Page 123 of Rock Bottom Girl
“I’m meeting your mom,” I insisted. “If I weren’t nervous, I’d be considered a sociopath.” Andrea had walked me through my nerves yesterday at school, and I wished I would have retained more of what she’d told me. Something about me being an adult and a nice one at that. So I should go into the situation expecting to like them and be liked in return.
It made sense at the time. But now that we were here, I wasn’t so sure it was a good strategy. I should have brought everyone scratch-off lottery tickets or cash. People liked people who gave them cash, right?
“The sooner you get out of the car, the sooner I can put a beer in your hand,” Jake said.
I was out from behind the wheel and on the sidewalk in a flash.
Jake was still laughing when he opened the front door without knocking or ringing the bell. Homer, obviously at home here, ran in the direction of the scent of rich food.
Two toddler-aged kids hurled themselves at Jake, screaming in what I could only assume was delight.
He picked them up like sacks of potatoes and submitted to their sloppy kisses and squeals of joy.
“Someone help! I’m being attacked by rabid children,” he called.
Adeline poked her head out of a room and padded toward us barefoot. “You’ve been vaccinated, right?” she said, pulling the smaller kid off Jake. The foyer filled with people, and I was shuffled through introductions, handed sticky children, and promised alcohol.
“I’m Louisa,” Jake’s mom said, introducing herself over the din.
“Happy birthday, Louisa. I’m Marley,” I shouted back.
His mom was delicate and fine-boned. Her wardrobe taste trended toward affordable athleisure, and I felt an instant kinship with her when she shoved a beer into my hand and pointed me in the direction of the appetizers.
There were kids everywhere. The adults congregated in the kitchen near the trendy trays of appetizers.
I’d met Max at poker. He wasn’t wearing the Queer t-shirt tonight. Instead he was in a rumpled long-sleeve tee. His hair was still damp from a shower. Lewis introduced himself by pushing a delicate cheese wonton-like thing into my hand, and I fell madly in love with him. He was the fashionista in the family apparently, dressed in charcoal slacks, a dark purple shirt, and suspenders. My players would adore him, I decided.
The house was a perfect balance between Lewis’s style and Max’s love of gadgets and order.
Rob, Adeline’s husband, refilled drinks and then corralled the kids at a table in the kitchen for gourmet kid-sized grilled cheese sandwiches.
I could have felt awkward, standing in the midst of a chaos the rest of them were so comfortable with. But with a cold beer in my hand and Jake’s arm around my waist, I felt anchored. Almost relaxed.
The Weston family was bigger than mine. Slightly less dignified. Zinnia would raise eyebrows over the kids’ food fight. And the argument that broke out between Rob and Max over eighties rock ballads. But to me, it made them normal.
We snacked and chatted until the kids were done with their meal. Once they were tucked into the living room in front of an animated movie with singing, we retired to the decked-out dining room.
There were cloth napkins with napkin rings that matched the gold and silver table-scape. Candles flickered on the table and buffet.
“This is Uncle Lew trying to class us up,” Jake explained, leading me to a chair.
“We keep fighting him on it,” Adeline said with a wink.
Lewis heaved a long-suffering sigh from his chair. “You heathens drive me to drink,” he insisted, reaching for his champagne glass.
Max reached out and covered his husband’s hand, and I saw the flirty little winks they sent each other. We ate and drank and made Louisa open fussy presents. She adored the dog painting from Jake and thanked me profusely for the bottle of wine and fun corkscrew. No one asked me the viability of my reproductive organs or hinted to Jake about engagement rings. They talked politics and current events and argued movies and music.
I observed the give and take between the relationships. Max tidied up behind Lewis who left little plates, crumpled napkins, and reading glasses in his wake. Adeline and Rob bickered constantly. But I noticed the soft looks and gentle touches. And no one could miss the way they both lit up whenever one of the kids barreled into the room to tattle on their siblings or show off what artistic creation they fashioned from pipe cleaners and Legos.
One of their girls, Livvy, took a liking to me and climbed up in my lap. She sucked her thumb and played with my hair while her brothers and sister sang Disney songs at the top of their lungs in the living room.
When no one made any “you’re a natural” cracks about me hanging out with a kid, I relaxed.
Together, the Westons had created a unit. A black, white, gay, straight, Irish, loud, confusing, beautiful family unit. I loved it.
Jake was clearly enjoying himself. At least until the “when Jake was a teenager” stories started.
“Tell me more,” I insisted after Max finished recounting the time he had to pick fifteen-year-old Jake up in the middle of nowhere when he’d tried to jump a hay bale with his mountain bike and ended up with a broken wrist and bike.
