I come home to see Mom and Dad making out on the couch telling me not to bother them so they can make me a little baby brother.
Okay, this doesn’t happen, of course.
Instead, I find my father packed and ready to go home. But before he goes, we’re all going to go out to dinner.
This doesn’t surprise me. Nothing does, not anymore, especially not with Mom and Dad. But the good news is that Mom is different. And so is Dad.
What about you, Chris? Have you changed as well?
Maybe that’s what growing up really is. Not getting taller or stronger or wider or smarter. But just getting different with how you deal with the world and those around you.
“Where would you like to go?” Dad asks. “Anywhere.”
It’s Friday night, and we’re going out like a regular old family. I can’t say like we used to, because Dad was always too busy to do even routine things like that.
“I don’t care,” I say, because I really don’t. “Maybe just somewhere outside of Solitary.”
We end up at a Mexican restaurant that my dad had spotted recently while driving to Asheville for some errands. It ends up being the best Mexican restaurant I’ve ever eaten at. Perhaps the salsa bar seals the deal for me.
It’s strange to see Mom drinking iced tea. Even my father has a Diet Coke. I remember they always liked to have margaritas with Mexican food. But I guess since Mom is trying hard, Dad is respecting that.
Before the food comes, Dad manages to start the conversation that lets me know why we’re here, besides to eat dinner.
“Mom and I spoke about the holidays, and we agreed to work things out. With all of us.”
“I’ve kept you away from your father, Chris,” Mom says to me. “It wasn’t right. I—we’ve talked about it. We think it would be good for you to spend some time in Chicago with your father around Christmas.”
“We’re actually thinking that I could come down here and pick you up before New Year’s. Have you stay until school starts.”
I nod, wondering why he’s going to pick me up versus flying. A part of me wonders if he’s going to do that specifically to check in on Mom and see how she’s doing.
“Okay,” I say.
It doesn’t sound so bad anymore, going back to Chicago and getting away from Solitary.
“Have you thought anymore about colleges?” Mom asks me.
Yes, between figuring out why the dogs are dead on Aunt Alice’s driveway and learning how to conjure up the dead from dear great-grandpoppa.
“No.”
“I got a call the other day from your advisor urging us to get serious with your choices. You’re already behind, Chris.”
I nod at Mom and don’t bring up the obvious. Like maybe the reason I’m behind. They’re not talking to me in their typical way, however. Mom isn’t annoyed. Dad isn’t impatient and irritated. They’re talking to me like an adult. Not that I think I am one, but I’m a year from being eighteen and it’s nice to simply be treated with some kind of respect.
We talk about college, but I honestly don’t have much of a plan. I have to take the tests—the ACT and the SAT—which means I have to study for them. But beyond that—I don’t know.
“There are some good possibilities around Chicago,” Dad says. “If that’s where you want to go.”
I nod, glancing at Mom. She doesn’t say anything. I have honestly not thought beyond high school graduation. Everything leading up to that seems gray and blurry and distorted. It sometimes seems like I’ll get my diploma and then the clouds will open to reveal a clear, blue sky full of opportunity.
I wish.
“Maybe during your break we can check out some schools,” Dad says. “You know—a junior college isn’t the worst idea.”
I don’t want to tell them that all I care about is getting away from this place. I’ll go north or south or east or west. I don’t care. Just nothing within a hundred miles of Solitary.
Our dinner comes, and the burrito on my plate is seriously larger than a football. That’s awesome, because that means I might get a couple more dinners out of this. I’m already full from the three bowls of chips and the nine different salsas I’ve tried.
“Chris, I want you to know something,” Dad eventually tells me after we’ve slowed down on our meals.
He’s got his serious voice and face going. It makes me nervous and brings back bad memories.
“I wanted to tell you this in front of your mother. I just want you to know how proud I am of how you’ve handled everything. Of how you’ve helped Mom. She’s told me some things. I just—I didn’t know. I certainly haven’t given you credit in the past. I’m sorry for that.”
I nod and look at Mom, who has tears in her eyes. She reaches over and takes my hand, then squeezes it.
“I’m proud of you too,” she says. “And I’m sorry.”
I nod, and while I’ve been waiting and wanting these apologies for a long time, I just want this all to be done. I nod and smile because all of a sudden, there’s nothing to dislike about Mom and Dad. They’re just—people, just like anybody else. Except they’re my parents, and they love me, and I know they’re trying.
I want to apologize too for hating them so much lately, but I can’t. I’m ashamed.
“Chris—if there is anything you need, I want you to know you can call me anytime,” Dad says. “I’ll be here if you need me. Okay?”
I nod again. And I believe him.
This belief is something I haven’t had in a very long time. The realization that someone has my back, that someone might be looking out for me.
It’s a nice feeling.
Especially knowing what I’m about to do.