Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Jessica's Way: May 25, 2013

Jessica:  May 25, 2013


Ohmygod! Did that really happen this morning? I thought that Jeff’s parents had already left for the lake. They usually go up to the cabin the Friday of Memorial Day weekend. Why were they still here on Saturday morning? Jeff and I had gone out for dinner and a movie last night. The earlier movie was sold out, so we opted for the ten o’clock show and got back to the house after midnight. We’ve been dating since September and we’ve always stayed at my place on the weekends. But now that school is out and I no longer have my own place, he can’t stay at my mom’s house with me. I thought his parents were gone. How embarrassing!

Kate knocked on the bedroom door wondering if Jeff wanted to ride up to the cabin with her and his dad. He looked at me questioningly and I shook my head as I scrambled out of bed in pursuit of my clothes. I had my jeans on and my shirt in my hand when his mom said, “Open the door for me, please. I have a stack of folded laundry in my hands.”

I didn’t even have time to be appalled by the fact that his mother still does his laundry. I couldn’t find my bra. I was frantic. It was nowhere to be found, like a missing sock in the dryer. I slipped on my shirt sans a bra and glanced in the mirror at my untamable sex hair as Jeff calmly slipped on a pair of sweatpants and unlocked the door.

I stood covering my chest, my eyes darting around the room searching for the missing garment, while Kate stashed her son’s socks and underwear in the appropriate drawers. I wanted to run and hide, but I couldn’t leave the room without my bra. When Kate had emptied her arms, she turned and, of course, spotted it right away. Jeff broke out laughing as his mother pulled my red bra from where it had wedged itself between the bed’s comforter and footboard.

“Is this what you’re looking for, dear?” she asked, handing it to me. “Jeff, may I speak to you in the hall for a minute?”

Jeff rolled his eyes and followed her out of the room. I overheard their entire conversation. How could I not? The door was left open. It went something like this:

“I hope you know what you are doing, Jeffery.” She only uses his proper name when she’s angry.
        
“I’m twenty-three years old. I know this may be a shock, but she’s not the first girl I’ve had in my room.”

“Don’t. Don’t you group Jessica with those other girls. She’s like a daughter to your father and me. She’s special. You better treat her with respect or I will make your life hell.”

“I love her, Mom.” His words flowed freely and without hesitation. “I think she’s the one. I would never hurt her.” For him to admit that to his mother was huge. Jeff has never said the L-word to me.

I know he loves me. He shows me in every touch, every smile, every time he weaves his fingers through my hair. He tells me with his eyes every time he looks at me, but he has never said the words. And I won’t be the first to say them. I’m not like my father who declares his love to every woman he dates. I’m cautious. Telling a guy I love him means something to me. Maybe he is afraid to tell me, because he doesn’t want to scare me. He knows what I think about my father. Maybe he left the bedroom door open on purpose. Maybe he knew what his mother was going to say. Did he want me to know that he loves me? Or was I not supposed to hear it?

I want to talk to him about it, but we won’t have time to talk this weekend. Every Memorial Day weekend it’s the same at the cabin—mow the grass, push the dock back into the lake and replace the decking, push the boat lift back into the lake, launch the boat, launch the raft, wash the linens, clean floors, chop wood, catch up with the neighbors we haven’t seen all winter, etc. The list goes on forever. We’ll be too busy to have a serious talk. With Sarah in the backseat, we won’t be able to talk on the ride up there either, and once Megan and Alli meet up with us, we’ll never have a minute alone. I wonder when Jeff will bring it up, or maybe he was just pacifying his mom and doesn't plan on telling me. I wish I hadn’t heard him.
Copyright 2014 Susan Schussler

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