Page 98 of Tell Me Again

I see love.

It’s only there for an instant, and then it’s gone, replaced with something like confusion as her eyes shift to the man standing just behind me.

His hand is still on my back, but he’s not pushing me. He’s just there. To be whatever I need him to be—my encouragement and support, or my protector, or my get-me-the-hell-out-now pass.

The host steps up and asks us how many are in our party, and Coop responds for us, telling them we’re meeting someone who’s already here. And then we’re moving, somehow. My mom’s eyes widen a little, and she purses her lips. My dad still hasn’t looked up, still hasn’t seen us.

And I think I’m going to be sick. I feel Coop’s hand press into me, and I realize I’ve slowed down.

“He can’t hurt you,” Coop murmurs, “but we can still leave.”

My heart’s pounding now, and when I watch my mom bite her lip and glance at my dad with some measure of distress in her expression, I think again that this is a mistake. But it’s too late now, because my dad looks up at us then.

We’re still only about halfway through the restaurant, yet I feel the second he registers that we’re not here as just friends. It’s obvious in the slight narrowing of his eyes and in the way his jaw ticks and in the tension in his shoulders as he sets down his menu.

I stop walking altogether, and Coop stops next to me. I force myself to take a breath and then another, and I can’t figure out what to do. I’m about to bolt, I think—turn around and leave, after all, that seems to be the easiest thing right now—when Coop leans in slightly.

His breath is warm against my skin as he says, “I’m here with you, but it’s your call. And also, I’m fucking bigger than he is now. So, you know, you’re safe. He won’t fucking lay a hand on you.”

I close my eyes as I hold back a laugh. He’s right, though. Dad can’t hurt me. Physically or emotionally. I don’t need him. Or my mom. I don’t need them or their approval or their support.

I already have everything I need.

This is just... a way to let go? Maybe. Make things more final.

I open my eyes, and my mom’s still staring at me, clearly worried now. She’s set down her cell phone, and her hands are wringing together. And my dad... he’s scowling and angry, his face tinged red. It’s a familiar look, though one I haven’t seen in years.

And I’m surprised when it doesn’t really affect me. At least, not like it used to. It doesn’t send me into a near panic, doesn’t make me dizzy with fear, doesn’t fill me with shame. I hold his gaze for a moment, then I blink and look down. Coop’s hand rubs low along my back, but he doesn’t say anything else. He’s waiting for me to make my decision, I guess.

So I do. I lift my eyes and meet my mom’s gaze, and I give her a small smile. Then I start walking again. Coop is right there with me, his presence sure and solid. And when we get to the table, I don’t move to sit. I’m still looking at my mom, avoiding my dad’s eyes, but I can feel his anger.

“We can’t stay, Mom, but I wanted to...” I falter for just a second. It’s easier than it used to be, coming out. I’ve had to do it a lot of times now, since it’s not just a one-and-done thing. But this is different too. Because these two—my parents—they’re the reason it took me so long to get to where I am now. I take a deep breath and lean back into Coop’s solid chest just enough. And then I smile again. “I wanted to introduce you both to my husband, Coop.” I slip my arm around Coop’s waist, and he brings his hand up to my shoulder. “You might remember him from when we lived in Garrington. We got married last month.”

My heart is full as I think about our trip to California and how Coop had made me the happiest man alive when he’d said yes to my impromptu proposal. I realize I’ve dropped my eyes, but it’s because I’m grinning—for a different reason this time. I blink and look back up.

Neither of my parents has moved or responded. My mom is as she’s always been—resigned and reserved, staring at her hands to avoid giving any indication of what her real feelings are. And my dad’s response is predictable. He’s glaring at me and then at Coop, and there are hints of anger and something else in his eyes. Disgust, maybe. I’m not sure I even want to know.

“Jackson, I remember you, you—”

“We’re just leaving now,” I cut in, because I don’t need to hear anything from him. We don’t need to hear anything from him. I shift my gaze to my mom. “I just—I wanted you to know that I’m happy. I’m very happy. And I’m... good.”

I’m not sure what else I’d intended to say. It seems like there’s a lot to say, but at the same time, I’ve said all I really need to.

From behind me, Coop clears his throat, and his hand tightens on my shoulder. “Let’s go, hon. It was good to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”

We turn and start to leave, Coop providing the little bit of direction that I need to get my feet moving. But before we can get too far, I hear my mom’s voice call quietly from the table.

“Josh, dear, please wait,” she says, and there’s something in her tone that tugs at me.

I close my eyes and stop, but I don’t turn back around. I think I hear her scoot out from the booth and step closer. Then Coop’s arm loosens from around me, and my mom’s small hand touches the back of my elbow. She doesn’t try to hug me or even step in front of me to face me and look me in the eye. But she’s there, and that’s something, maybe. There’s a brief pause, and then she lets her hand drop away.

Her voice is soft and a little shaky as she whispers, “I’m glad you’re happy. That’s... that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.” And a moment later, she’s gone again, her footsteps retreating back toward the table.

I hear a low huff of something from my dad that doesn’t sound all that happy. But Coop’s arm shifts back around my shoulders with a gentle squeeze, and I realize I’m still okay. Maybe I’m even more than okay.

I lean against him for just a second, and then, together, we make our way back out of the restaurant.

It’s chilly outside, and a stiff breeze hits us just as we step away from the restaurant’s entrance. Coop stops us when we’re a little ways down the sidewalk, and he shifts in front of me and wraps both of his arms around me. It’s warm and comforting, and I let out the breath I’d been holding and then close my eyes and rest my head against his shoulder.

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