I could see that he did. That he really truly did.
Even Jordan’s face released the tension, the doubt. This was our dad, laid bare for us. The crumbled, destroyed shell of a person he’d been. He’d reaped what he’d sown, but for how long? Forever? Did he deserve an eternity of those dark days without us?
“Why don’t…why don’t we just play the round?” Jordan suggested. “Figure it out after that.”
A glimmer of light returned to our dad’s eyes. “You still want to golf?”
“Why don’t we take it a day at a time?”
“Julian?” he asked me.
I swallowed and looked into the beast of my youth. And I realized he was just like all the rest of us. He’d fucked up. He’d owned up to it. Maybe we all deserved another chance here.
“I agree. Let’s play.”
30
Jennifer
“Funnel cake, honey?” my mom asked.
“Yes, please.”
We walked around downtown, where food trucks had taken up most of the LHUCA area. I’d been up here this morning in one of the studios, working with another portrait appointment and then a couple who wanted carnival-themed engagement shots. The portrait session had taken everything out of me—in the best way. I felt like the session was a focal point. Like I was almost done with the first round. Almost ready to show the world what I’d been working on.
I had one more shoot tonight that I was beyond excited for. Though it was a secret. I hadn’t even told Julian. Thinking about it was actually a nice distraction from Julian dealing with his dad. No matter that my anxiety was being managed, I took on other people’s anxiety as my own. I couldn’t help it, and I didn’t know how to control that. But I’d felt off all week, waiting to find out what the hell Owen Wright was going to say.
We’re going to play the full round. Don’t think I’ll make the festival.
You’re still on for fireworks, yes? Fireworks are required.
Yep. I’ll be there.
What did your dad say anyway? Is Weston your brother?
I’ll tell you about it later. My turn to golf.
I grumbled in frustration. Come on, Julian. Give me something!
“Everything all right?” my mom asked as she came back with a giant funnel cake topped with a mountain of powdered sugar.
“Yep. Julian’s just texting me. He’s out golfing with his dad.”
“Sounds riveting,” my dad said with a laugh.
He’d thrown his back out while playing golf when I was a kid and never picked up clubs again. Could hardly blame him.
“I wish that they could have come to the festival with us,” my mom said.
“Me too.”
Especially since the last time Julian had been around my parents, we’d been fake dating, and now, we were real dating. Not that they knew, but still. I’d lied, and I wanted them to see the truth.
“And your work?” Dad asked. “How did your shoots go this morning?”
My mom wrinkled her nose and pulled out her own phone.
“Great,” I said enthusiastically to overcome my mom’s behavior. “I’m almost done with my first set of portraits. Almost ready to showcase them.”
“Really?” my dad asked. “How would that work?”
I opened my mouth to explain, but Mom cut in, “Have either of you gotten texts back from Chester?”
I sighed. Of course, a change in subject to my brother. “Nope. I texted him over an hour ago and nothing.”
“I’m going to try to call him one more time,” she said and then stepped away from us to call my brother.
I sighed. “Why is she always like that about my career?”
My dad slung an arm around my shoulders. “It’s not about you. We’re both proud of you.”
“She isn’t proud of my work.”
“It’s only fear. We worked so hard to get to where we are. She doesn’t want to see you have to go through what we did to get ahead. She thinks pharmacy would be safer than photography.”
“But I’m talented at this. I love it. Why can’t she be happy about that?”
My dad shrugged. “Fear makes people act in funny ways, kiddo. She still loves you. She just doesn’t know how to express her fear in any other way.”
I hung my head. I knew what he meant, but it didn’t make it any easier. I’d been making a living as a photographer for almost four years now, and my mom never acknowledged it as any level of success. She only seemed to like Julian because it brought me some stability. She had an aversion to Wrights, as if they hadn’t earned their own work either. They’d been handed a company someone else had built. It was ridiculous. But I didn’t know how to fix it, and it felt demoralizing. If only I could stand up to her and tell her how much it hurt me. My therapist had been working with me for years to get over my childhood trauma, but apparently, I was still stuck in the same cycle.
“No luck,” my mom said, coming back to us. “Do you think that you could run by his place on the way home, Jennifer? I don’t know if he’s hurt or something. He never misses something like this.”
Yep. My perfect brother. Must be injured instead of bailing on family time.
“Sure,” I said. Because what else was I going to do? “You’re still meeting me for fireworks tonight, right?”
“Yes, honey. Find out if Chester is coming. And Julian, too.”
“I’ll ask Chess. Julian already agreed,” I told her. “We’re going to be with the entire Wright brood. Everyone will be there.”
“Well, we will have our own section,” my mom said defensively.
“Of course.” No point in arguing. “I’m going to check on Sutton, too.”
It was the five-year anniversary of her husband Maverick passing. She had a whole new, wonderful life now, but the day still hurt in inexplicable ways. She’d opted out of all celebrations in the past, but this was the first year that she’d agreed to bring Jason and Madison to fireworks. I’d all but begged her to attend, and she’d finally acquiesced for the kids.
“Poor thing,” my mom said. She hadn’t liked Sutton, but she still sympathized with her losing her husband.
I smiled wanly at them and then said my good-byes. I sent off a bunch of texts to Sutton to check on her. I hadn’t heard from Julian again. He must still be out on the golf course. Then I headed over to Chester’s house to make sure he wasn’t hurt, as per my mother.
Well, Chester’s car was parked in the driveway. So, he had to be home. Another car was parked next to it that I didn’t recognize. Must have a friend over, or maybe he was seeing someone and wasn’t ready to tell anyone. Either way, it was annoying that he couldn’t at least answer his texts.
I banged on the front door and then crossed my arms to wait for him. I didn’t have to wait long before the door pulled inward.
A smiling Peter Medina answered in nothing but a pair of boxers. “Jennifer,” he said. “I thought you were the pizza.”