72. Weird and Surprising

The next day I go to the high school to practice at the track.

It’s not like I’m so dedicated. I’m just bored. And I figure if I keep in shape, then when I get back to school the practices won’t be as hard. They’ll still be bad, because Coach Brinks will want to work off the flab and the laziness from spring break.

As I pull back into the driveway on my bike, I see Dad’s SUV.

Something’s gone bad.

I fly up the steps to the deck and fling the door open.

Dad and Mom are sitting in the family room on the couches.

I’m out of breath. “What’s wrong?”

“Hi, Chris.”

Dad smiles, and Mom doesn’t look dead.

Okay, I guess that’s a good sign.

“Everything is fine,” Mom tells me.

“How was the workout?” Dad asks.

“Good,” I say.

“I didn’t tell you I was coming because I wasn’t sure until the last minute whether I’d be able to. I wanted to surprise you.”

I nod and sigh. “Yeah. You surprised me.”

AKA freaked me out.

“I’m like you—no classes this week,” he says. “Go clean up. We’re going out for dinner.”

“Okay.”

I think of my prayer yesterday and wonder if this is the answer. A year ago I wouldn’t have seen it that way. But I do now.

A lot can change in a year. Around you.

And inside your heart.

Dad looks different.

Then again, so does Mom.

I don’t pick this up at first. Or when we sit down at the table at the Olive Garden. Or when we order drinks.

But then I seem to notice it.

Those lines on my father’s forehead and the scowl that seemed to always be there aren’t as noticeable. In fact, he smiles a lot.

And Mom doesn’t look as hard anymore. Sure, not drinking every night and slogging through the day probably helps a person look a little healthier. But it’s more than that. She’s got makeup on, and she looks younger, brighter.

She’s smiling a lot too.

This is an answer to prayer that I could not have dreamed of. Both my parents sitting at the table looking like—well, looking like friends.

Am I dreaming?

Soon enough Dad seems to get that I’m watching both of them with curiosity and questions.

“Chris, I wanted to be here—both of us wanted me to be here—to tell you something.”

The last time Dad said something like this was when they told me they were getting a divorce. I saw that coming miles away.

I don’t see this one coming.

“Your father and I have been talking a lot lately,” Mom says.

That’s news to me.

Then both of them start to say something, and then they both pause and look at each other in a weird way as if …

What is going on?

I blush because I feel utterly out of my body sitting here. I’m not used to them looking at each other unless they are glaring. Even years ago, when I was a kid, it was never like this. Not like this scene in front of me.

Who drugged my parents, and where can I find their supplier to get what they have?

“Go ahead,” Mom tells Dad.

“We want to let you know—and I know this is going to surprise you—that we’re trying to work things out.”

A server comes to bring us breadsticks and salad. I want to just start stuffing my face to get away from the awkward feeling I have in my gut.

“I know I told you we would be going back to Chicago,” Mom says. “We’re going to be staying with your father.”

I look at Mom, then at Dad. I’m not sure whether I should be angry or happy or confused. I mean, this was what I wanted once, until I decided it was exactly what I didn’t want. Until—

“Okay,” I say.

I know they’re probably thinking and expecting more. But I don’t know what to say.

Did You really do this, God?

Mom clears her throat. “Some of the feelings I’ve had, Chris—well, we’re working through those. And we can’t—we’re not going to promise anything. But it’s a start.”

I want to laugh.

There was a time in my life when I wanted so badly to hear this. When my parents were still together but not really together. When they were married but not really living in any kind of marriage.

Then it changed when Dad found faith and Mom found anger. I took the side of Mom and her anger and moved away to Solitary.

Little did I know I’d go back home and find faith.

I know they both want to ask what I’m thinking and feeling. But I can’t tell them that I halfway doubt I’ll see the summer. I can’t share with them that I’m a bit happy and a bit sad but mostly I’m totally terrified. They’re back together or at least trying to be, but I won’t be around to see it happen.

“That’s cool,” I say.

It is cool. It’s just—unexpected.

Nothing in the last year and a half has been expected, has it?

“I knew you were on break, too,” Dad says. “I figured I could come down and stay a couple of days. Is that—cool with you?”

I laugh. Dad is trying. I appreciate that.

“Yeah.”

We focus on eating, and there’s no more weird, surprising talk. Yet as we eat, I realize I’m not the only person who seems to be surprised here. Both Mom and Dad seem quieter than usual, more hesitant to say something, more—

Acting more like a couple teenagers might.

It’s kind of amusing. At least for now. I just hope this doesn’t last for long.

They’re still my parents. And the last thing I want is to see them suddenly making out.

No thanks.