The Red Thread (23 page)

She sounds like my mom now. I know they’re right, but I still feel guilty. I can’t stop that hand of guilt crushing me until I feel like I’m nothing but dust. How is someone supposed to just forget what they did to their own father?

“Does that make sense?”

I nod.

“How is the medication working? Is it still helping?”

“Yeah, I believe so.”

“Any thoughts about harming yourself again?”

Yes.

“No.”

Liar.

She looks at me, and I can see from her look that she knows I’m not telling her something. It’s not that I’ve harmed myself. It’s normal for someone to still think about it—right? I think back to the blade, which I still keep hidden in my nightstand. No one knows about it, and no one will ever find out about it. After my stay at the hospital, I told my mom I threw the blade out. The truth is I kept it for just in case. A part of me cannot be without it. I feel this gravitational pull to it. It’s like I need it.

“Jess, if you ever feel the need to harm yourself again, do you have anyone to talk to?”

“Of course. Loads of people I can talk to.”

Well, not really. Most people don’t understand.

She grabs a piece of paper and quickly writes something down. I take it and see ten digits. I’m going to take a wild guess and say this isn’t her social security number.

“If you need someone to talk to, you can call me anytime. That’s the number to my cell phone. I always have it on me. Good night, Jess, and I really do mean you can call me anytime.”

“Thank you.”

I leave the office and find my father in the waiting room with a book. He looks up and asks how it went, and I say fine. The usual conversation between us. In the car we are always silent.

“So your mother says you’re seeing that friend of yours tonight?”

Usually
silent.

“My
boyfriend
. Adam is my boyfriend. Yeah. I’m going over to meet his uncle.”

“Are you excited?”

“Yeah.”

“He seems nice. I hope he makes you happy.”

I look over at my father, who keeps his face so stiff.

“He does, Dad. Thank you.”

He pats my shoulder, and we spend the rest of the drive home in silence. Outside on the front porch, Clara sits in her winter coat and has her cell phone plastered to her ear. She looks serious, and as I get out of the car, she whispers into the phone and puts it down.

“Hey, Jess.” She smiles.

“Hey, is everything okay?” I ask, pointing at the phone.

“Oh yes. Don’t worry.”

Yeah, right. Telling me not to worry is like telling a zombie not to eat flesh.

“Okay.”

I enter the house, and I hear my sister start talking again before Dad shuts the door. I wonder who she is on the phone with. It sounds like something is wrong, and now I hope I haven’t been so selfish to not notice something is going on with my sister as well.

I sit on my bed with my door open and it feels like forever before I finally hear Clara walking up the stairs, even though I know it’s only been about twenty minutes. She stops at my door and smiles, her long dark hair falling in waves past her shoulders.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Of course. I was just on the phone with a friend. He’s having a problem.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

She enters my room and sits on my bed, putting her arm around me. I rest my head on her shoulder. She strokes my hair, something she used to do when we were children. It used to relax me. Good news: it still works.

“Mom tells me you’re going out with your
boyfriend
tonight,” she says. She can’t contain her smile as she drags out the word boyfriend. I can’t stop my smile either as she mentions the word.

“She seems to be telling everyone.”

“I think she is just as excited as you are, honestly. She was telling me about it as you were out all night.”

“Oh my gosh.”

But then I laugh, and so does my sister, and it’s a joyous moment. A free moment, one of the few I have. I don’t think of the blade or my pain or my sadness. I can only think of my family and how good I feel.

The sound of the doorbell resonates, and Clara’s smile grows.

“Go get him, Tiger.”

I smirk at her and run downstairs. Before Mom can open the door, I’m there, and I tear it open. Before me stands Adam looking as adorable as ever. His light brown hair is nicely styled, and he wears a button-up shirt with a nice vest, which clings to his toned body, and a pair of tight jeans.

“R-r-r-ready to, to go?”

“Yes.”

As I look up into his gray-blue eyes, all my anxiety and fear just seem to evaporate, leaving only excitement and fondness. He smiles that famous smile of his, and he takes my hand in his.

“Have fun,” my mom calls out.

“Thank you,” I respond.

I stop and let go of Adam’s hand, and I run back, throwing my arms around my mother. She stands there stunned and finally hugs me back.

“I love you,” she whispers into my ear. “Now go have fun.”

I smile at her, and I return to Adam’s hand, having already missed it after being gone for a few seconds. He opens my passenger door, and I slip in, noticing that my family is still watching from the window. I shoo them away with my hand, but they don’t listen. I just hope Adam doesn’t notice.

“They, they s-s-s-s-seem ex-excited.”

A deep red-hot blush rushes to my cheeks, and I try to focus on something, anything to erase my embarrassment. I end up focusing on the strawberry scent of his car. I’ve always loved the smell and taste of strawberries. As a kid I was strange. I never liked the taste of chocolate, but I loved fruit, and strawberries are one of my main weaknesses. Now I’m wondering if Adam knew this or if this is some random, wonderful coincidence.

The drive takes a bit longer than usual, but then I remember we’re not going to his apartment. We’re going to his uncle’s house. We drive in silence, but it’s a comfortable silence. He keeps one hand on the wheel and the other clasped in mine. I smile at the feeling of his warm hand and at the beautiful sky outside. It’s a clear night, so I am able to see every star and every constellation. To be honest, I’ve never been able to understand how some people could just point out constellations. I’ve never been able to find one in my entire life. I look up hoping to find one, but they are all just a bunch of stars, millions of beautiful glowing dots in the sky. They’re so beautiful and are always just there, with no worries or pain. I’m envious of the stars.

The car finally stops outside a small one-story house toward the edge of town. We get out, and he leads me to the front door. His hand never once leaves mine and as we stand at the front door, the panic begins to set in once again.

“Ow.”

I look down to see that I’m crushing Adam’s hand so tight it’s turning white.

“Sorry.”

“Ner-nervous?”

I nod, not wanting to say how I’m feeling.

“D-don’t be. He’ll love-love you.”

He turns to the door and knocks. I’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. What am I so nervous about anyway? I’m meeting Adam’s uncle. I’m just meeting his uncle. I’m just meeting the family that could despise me and ruin all my chances with Adam. I’m just meeting the man who may make Adam realize I’m not worthy enough of his affection.

Yeah, I’m not fine.

The door opens, and a man in his early fifties stands there. He has a sweet smile on his lips, and has dark brown and gray hair. His thin face kind of reminds me a bit of an older Anderson Cooper, if he had still had some color in his hair. He wears a nice button-up shirt and a pair of khakis.

“You must be Jess. I’m Adam’s uncle, Martin Anders. Come in.”

He steps aside, and Adam leads me into the small, simple home. Pictures of Adam and their family decorate the walls. I see one of a young boy, obviously Adam. You can tell by the big lopsided grin on his face, which shows too much teeth. He sits outside on a park bench with two attractive people. They are all smiles, and you can tell they’re midlaughter. He looks like the woman in the photo, but he has the man’s smile. I know these are his parents.

Martin leads us into a living room, where the walls are painted a light green and the carpet is a cream color. We sit in front of a nice brick fireplace, where a fire is already roaring on. Adam takes my coat and sits beside me on the matching green couch. Martin sits in an armchair on the other side of a mahogany coffee table. He puts one leg over the other and continues to smile.

“So Jess, Adam was telling me all about you.”

Oh gosh, I hope not.

“Oh, yeah? He talks a lot about you too, Mr. Anders.”

“Martin, please call me Martin.”

“Martin,” I say with a smile.

There is something comforting and warm about him. He reminds me a bit of my mom. I don’t know if it is the way he talks with that soft voice or his welcoming smile, but there is something about him that makes me feel less scared.

“So Jess, you work in a bookshop I hear?”

“I do. It’s nice.”

“Do you love it?”

“I do. It’s incredibly quaint and lovely. I love to be around books. It’s like I’m at home there.”

“That’s fantastic. My partner, Max, used to work in a bookshop when he was younger too.”

“That’s nice,” I respond. “Which one?”

“Oh it was years ago, back when he lived in New York. It was in the early eighties.”

I smile as he begins to tell the story of how he met his partner. They’ve been together since 1993 and met while they were both waiting in line for coffee. It’s a cute story that brings a smile to my face, and as I look around the home, I can easily envision my future life like this. Maybe with Adam by my side?

“So where is Max?” I ask.

“Oh, he’s visiting his parents for the night. His father had a bad fall, so he wants to be with them for a little bit. He’s the one who usually cooks, so I attempted cooking earlier, but sadly I’ve made a mess of the whole dinner. Would you boys like to order Chinese food?”

I laugh and tell him that’s okay. Chinese food is my favorite, so I’m definitely more than okay with this. We order tons of Chinese food in little white boxes, and we just eat and talk at the kitchen table. I can’t state the amount of laughter that escapes me over the course of the evening. Adam’s uncle is one funny guy. He tells us all these stories about when he was young and all the crazy things he would do. When he was a teenager, he once followed a band across the entire country. His parents were so angry with him when he got back, they grounded him for an entire year. Underneath the table, as his uncle speaks, Adam takes my hand in his, and the moment is pure perfection.

Neither my illness nor my stay in the hospital is ever mentioned, and I am thankful for that. I just don’t want to be forever known as the man who stayed in a mental hospital. I always ask to be normal, and this night I finally get my wish.

As we finish dinner, we vacate to the living room, where Martin puts another log on the fire.

“Jess, do you plan to go back to school?”

What did Adam tell him? Did he tell him the entire reason I dropped out?

“Maybe, I don’t know. I’m figuring everything out with my life to be honest right now. I’m at a weird fork, and I just don’t know which direction I should take. One is telling me to do one thing, while another is telling me to do the exact opposite.” What is it about Martin that makes it so easy to open up to him?

All he does is smile and say, “You’ll figure it out in time. We all do.”

“Thank you.”

The door opens, and an attractive man, probably in his forties, with light sandy blond hair and beard stubble walks in. He is about my height and wears a pair of wire-framed glasses and a nice tailored suit. He walks up to Martin and kisses him on the lips. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say this is Max.

“I’m so happy to see you, Adam, and you must be Jess. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Max.” He shakes my hand and smiles down at me.

“Nice to meet you, Max.”

He sits down on Martin’s legs, and I can’t stop my smile; the way they look at one another, it’s like they couldn’t imagine anyone else ever in the other’s place. All I see is pure happiness. I’ve always wanted to know what it is like to be happy, and now I finally see what it looks like. This is what I aspire to be in life.

Happy.

AFTER DINNER,
Adam takes me to a small bedroom that his uncles keep for him for the occasions he stays over. The bed is a small twin-size one with
Doctor Who
sheets, and his light green walls are riddled with all different science-fiction movies and television show posters.

“Cute room,” I state with a smirk.

“Sh-sh-sh-shut up.”

He has a huge smile on his face, which just seems to radiate with gaiety. He brings me over to his bed, and we sit as close to each other as we can, without actually sitting on one another’s laps.

“I like the
Doctor Who
sheets,” I jest. “I thought your uncle only moved here a couple years ago. This looks like you’ve been here since you were a child.”

Adam blushes. “He d-d-d-did only m-m-move here a c-c-c-couple years ago. I’m v-very c-c-c-cool, you know.”

“Sure. And you still are,” I say before I break out into a laugh.

“Are you ha-having a good n-night?”

“Definitely. Your uncles are amazing, Adam.”

“They are, are my entire f-f-family.”

“Adam, what happened to your parents?”

The moment the question falls out of my mouth, I berate myself. Stupid, Jess, stupid. The smile on his face drops, and he looks away, casting his eyes on the ground.

“You don’t have to answer. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask. It was stupid and personal, and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. We can talk about something else. So I see you have a
Doctor Who
poster. That’s fantastic.”

“It’s o-okay. They, um, they d-died in, um,” he starts, but then it’s like his words fall into nothing. Oblivion. He looks away, but I catch a glimpse of how destroyed he looks.

“Oh, you don’t have to go on. I’m stupid.”

“It’s okay. I-it w-was a c-c-ar accident. I-I was f-f-four. I w-was the only s-s-s-s-survivor of-of the crash.”