Page 67 of Past Tents

When Clay’s brother, Shane, and his fiancée, Julia, walked into their parents’ house, it was like Prince William and Kate had just arrived. Apparently, that made us Harry and Meghan.

“Look at what you brought us!” Judy exclaimed, cradling a loaf of sourdough bread like it was a newborn baby. Never mind that both Shane and Julia worked at Donner Bakery as bakers and hadn’t exactly driven far to come up with their donation to the dinner spread.

Not that I begrudged them bringing sourdough. Donner Bakery’s bread was the best in town and people often came from other areas just to get it. My point, though, was that Clay’s parents were gushing over it like it was the next best thing to...sliced bread. And Clay and I had spent a half hour assembling a charcuterie platter, garnishing it with dried fruit and flowers.

In addition, after this morning’s run, Clay had gone to a flower shop and selected the yellow and white blooms that were his mom’s favorites. Then he’d stopped by an art gallery and chosen a blown glass vase he thought his mother might like.

“Oh, Clay, did you find these on one of your runs? You’re always off on those long runs,” Judy said, smiling through what sounded like a criticism.

“Too soon for wildflowers,” Clay reminded her. “I went to a shop.”

“They’re sweet. I’ll put them in the vase.” She spun off to the kitchen to add water to the vase, returning a few minutes later with the charcuterie platter and a vase full of white roses, which she placed in the middle of the dining table. Clay and Julia were busy talking, and Shane looked away when I tried to catch his eye. Was it strange that his mom had foregone Clay’s flowers for these other ones?

I decided not to make something of nothing and reached for a cracker and a slice of Gouda. Clay’s mom watched me chew, and I made sure to keep my mouth closed in case she was studying my manners.

“How’s work?” Clay’s father, Clayton, asked the room.

Shane and Julia, who I knew from around town, effused about how busy Donner Bakery had been helping the Lodge cater a large wedding. Clayton nodded and turned to Clay, who put his arm around me.

“Still love teaching,” Clay said. “And this is the fun part of the year when the senior projects come in and we have the carnival, grad night, all the big send-off events for the seniors.”

“You teach at the school too?” Clayton asked me.

“I do. I have a lot of the same students, so it’s a fun time for me too, putting finishing touches on senior pages before the yearbook goes to press.”

Clay’s parents nodded and said a few pleasantries about teaching being a noble pursuit. His parents were kind, polite. I probably would have thought nothing of their manner or anything else except for the way they positively doted on Shane.

“And tell us about the symphony, Shane. Will you be there regularly? Should we buy season tickets?” Judy squealed.

“Nah, just a couple times a month when they’re playing composers with large French horn parts. The rest of the time, I’m happy playing at the jam sessions with Clay.”

“Did Clay tell you Shane used to play for the New York Philharmonic?” Judy asked me.

“Yes, that’s amazing.” Clay had also told me that his brother hated it and promptly quit the job and moved back to Green Valley to bake bread. That somehow didn’t make it into his mother’s story. “I just think it’s awesome that we have local jam sessions with such talented folks,” I said, willing Clay to brag about being a great guitar and ukulele player.

To hear his mom talk of it, Shane practically hung the moon by himself using only his left hand, while his right worked the bell of the French horn.

Wanting to make a good impression on Clay’s parents, I considered keeping my opinions to myself. But I was getting more and more riled up each time Clay started talking about his students and one of his parents interrupted and went off on a tangent. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“You should see how much the students look up to Clay. I’ve had at least a dozen put Shakespeare quotes on their senior pages because he inspired them to read the Bard,” I said.

His mother stopped fussing over the flowers and looked at me with a blank expression. “It’s nice that you two have similar interests.”

“It’s more than just an interest. Your son is great at his job. He’s molding these kids and they’re all the better for it.”

She nodded, but said nothing. It made my blood boil seeing his parents be so dismissive of the man I was falling for.

Clay’s dad was an older version of Clay, firm jaw, full head of graying hair, and hazel eyes that had the power to evoke a reaction. But he lacked all of Clay’s warmth. While Clay’s mouth turned up at the corner in that way I loved, his dad’s did the opposite, making him look vaguely disappointed, even when he was telling his wife how much he liked her baked Brie appetizer.

“Did you know Clay is running a faster mile time now than he did in high school?” I couldn’t help bragging. Clay’s hand wrapped around mine and he squeezed, but his face showed no emotion.

“Yes, the running’s been a thing since then, that’s for sure.” Judy blinked at Clay, assessing. I couldn’t figure out why his running seemed to bother her rather than make her proud. When I turned to Clay, a question in my eyes, he shook his head and held up a hand to stop me from going farther down that conversational path.

“Are we ready to eat?” Shane asked with more cheer than necessary, pointing us to seats around the table. I tried to make eye contact with Julia—surely I couldn’t be the only one who thought this was strange, but Clay’s hand wrapped around mine under the table and gave it a squeeze.

“I’ll explain later,” he said quietly.

We ate dinner around an antique oval dining-room table with high-backed chairs and itchy, uncomfortable cushions. I couldn’t imagine Clay growing up here. Everything I knew about him now, including his love for the outdoors and the exuberance with which he taught his students, felt lost in this formal environment.

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