Reminders of Him(80)

I wave a hand at Kenna. “This is Nicole.” I wave a hand at my parents. “My mother, Robin. My father, Benji.”

Kenna smiles and shakes their hands, but then she sidles back up to my side like she’s scared to move too far away from me. I grab her hand that’s at her side, and I move it behind her back and squeeze it to provide her with a little comfort.

“It’s such a pleasant surprise that you aren’t alone,” my mother says. “We thought you’d be out here moping by yourself today.”

I’m scared to ask. “Why would I be moping?”

My mother laughs and turns to my father. “You owe me ten bucks, Benji.” She holds out her hand, and my father pulls out his wallet and slaps a ten-dollar bill in her palm. She shoves it in the pocket of her jeans. “We bet on whether you’d even remember you were supposed to be leaving for your honeymoon today.”

Why am I not surprised? “Which one of you bet that I’d forget Mother’s Day?”

My mother raises her hand.

“I didn’t forget. Check your email. I sent a gift card because I had no idea where to send flowers to this week.”

My mother takes the ten-dollar bill out of her pocket and hands it back to my father. She walks over to me and finally gives me a hug. “Thank you.” She doesn’t look at Kenna because her attention is stolen midhug by the patio door. “Oh, wow! It looks even better than I imagined!” She releases me and passes us to go play with the accordion-style door.

My father is still focused on me and Kenna. I can tell he’s going to attempt to be polite and include her in conversation, but I know how much she wants to be ignored right now.

“Nicole has to get to work,” I blurt out. “I need to give her a ride, and then I can meet you both at the house.”

My mother makes a hmph sound behind me. “We just got here,” she says. “I wanted a tour of everything you’ve done.”

My father’s attention is still on Kenna. “What do you do, Nicole? Besides . . .” He waves a hand toward me. “Besides Ledger.”

Kenna gasps quietly and says, “Wow. Okay. Well, I don’t . . . do . . . Ledger.”

I squeeze her hand again, because that is not what my father meant. But if we’re being technical . . . “I think he means what do you do other than . . . work . . . for me.” She’s looking at me blankly. “Because I said you’re my employee earlier, but then I just lied and said you have to go to work, and they know my bar is closed on Sundays, so he assumes you have a different job besides the bar, and he said what do you do besides . . .” I’m rambling now, and it’s just making the moment worse because my parents can hear this conversation, and I know they are enjoying the shit out of it.

My mother has returned to my father’s side, and she’s grinning with delight.

“Please take me home,” Kenna pleads.

I nod. “Yeah. This is torture.”

“It’s such a treat for me, though,” my mother says. “I think this might be my favorite Mother’s Day yet.”

“And here we were thinking he was going to be sad because he didn’t get married,” my father says. “What do you think he has in store for Father’s Day?”

“I can only imagine,” my mother says.

“You two are mortifying. I’m almost thirty. When will this stop?”

“You’re twenty-eight,” my mother says. “That’s not almost thirty. Twenty-nine is almost thirty.”

“Let’s go,” I say to Kenna.

“No, bring her to dinner,” my mother begs.

“She’s not hungry.” I lead Kenna out the door. “I’ll meet you both at the house!”

We’re almost to my truck when I realize what leaving my parents alone means. I pause and say, “I’ll be right back.” I point to the truck so Kenna knows she can go ahead without me. I turn around and walk back to the house, and then I lean in at the doorway. “Do not have sex in my house.”

“Oh, come on,” my father says. “We would never.”

“I’m serious. This is my new house, and I’ll be damned if you two christen it.”

“We won’t,” my mother says, shooing me away.

“We’re getting too old for that anyway,” my father says. “So old. Our son is almost thirty.”

I step out of the doorway and motion for them to leave. “Get out. Go. I don’t trust either of you.” I wait for them to join me outside, and then I lock the front door. I point toward their car. “I’ll meet you at the house.”

I walk to my truck and ignore their chatter. I wait for my parents to back out, and then Kenna and I both sigh simultaneously. “They can be a lot sometimes,” I admit.

“Wow. That was . . .”

“Typical of them.” I glance over at her, and she’s smiling.

“It was embarrassing, but I kind of liked them,” she says. “But I’m still not having dinner with them.”

I don’t blame her. I put my truck in reverse and then point to the middle of the seat. Now that we’ve shattered whatever line we had drawn in the sand, I want her to be as close to me as she can get. She slides across the seat until she’s right next to me, and I put my hand on her knee as I drive away from the house.