jensen feels a little stab of jealousy at the coolness of the posters. They would have looked great on his dorm wall. Snickering at CollegeJensen's envy, he follows Jared through the living room and into a short hallway.
"Bath and bedrooms-mine is the one with the Warhol print on the door."
Jensen looks and is surprised that it's not soup cans or Marilyn. Instead, it's a pen and ink print of a single, sexy high heel.
"And that door leads to the bathroom if you need it," Jared says, and points to the door at the end of the short hallway. He smiles at Jensen, radiating the pride he has in his comfortable space. Leading Jensen back into the kitchen, Jared takes a few items out of the fridge and from the cabinets next to it. He gestures for Jensen to take a seat at the kitchen table while he spreads a few radishes, some carrots and chunks of pepperoni and cheese on a cutting board.
"Hey, JP." There's a cute kid, brown-skinned, a little chubby, standing in the doorway behind Jensen. peering out from under a mop of black, thick curls. He looks like a student, wearing worn bell bottoms and a wash-worn R. Crumb T-shirt. He's even got a backpack made of old blue jeans, like some hippy throwback, hanging from his shoulder. His grin is friendly, but his doe eyes are laser-focused on Jensen.
"Zack," Jared says, beaming at the kid, "This is my friend, Jensen." There's no mistaking the emphasis Jared puts on his name, it makes Jensen feel ridiculous…and also pleased.
Zack nods, still faintly smiling but now looking even harder at Jensen. Jared catches his expression and laughs, hands up in the 'stand down' position. "No! Really a friend, my very best friend. I've talked to you about him."
"Oh! Jensen! Yeah, hi!" Zack's face completely changes, his smile goes wide, rounding out his cheeks which flush faintly red. He bobs his head and his thick curly hair bobs with the motion. He looks really pleased to see Jensen now. Jensen, though, is still lost in 'best friend'. He's Jared's best friend? Well, good...because he guesses that Jared is his best friend too.
Zack leaves shortly after-he's got a date, or as Jared says, "Yeah, it's less a date and more like an extended hookup." He also tells Jensen that Zack's cold reception was because he was probably worried that Jared had broken the most important house rule-no business in the apartment.
Jensen nods, even though he feels a sharp stab at being reminded again about Jared's job. Still, they're friends, best friends even, right? Jared is fine, apparently doing well, and it's none of Jensen's business.
"Zack knows? He's okay with it?"
Jared stops chopping veggies and says, "Yes, and yes. Believe it or not, the world is different outside the suburbs, darling. Hangups about sex and shit, that's for old people in their little tract houses and their narrow little minds to worry about. Me and mine, we're different;" He stops, points the knife at Jensen. "We are the future, baby."
"Right." Jensen swallows. "Okay, I'm sorry. You know it doesn't matter to me how you pay the bills."
Jared snorts. Grabs a head of lettuce and rips it apart in a way that makes Jensen cringe away from the table.
Jared notices and rolls his eyes. He drops the sadly shredded head into a salad spinner and gives Jensen a sideways smile. He holds his hand up with pointer and thumb almost touching. "Maybe a little bit, though?" But that sideways smirk blooms into a full, dimpled smile as he says it, and Jensen laughs softly.
"Okay. Maybe a tiny, tiny bit. Part of it is worry for you, you know. I get that you can take care of yourself-I just can't help but worry. There are some real nut-jobs out there."
"I'm as safe as I can possibly be. Chad makes sure to weed the nutjobs out, and I make sure I never have to show up at a clinic to drop my drawers and lean over an exam table."
Jensen blinks, blinks again and says, "Oh. Okay, then. G-Good."
Jared winks at him and then swirls around the kitchen, setting out their plates and glasses. He plops the big wooden bowl he's filled with salad on the table, along with a bright orange plate covered with cut veggies and chunks of cheese and pepperoni. He pours them both iced tea and gives a graceful curtsey. Lunch is served.
After lunch is cleared away, Jensen helps Jared wash and put the dishes away.
"It's just polite not to stick your roommate with them," he says, and earns a huge smile from Jared for it.
Zack comes back as they finish with the dishes, and he wants to watch TV, so Jared grabs Jensen's sleeve and pulls him into his bedroom. This is Jared's personal, private place, and Jensen stops to take it all in. His first impression is how this is just so . . . Jared.
In one corner, there's an old wooden dresser painted a bright yellow, topped with a really big mirror. It's something someone's granny would have owned, nothing at all like the sleek, Danish modern furniture Jeanette picked out for their little home. Jared has turned it into a showstopper-the bright yellow paint and black trim gives it a hint of chinoiserie. The stylized poppy material hanging on the wall behind it makes it pop.
Jensen takes mental notes, like how that dresser would be an amazing piece to showcase a new line of jewelry and scents the store is pushing. He loves how the mirror's draped with bright scarves and boas that nicely complement it. There's nothing that looks messy or out of place anywhere, except for the massive makeup case sitting on top of the dresser. The thing is the size of a deep-sea fisherman's tackle box and covered with stickers and pictures Jared must have glued to it.
Everywhere there are bits of Jared that he's managed to tuck in any available space: boots stacked in painted fruit crates in the corner, an extra clothes rod near the bed hidden behind a rattan screen, dripping with clothes. It smells good in the room, too, a mix of floral and earthy scents. It's chaotic, but also not. There's a rhyme and reason to all the colors, shapes. Jensen sighs; Jared's cobbled together bedroom feels homier than his own.
Jared puts a few of his things away, then they sit on Jared's bed, a surprisingly big thing covered by a thin, Indian print spread. They're talking about books, specifically the one Jared's taken from the bookshelf that takes up one wall, something about dragons and world-building that Jared wants to lend him.
Jared tells him with that hint of pride he'd shown earlier that the bookshelf was the first thing he'd bought when he'd started making real money, enough that he can sock most of it away because damn it, he's got plans. But he's not stingy with himself either, he tells Jensen.
.
Jensen likes that and tells Jared, "It's good to treat yourself well, look out after yourself-no one else will. People only want one thing from you and that's everything, they don't want to give anything in return. Except for the rare person who has a really good heart. A person like you."
Instead of being flattered, which frankly, he'd hoped Jared would feel, Jared swipes at the air and huffs in irritation. "Oh please, Miss Thing! What a dark and fatalistic view of the world! I mean, lord, I'm a gay man in this world, and I swear I have a more positive outlook on life than you!"
Jensen shakes his head, smiling wryly. "Well, that's because you're not really looking at the world, Jared. It's 'bounce around like Tigger' all the time for you, like you're too busy vibrating to see it," Jensen says. It's meant as a joke, a tease, but as he hears himself, it sounds like an attack, which god, he doesn't mean it that way at all. Jared takes it wrong though, and Jensen can't really blame him.
"I'm not seeing the world? Are you crazy? Not seeing the world where you can say or do what you want, kiss your Jeanette anywhere, walk hand in hand down the street with her, say out loud and have it be legally recognized,' this is my precious wife, I love her so much '-but me? Me? I run the real risk of dying just for hugging a man on the street. You have no idea what it's like, with your simple life and your boring little problems with your wife. God," Jared snaps and flings the book away. "You have no fucking idea."
Jared's outburst shocks the hell out of Jensen. This is not the bubbly, happy-go-lucky kid he thought he knew. The story he'd built up in his head about the hooker with a heart of gold and a bouncy, can-do attitude, doesn't jibe with this different, bitter, angry man. All of a sudden, Jensen sees Jared truly as a real person, not a cardboard cut-out. On the heels of being shocked by reality, he's horrified at himself. He was basically denying Jared's truth; he'd painted a one-dimensional picture of a Jared who lived to make Jensen happy. On top of that, Jensen had the nerve to be disappointed in Jared for not being that sham. Fuck, he's so disgusted with himself.
"Jared, jezus, I'm so sorry. You probably think I have no idea, but I do know how you feel-"
"No! No speaking," Jared breaks in, hands out to silence Jensen, and Jensen clamps his jaws together. "I wasn't born on a street corner, Jensen. I had a happy, picture-perfect, fucking June and Ward Cleaver suburban family life. Until they found out their little boy was a pervert."
"They threw you out?" Of course they did, the bastards. How many damn awful stories started just that way in this city?
Jared smirked, and leaned back against the headboard. "Oh god no, not them, they'd never do something so unseemly. Make the neighbors talk. They didn't kick me out, or lift a hand to me, or raise their voices, never. They just made my life unbearable. They made me invisible. They made me wish I was dead. So, eventually I stole some money and I left. I stole from my parents," Jared laughs, and tears finally break, rolling over his cheeks. "I bet the whole neighborhood felt sorry for them, so mistreated by their demonic fag of a son. So please do me a favor and don't tell me you know how I feel, okay?"
Jared scrubs his arm over his face and then just sits there, breathing heavily, clearly struggling to regain control. Jensen desperately wants to hold him but he's afraid to make a move.
"Anyway," Jared says. "It's not all bad, okay? I don't want you to think that it's all been horrible. I mean, I could have done without all those nights in the street, especially those first few nights when I didn't know shit, but I have a goal. I'm not planning to keep doing this. I'm going to school, right?"
"And doing so good Jared. I'm so fucking proud of you. You're going to make a great…whatever you want to be," Jensen finished weakly.
"Oh, thanks for your support, 'whatever you want to be'," Jared huffs out a damp little laugh, but he's smiling, and smacks Jensen on the arm, rolling his eyes. "Yeah...this is probably going to sound dumb, but you know the windows on the strip? Macy's, Gimbels-I want to be a part of making them look amazing."
"Oh…that's what I do. I'm assistant manager of Gyre's Bros Display Department." He expects Jared to jump on it, insisting that he help Jared get in, but he doesn't. His eyes go wide, he makes a small noise but just smiles, and changes the subject, and Jensen lets him.
"Jen, are you okay, honey? I didn't hit you too hard, did I? Or-wait, are you sad? Oh my god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for my story to make you sad. I just, well you know, I guess I've been holding it in for a long time. I was angry, yeah, but I felt I could tell you."
"I'm honored you feel that way, Jared, it means so much to me. You know, I'm more frustrated than sad about things being the way they are. It's unfair that your life wasn't easier." He shrugs, stares at the bedspread, unable to meet Jared's concerned eyes. "...I wish it wasn't like this, Jared."
"Someday, Jensen. Someday, it will be better; it has to be better, I believe in that."
They were quiet for a bit, Jensen trying to work up some belief in the possibility of a better future, while feeling like he's sinking in memories of the past. Feeling Jared's worried eyes on him, Jensen drags himself back to the present. He rubs his temples and asks Jared, "Say, is there any coffee?" Jared perks up, distracted, and Jensen feels better; he'd hoped to distract him. "I've got this headache beginning and I could use the caffeine. It's been a hell of a long week. Wrangling the staff, polishing the boss's ego…say, you want to hear about what Glover and Rosenbaum got into this week-oh, well, first you need to know that they're part of my crew, and next you need to know that not a day goes by without these two fighting like--"
Jensen goes warm all over as Jared's face lights up, and he leans across the table. "Queens on fire? Gimme the dish, Jen! I love a good bitch fight!"
Tim
The tap at the door is so tentative that for a second, Jared thinks he's misheard. But checking the clock radio on the nightstand, Jared sees that yep, it's time for his afternoon client, all right. He pulls at the neckline of his polo shirt and tugs the waist of his chinos as low as possible. "Oh, fiddle-de-fucking-sticks," he growls. It's a polo shirt and a damn pair of chinos. There's no fucking way he can make them sexy unless the new client has a fetish. Ooo, maybe he has a fetish? Jared mulls the thought over, and smirks. Okay, he can work with that. Maybe he should pick up a pair of fake glasses, complete the geek look?
He checks the card Chad had tossed him yesterday. Ugh, there's a big old raspberry jam thumbprint in the center of it.
"Timothy Omund…son," He tries it out, lets it sit on his tongue. "Timothy. Tim?" Well, he'll find out. Oh, he's kind of an old one, fifty-four. Eh, Jared shrugs. He's fine with older guys. Hell, most of his clients were staring senior-citizenship in the eye. Oh, right, this Timothy's also had a stroke. Hunh.
Chad did say the client was recovering pretty well and Jared's glad for him, but as Chad put it, the dude wasn't making a splash at the baths anymore. He'd at least stopped describing it as a pity fuck. Chad could be a grade-A fucking asshole sometimes. What Tim wanted wasn't so hard to understand; Jared got it. Sometimes, you just needed a human touch, a kind word, to hold on to someone who treats you like a whole person.
For two bills, Jared can be that someone and more.
He opens the door with a practiced wide smile, thinking happy happy happy, eyes on the old guy who's, well, actually kind of good looking. He's dressed casually but not cheaply, leaning on a fancy cane. He grimaces at Jared, though Jared supposes it's meant to be a smile. He shifts his weight so that he's standing straighter, and brushes a shock of thick gray hair back from his forehead with his free hand. He's got overly intense eyes behind a pair of old-fashioned horn rims, with a crooked smile framed by a villainous, waxed mustache and thick gray beard. Not quite Blackbeard, not quite Maynard G. Krebs.
Jared ignores the guy who's with him, a nurse he guesses-though would a nurse bring a patient to a whore? Nurse guy speaks up.
"Hi, Jared? This is Timothy-"
Timothy rolls his eyes and says, "Who can certainly speak for himself."
His voice sounds raspy, like raw from overuse, and very slightly, kind of, mushy on some words. the corner of his mouth droops a bit when he smiles. "I'm yours for the next two hours. Whatever happens, happens." He turns to his nurse, carer person whoever, and dismisses them with, "See you then."
The guy grimaces, quickly sticks his hand out to Jared.
"I'm ah, his brother. This is horribly embarrassing, but Chad says you're a good guy, and believe it or not, we trust Chad. I know," he says to Jared's soft, surprised snort. "Okay. Well, going now, Be good, Tim," he says and then blushes, laughs in embarrassment again. "I don't even want to know," he says when Jared smirks.
He leaves and Timothy and Jared are alone. Jared shuts the door behind them, and Timothy moves slowly, carefully towards the bed.
"So, should I strip?" he asks, and stares at Jared's mouth when he answers. It's odd, and Jared blinks. He fights not to lick his lips. Timothy gets it though, and says, "I'm not being especially weird about your mouth, though it's a nice one. I…it helps me to concentrate on you, keep focused on your words and the topic. I know it makes people a little uncomfortable, but it works for me."
For the first time, Jared's worried that he won't see past Timothy's problems. It is awkward for a few minutes, but then Jared's basic nature takes hold, and they talk about anything and everything. Timothy tells him that it's been three years since the stroke, and that he's doing well. Maybe he'll continue to do better. But there's no more clubbing for him, and he doesn't want to call someone to his house, "I know, stupid." When his brother had finally stopped beating around the bush long enough for Timothy to make sense of what he was trying to suggest, he'd thought it was a good idea.
Jared beams at him. "It is, you'll see." He leans over to Timothy, and he kisses him, right on the twist of the corner of his mouth.
Timothy leans away, cocking his elbow between them, says, "Can we just talk first? Is that okay?"
"Of course. Remember, you're calling the shots! I've got some sodas here, unless you'd like something stronger?" Timothy turns it down-"medications." Jared pulls the room's two bucket chairs closer to the bed and drags the table with to put between them.
"So, if you don't mind, I'm going to get comfy, that is, unless you'd rather I keep this on," he gestures the length of himself and Timothy laughs.
"Honestly, it hardly seems your style. I don't know, I thought if you dressed similar to me, that it would help, but…" he shrugs, then laughs, a little garbled, but not embarrassed anymore.
Jared grins. He grabs his overnight bag, and changes into basketball shorts that barely hang over his ass cheeks, and a tiny tank top. Timothy doesn't comment, at least not vocally. His eyebrows do all the talking for him. Jared snickers; they're very expressive eyebrows.
He pours out soda for each of them, then settles in. "Tell me a little about yourself?" he asks. "Whatever you want to."
Timothy holds the glass in both hands until he notices they're shaking, just a bit, and frowns, tightening his grip. After a few seconds, he says, "Well, before this stroke, I was an actor. Local productions, even a couple of big plays, but honestly, my roles mostly consisted of the 'Sir, the inspector is waiting in the drawing room' kind of parts. A smidgen of TV roles, equally forgettable-oh, and a commercial. You might have seen it-the one where I moon over my neighbor's new car in a strangely disturbing way?"
"Oh yes," Jared crowed, "I did, oh my god, I was absolutely sure you were going to screw it!" Jared yelled, maybe a little overly-excited that he's talking to someone who was actually on TV. "You were hot, too."
Timothy smiles, laughs a little. "Well. I'm not doing much lately, but I will again. Since this stroke, I've gone from a wheelchair to a cane, and maybe someday, I won't need that either." He stares intently at Jared all the while he talks, and Jared stares back just as intently. Timothy is a sweetheart, and he's absolutely sure he could spend all day with him.
They still haven't moved past chatting when Jared notices that Timothy is hesitating between words, along with some slurring that gets more and more noticeable, until finally it clicks. "You're hurting," Jared says.
"Muscles are a little tight. It happens. I didn't take my painkillers before I left. I, I wanted to be sharp and those things muffle my brain power somewhat."
"I think I can help with that. Come here, love."
Timothy approaches slowly, and it's more than muscle pain that has him moving so hesitantly. Jared eases Timothy onto the bed. Jared helps Timothy take his clothes off, avoiding any hint of sexual play because Timothy is so not ready for that. Not yet.
Rummaging about in his overnight bag, he finds the small bottle of scented oil that he always keeps in his bag, along with other, useful things. Jared tips some into his palms and rubs them together to help warm the oil, then slowly, carefully, begins to massage Timothy all over. "This is all about relaxing you, easing your muscles. It's something that's getting super popular these days, and a nice way for couples-and friends-to get close," he says.
Timothy sighs deeply as his muscles relax, his hands trembling against the sheets near his head. He lets out a groan as Jared works down his spine, edging towards his ass, curving past to his legs before helping Timothy to turn over. "Yes. I like this, thank you, Jared. Y'know, it's the closeness; I missed it, god, it's nice having someone touch me like they care. It feels good. Even if I don't-" he gestures towards his lap, "it still feels good."
"Can I try-would you like me to try?" Jared asks, smiling softly. "This is your appointment, and like I said, you're calling the shots here." Jared does a little half bow. "I am but your humble servant."
Timothy laughs. He casts a pointed look at Jared, gaze sliding slowly from head to toe; Jared pirouettes and comes to a stop, hip cocked and long legs crossed. He laughs when Timothy shakes his head. "Somehow, I think humble is the last thing you are."
Jared slaps his hand, open wide, against his chest. "You wound me, sir!"
Timothy smiles, holds his hand out to Jared, who pulls him up to sit, then slides to the ground. He looks up, asks, "Do you want me to go further?" and Timothy hesitates, then nods.
Jared takes his soft dick into his mouth, licks, sucks, gently plays with his balls, until Timothy gasps, begins to harden. "Jared! Don't…don't…please don't stop," he groans, and Jared takes him at his word.
After Timothy comes, he cries a little, and Jared hugs him. "Will you come back?" he whispers into his cheek.
Timothy laughs, a barely audible, damp laugh, and nods.
"Good," Jared says.
Timothy sighs, rubs his knees and avoids Jared's eyes. "A nice paycheck for you, right?"
Jared stops the motion of Timothy's hands and laces their fingers together. "It is my job, yes. My choice to be here. But Timothy, Tim-you're definitely someone I'd be friends with if I met you under different circumstances."
Timothy brightens a bit. "Really? I think I'd feel the same way if I met you somewhere else. And…I do rather prefer Tim, between friends." He gives Jared that slightly sideways smile, and Jared's heart swells.
There's a moment of comfortable silence, then Tim frowns slightly and asks, " Listen, there's something that's been bugging me since we arranged this. I understand completely if it's none of my business though. Is Chad your…does he force…?"
Jared hoots in surprise, then crows with laughter, a little giddy with how well the night has gone. "No! I actually kind of twisted his arm to help me start out in business. No, this is my own thing, my own most temporary thing. With any luck, I'll have my bachelors in a couple of years. I have plans."
Tim grins, fumbles his fingers around the glass, still half-full of coke, and lifts it high, saluting Jared. "To a bright future-for the both of us."
"Amen to that, "Jared murmurs.
"Jeanette." Jensen sighs. "You told her we could make it?" Jensen rolls to his side, looking at her across the expanse of their king bed. He tries to school his expression into something cooler than the kicked puppy look he's afraid is on his face. "Why? I mean, we just saw them last month. I don't-you know how busy I am at the moment; I was looking forward to a day off: you know what it's like. Do you honestly want to spend a couple of hours with them?"
"Yes, Jensen, I do. They're getting older, Jensen. At some point in time we all have to, to, make peace with the past. Give yourself and your parents a break; it's just dinner, Jensen."
"It's not about getting over the past, Jeanette. It's every day with them. It's getting over days, months, years. I thought it would change for the better after…" Jensen sits up. He can't talk about this laying down, open and vulnerable, and isn't that a great way to think of his wife? He's lost the sense of them as a partnership.
Jeanette peers at him, her slim, straight nose with its delicately arched nostrils gently wrinkling; she's frowning, in a thoughtful way, then she too sits upright. She looks straight ahead though, eyes not on him but on a trio of watercolors-koi floating in a pond-that Jensen bought to hang on their bedroom wall because it filled the blank space nicely.
Jeanette clears her throat softly. She's gone a little pale, her eyes are glittering, and it hits Jensen that he's being a complete and total asshole. He knows what having parents mean to Jean, even parents like his, having lost hers at a crucial time in life. Just sixteen when both were taken in an accident; her entire world ripped apart.
He has no idea what to say. There's too much going on here; his guilt over what he feels for her, for Jared, plus this stupid desire of his to make it better without really knowing how.
"You thought it'd get better after…?" She waits. Jensen knows she's waiting for him to finish. He swallows, throat tension-tight. She says it again. "You thought it'd get better after…what, after you married me. Why?"
"They think I'm a failure, you know that. Not a doctor, or a lawyer, or a-a-professor. I decorate a goddamn store for a living. I mean, they might have been satisfied if it was multiple stores, which would make me seem somewhat important but no, I'm in charge of a single store. 'Course no matter how much responsibility it is, or how hard I work, it's still a fruity kind of job, isn't it? The only saving grace is I make more money than I would teaching kids-another unmanly job, but so what? That's me, flouncing around, flaunting my fairy-ass self to the world-"
"JENSEN!" her face is bright red, she looks flustered, alarmed-angry, "Stop! Just…stop."
Jensen realizes that his throat is raw and his face is burning and, oh wow, he must have been shouting. He goes on, forcing calm into his voice. "But if I could show them just how much you loved me, love me, then it meant I wasn't a complete failure. That I'm not. I am not."
"Stop." Her voice is cool, icy. She lays back down, a careful distance between them and wraps the blanket around her like a fabric barricade. "Stop worrying. Stop thinking. Everything is fine. It's fine, Jensen."
Jensen drops back down and turns to his side, away from her, facing the door. Sure it is.
"Oh, so when are you going to have children, hmm?" Jensen's mother asked as she passed a bowl of peas across the table. "Rearing children is such a joy-just ask your brother, your sister. They have the most wonderful children, cutest kids in the world. Don't you think kids would make your lives fuller, Jeanette?"
"Yes of course, Caroll, definitely, but Jensen and I are committed to our five year plan. We're both more established in our careers now, so next in line is finding the right kind of home to raise our children in. That will take time to find the right house, find the right city."
His mother's face goes white with shock. "Oh! You're moving away from us? But why? Jensen, how could you decide on this without even talking to us?"
Jensen looks up from the plate he was staring into, looks across the table at his mother who's flapping and wiggling in her seat. She reminds him of some large, distressed bird, possibly an egret. He manages to force somewhat coherent words out of his mouth. "I…I mean, we want good schools, and, and." He stares back at Jeanette, angry at the situation she's created and drop-kicked him into, angry at her.
"Is this a wise thing to do, Jeanette? Buying a larger house when you'll quit work anyway after you have kids? I'm sure Jensen's paycheck from his little job won't go very far."
And there she goes, acting like his job's on par with a grocery store bagger.
"Mother, it's not a matter of her needing to work." Jensen stops, eyes on his wife who returns his look with a blank stare. He doesn't even bother to correct his mother about their finances or argue that he makes more than his father ever has. It's none of their damn business.
"Jean, I mean Jeanette, enjoys her job. It's…" he searches for a word, and there it is. "Fulfilling. Right. brings her enormous satisfaction. Every night she can come home, knowing that she's done her best to fill her clients needs, isn't that right, honey? Full right up to the brim. Plus she just adores her boss; loves him to bits." Jensen cuts his eyes towards her, watching the faint tide of pink wash her face, her steadily growing frown. "He's a heck of a great guy, right, hon?"
"Yes," she snaps, and jams a forkful of food into her mouth. Jensen feels twisted inside, vindictively pleased and also angry and dismayed that what he'd suspected about her late-night overtime is probably true. He's also a little embarrassed that he's exposed it in public, even if his parents don't get it. Still it's a relief to get it out of his head at last. He fights to not let any of that show on his face, but his father snorts, and pushes away from the table.
"Man of the house," he huffs under his breath, but he might as well have come around the table and gut-punched Jensen, like he had when he'd found him with…someone he shouldn't have been with.
Caroll wipes her mouth with the cotton napkin. She says to her husband, in a long-suffering tone, "It was a phase, Gene. We talked about it. It was a phase and he grew out of it."
"Oh yeah?" Gene leaned back and snarled. "A phase is wanting to be a cowboy, Caroll. A phase is wanting applesauce for dinner every night. A phase is not hiding in the laundry room and groping a goddamn boy, Caroll."
His fist crashes down on the table and both Jensen and Jeanette jump. Jensen fights an inappropriate laugh, thinking wildly that once again, the old man's trumped him. Now who was more embarrassing?
"He grew out of it! Look at his beautiful wife! He grew out of it!"
His father looks at him, feels like he's looking into his soul and not liking what he sees there. "Oh, I see," he snarls. "I see."
In that instant, Jensen hates his father with a passion. There's not been a moment of his life that the man has been there for him. He's been a dad to Hank and to Della, but he's barely ever even seen his middle son, Jensen, except for that one and only time. His mother's smiling at Jeanette, who is looking at her steak leaking blood onto her plate like it holds the answer to life, and Jensen thinks, maybe, finally, someone has had an epiphany regarding his home life.
Dinner is gasping its last, and it's Jeanette who finally makes an excuse to put an end to its death throes, "I'm so sorry, but I've got a massive headache," she says. "A migraine, actually, I get them from time to time. I think it's better if we go."
His mother says, "Oh, probably from all the unnecessary stress of that job, dear. You really should-"
At that point Jensen's sure he and Jeanette have both stopped listening to the woman, not that being without an audience will stop her. His father's gone; he'd headed to the den without a goodbye or a by-your-leave before Jeanette even finished making their excuses.
Well, Jensen thought, this could have gone worse, but barring a meteorite smashing through the roof, he can't see how. Jensen could happily go the rest of his life without being reminded that he was the damaged son, and he tells Jeanette so in the car on the ride home. For a few minutes there's no sound in the car at all, just the swish-rumble of the tires on the road, the occasional squeak of some metal bit settling. Finally, Jeanette turns to him, her mouth a thin pale line. She nods, a short, sharp movement, then speaks.
"Jensen. I think we need to take a long, hard look at where we are before this, this thing goes any further."
"This thing? The marriage?" Jensen snaps. His feelings are hurt, which is stupid, really, considering that they might be fumbling towards the same page. What does it say that he called it 'the' marriage instead of 'our' marriage?
Jeanette is having none of it, understandably, If his parents were more perceptive people, they'd have known Jensen threw her to the wolves tonight. Maybe they did.
"Oh, please." she snaps. " Don't get pissy with me, you know darn well what I mean. We need to think where we are and what we both want before there's too much holding us on a road we should never have taken."Like kids looms in the background."
Jensen stares at her open-mouthed. Well, it could be she's not wrong, but…she's cool, calm, and totally unemotional about it. She's talking about taking the last three years of their lives-hell, five if you count the two years before they actually married-and throwing them away.
Jensen's eyes fill with tears. God, he shouldn't feel so damn relieved.
5