I could have used my daddy around then, a man to walk in the door and tell me I was going to be just fine. It had been years since he had made things better though. Years since he had kissed a scraped knee, or pressed his hand up against a broken heart.
Memory blurs, like the sky through early morning mist. Squint and you can see something, a watery swipe of reality. It was real moist around the edges when it came to my dad, but I recalled it, me coming home late for the first time one Friday night right after I had met Thomas. “I hope you had fun,” sneered my mother with the beer can. And there was Jenny with her sassy mouth already, even as a kid, both of us up past midnight, and my father sitting on the steps that led up to our bedrooms. He was wearing boxers and an undershirt, and there was a tear in the side of the shirt and the fabric hung down in a flap. My mother was talking about Thomas’s father and mother. She did not like them. It was rumored they were second cousins, for one, which did not sit well in my mother’s mind. But also there was the matter of his collections.
“I hear he keeps a bunch of dead animals in his basement,” said my mother. “He’s a cheap, crazy old bastard.” This part was mainly true. He was an amateur taxidermist, it was just something he did for fun. There were a lot of these stuffed animals all over the rotting farmhouse. When he died, Thomas had a yard sale and invited some of his father’s taxidermy buddies over to pick through what they wanted. They all had tremendous bellies and one of them drove up in an authentic WWII jeep, which Thomas had liked a lot.
“They’re just like toys,” I said. “Some of them are soft.”
“Oh good Lord,” said my mother. “Are you hearing this, Rich?”
We all looked at my dad. He had his elbows on his knees, and his face rested right up against his hands. He was staring at the floor. There was trouble all over his face. Jenny went over and sat next to him and put her head and arms in the same position.
“Daddy, he’s nice,” I said. “He looks after me. He loves me.”
“You’re too young to love,” said my mother. “You don’t even know what it means yet. Do you even know how much work it is? How much you have to give up? Love is about sacrifice. Do you know how much I’ve given—”
My dad groaned. “You’re all crazy,” he said.
“You’re all crazy, you’re all crazy, you’re all crazy,” sang Jenny. She giggled.
My mother stiffened. She pulled the cigarette to her mouth. Through the cloud of smoke I could see that her eyes had narrowed. She stood perfectly still. She was wearing a white nightgown and her hair was up, and she looked like she could have been a statue in a museum.
“I could make a list for you, Richard,” she said. “If you like.”
My father snorted.
“I’m going to go get a pen and paper. Hold on.” My mom walked off toward the kitchen. Jenny followed her.
“Let’s go out back,” said my dad. “Let’s make a run for it.” We snuck out the front door and squished our way through the cool, damp grass to the back of the house. There were mosquitoes everywhere and we slapped them off us. Dad put his arm around me and we looked up at the sky. It was a clear fall night. There were a million stars, the same stars as always, and it made me feel safe for a second. I shivered under his arm and he squeezed me tighter. I could smell smoke in the air, a farmer burning trash in a field somewhere.
“Get her sick. That’s just great, Rich,” yelled my mother from inside the house.
“You’re all right, right?” he said.
I was still stuck on thinking about Thomas. I would do anything to be with him. I knew that the love I would have with him would be far better than what my parents had. Anything was better than them.
“I’m fine,” I said.
My father pointed at the sky and started to say something but the sound of my mother’s voice interrupted him.
“Number one,” she said. “Lack of support for career.”
I could hear Jenny’s tiny voice repeating her words in the background.
“Number two,” said my mother. “Not enough money spent on fixing this house up.”
My father released his arm from me.
“Number three. What happened to at least two vacations a year? A pharmaceutical conference in Iowa City does not count. Does not count.”
He dropped to his knees. He prayed to the stars. I stood there with my mouth open, my tongue tickling the roof of it nervously.
“What are you doing, Daddy?” I said.
“I’m praying you won’t end up like your mother and me.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t have said that out loud.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I already knew.”
“No, I just meant if you say it out loud, doesn’t that mean it won’t come true?”
“Number four,” said my mother, and paused.
“Number four,” screamed Jenny.
“The suspense is killing me,” said my father. “I am being killed.”
I threw my arms around his neck, and he squeezed my arms with his hands. Part of me wanted him to stop me. Because I knew I was already stuck in something. But I could not say the words.