Page 21 of Just Watch Me

“I’m thinking about applying for a new job.” With careful swipes, I peeled the cucumber.

She frowned. “Why would you do that when you’ve got such a great job?”

“I’ve been at my job for several years, and I want a new challenge. A different department at work is a lot more creative. I think I’d be good at it.”

“Some things are more important than being challenged, honey.”

I moved on to peeling the carrots. “I don’t see myself in this job in ten years or even five. I’m good at what I do and could move up the ladder. Why not start now? The pay increase would be great.” If I advanced far enough, I could finally make my dream of a riverfront condo in downtown Portland come true.

She pulled a bag of corn tortillas from the fridge then turned a burner on to warm up a pan next to the cooking beef. “That also puts your head on the chopping block. The higher you are on the corporate ladder, the easier it is to get knocked off. Just like your dad was when he got promoted all those years ago.”

I’d heard the story a hundred times about how Dad had been blamed for a project going awry and had gotten fired. It had been on frequent rotation to scare me away from things they deemed too risky. One of the endless ways my parents had worked to instill fear in me, whether they meant to or not.

“Don’t you think some things are worth the risk, though?” I’d never pushed back that much with Mom before, but I was beginning to reach a limit with my parents’ victim mentality. They’d had difficult things happen in their lives, but that didn’t mean I shouldn’t be able to live my life, make my own mistakes, learn for myself.

“What’s gotten into you, Jesse?” She dropped a tortilla into the pan of oil then looked at me and narrowed her eyes.

“Nothing.” I chopped the carrots and cucumbers into thick strips then picked a few strips to slide across the mandolin.

“I knew moving to the city would put big ideas in your head. I wish you’d have taken George up on his job offer.”

“To repair computers for him?” I gaped at her.She really thinks I’d be happy doing that for my career? Cleaning viruses and installing updates?No thanks. Living in my tiny hometown an hour outside of Portland and wasting away in their bubble sounded like a nightmare.

“It’s a good job.” Her tone said she didn’t appreciate my skepticism.

Sometimes I felt like my parents didn’t know me at all. I’d disappointed them by moving to Portland, by not moving back home after graduation, by not settling down and getting married yet.

They’d been refreshingly supportive when I’d come out, but learning I was gay hadn’t done anything to diminish their expectations that I should find a nice husband and give them some grandkids. I didn’t even know if I wanted kids. The joke would be on them if I ended up with someone who wanted to live in another state, someone like Skylar.

My heart panged in my chest at the thought of marrying Skylar. I didn’t even let my mind legitimately acknowledge that path let alone take any steps toward it. It was more the thought of being with someonelikehim, someone vibrant, charismatic, lively. A person who pushed me out of my comfort zone while understanding my hard boundaries. Skylar navigated that with ease. Even at times when I didn’t realize how much I needed it. It felt right.

He respected my boundary not to have sex with him in person but understood I wanted him and found a different way. He encouraged me to try new foods but didn’t push too far. Like how he’d ordered a couple of extra sushi rolls for me to try without teasing me for ordering the chicken katsu. And it had turned out the rolls he’d suggested were great. In Skylar’s company, I came alive.

“Ow!” I hissed and looked at my bleeding thumb. I’d gotten so distracted thinking of him, I’d nicked myself on the sharp mandolin blade.

“What happened?” Mom was instantly at my side. She tsked while pulling me to the sink to rinse my hand. “You should be careful. You could’ve taken off your fingertip.”

“Mom, I’m fine. It’s just a little cut.”

“A little cut that could get infected if you’re not careful. How can you do your job if your hand is infected?”

“Seriously. It’s fine. Do you have a bandage?”

“Of course.”

Silly question. She had a first aid kit in nearly every room. She opened a drawer at the far end of the counter and pulled out a small box. Within minutes, she had me sanitized and bandaged up.

“Hey, Jesse. Good to see you, son.” Dad walked over and squeezed my shoulder.

“Hey, Dad.”

“What happened?” He frowned as he studied my hand.

“He wasn’t paying attention and sliced himself.” Mom jerked her thumb toward the mandolin in the sink.

“A cut like that could get infected. You need to be more careful.”

Is there an echo in here?“I didn’t do it on purpose,” I snapped.

---