The Reunion(81)

“Yes, I’ll grab your colored—Ford,” Mom says, her mouth falling open as she steps into the room. I’m inside the open tent, with one leg in my sweatpants, one out. She assesses the living room, and I hope to God she doesn’t notice the discarded thong somewhere around here. “What are you doing?”

I blink.

I swallow.

I try to look like I don’t have company.

“Uh . . . you know . . . camping.”

“Camping? In the living room?”

“Did I hear camping?” Dad’s voice booms down the hallway.

“Yes, Ford is camping.”

“Outside?” Dad walks into the living room and assesses the mess. “What on God’s green earth is happening in here?”

I clear my throat and wish that I wasn’t half-naked—one leg still out of my sweatpants, completely bare. “Camping,” I answer.

“In the living room?” Dad asks, confused. “Naked?”

“He’s not naked,” Mom says and then takes a closer look at me. “Are you naked? In my living room?”

“No, not naked. Why would I be naked in your living room?” I ask nervously as they stare me down.

I’m thirty-six years old, but in this moment, I feel like a teenager caught with his pants down. Half of that statement is true.

“I don’t know, that’s what we’re asking—” Mom pauses and then glances up the stairs. “Dear Jesus, Ford. Is Larkin upstairs? And you’re naked down here? What the hell do you think she’d do if she came down here to see you camping naked in the living room, for Christ’s sake?”

“Larkin is here?” Dad whisper-shouts. A bead of sweat rolls down my back. If they only knew. “For the love of God, get your pants on. What are you . . . some kind of pervert?”

The sleeping bag shakes next to me, no doubt from Larkin barely holding in her laughter.

“No, Dad, I’m not—”

He points a finger at me. “I didn’t raise a pervert.”

“I’m not—”

Mom clutches her chest. “Oh no, is he a Peeping Tom? You weren’t naked, looking in on her bedroom, were you? I don’t think I could handle that.”

“And what’s with the tent? Is it a pervert tent?” Dad asks.

“I’m not a pervert, and I wasn’t doing any Peeping Tom shit. Jesus, who do you think I am?”

“I don’t know.” Dad tosses his arms up in the air. “I didn’t think I would come home to my adult son naked in our living room with his assistant upstairs, but here we are, so excuse us for questioning if you’re a pervert.”

Wow, are my parents taking this too far?

But I have no idea how to cover this up, how to explain why I’m half-naked in their living room. Think, Ford . . . think . . .

Decided to pitch my own tent? God no, that would be alluding to the pervert thing.

Loves to sleep naked, can’t get enough of it? Uh, still slightly perverted, because who can’t keep it together for one night in their parents’ house with said assistant upstairs?

Hmm . . . spilled juice on my pants? Now this is a viable possibility, but I’m not sure if my parents have juice— “Ahhhh-choo!”

Oh . . . fuck.

Mom and Dad’s eyes widen as they glance toward the sleeping bag, where Larkin is lying as flat as can be.

Thinking quickly, I say, “Uh, pardon me.” I laugh nervously. “Gassy in the morning.”

Dad shakes his head. “Unless your asshole is a nose, that was not a fart.” He scans the living room, and his eyes land on something. From the narrowing of his eyes, what he’s staring at is most likely incriminating. “Peggy. A lady’s garment.”

Yup.

Mom gasps, and then her head whips toward me.

“You have a woman in that tent with you? While poor Larkin is upstairs? You . . . you miscreant.”

“Mom, it’s not what you think.”

“Make yourself known, woman!” Dad’s voice booms.

“Dad, that’s not necess—”

The sleeping bag shuffles, and Larkin pops her head out, shocking the pants right off my parents. I bury my head in my hands as they both take a step back. Stunned. Shocked. Aghast.

“Larkin,” Mom whispers in shock.

“I don’t believe my eyes,” Dad says in awe.

Oh God, here it comes.

My parents are good people, they really are. They took in Cooper and me when we were desperate for a family, for any kind of love. They have raised us to be the men we are today through creative parenting, thoughtful lessons, and many, many lectures.

The type of lectures that have been imprinted in my brain and are now used as guidelines as I walk through my life. Some end on a positive note, a pat on the back, a simple handshake. And the negative ones, the ones that carry the most impact, those are accompanied by disapproving eyes and obvious condemnation.

From the situation unfolding, I mentally steel myself for an onslaught of What the hell were you thinking? Have you lost your damn minds? and the classic What could you possibly gain from a decision like this?

I can feel it.

I can smell it, the scorning that’s about to unfold.

I can taste it, the stony frowns ready to erupt on my parents’ faces.