“Surprise!” my mama blared while swinging her arms toward me, like a kamikaze pilot coming in for a crash landing.
“Mama, I-I didn’t…this is a surprise, is all!” I couldn’t help but notice my North Carolina accent was also making a surprise appearance. I hugged her and looked over my shoulder at my daddy to study his face for some clues.
“Now don’t give me that look there, Lauren Elizabeth. I told Mother to call you, but she insisted you’d love a surprise visit.”
I knew better. My daddy was a lot of things: a successful sporting-goods store owner, a former high school and college wrestling champion, an avid golfer and fisherman. A pushover, he was not. But he had always been more than willing to let my mama be the heavy when it came to romantic matters with either me or my sisters growing up.
Bottom line: both of them had been chomping at the bit to find out more about Jackson ever since he spoke with her several weeks ago over the phone. I probably didn’t help matters by remaining annoyingly vague about the details and progress of my relationship. The truth was that Jackson and I were traveling at lightning speed, but I was more than happy to drag my feet when it came to incorporating him into my family, especially my family.
I felt the last puff of air squeezed out of my lungs after both my parents had their hugs. Now they were plowing past me into the main area of my house, more than happy to make themselves at home.
“Oh that’s right, you mentioned you were havin’ a Super Bowl party. I must’ve let that slip out of my li’l ol’ head.” My mama sashayed right into the center of the room. My mama was also a lot of things: a former beauty-pageant queen, salutatorian of her high school class, an avid Southern comfort-food cook. A bubblehead, she was not.
I watched as she scanned the room like the Terminator. I also saw both her and my father’s mouths and jawlines tighten as their eyes moved from my friends over to Jackson’s biker buddies.
Jax’s eyes hadn’t left either of them since they’d barged into my house. As soon as both my parents were front and center, my man stood up, walked over to me and slung his left arm over my shoulders while extending his right hand out to shake my dad’s.
“Jackson Sullivan. A pleasure.” He gave a chin lift in my mama’s direction. She was too far off for a handshake, and she also looked stuck in place.
I wrapped my arms around his waist but I couldn’t help but stiffen as my parents just stood there, failing to respond. “Mama? Daddy? He-llo?”
My father was the first to respond. He cleared his throat and shook Jackson’s hand. “Um, yes, son. John Thomas Renwick. This is my wife, Eleanor.”
My mama could barely eke out a smile. “A, uh…pleasure to meet you, Jackson.”
Jackson didn’t miss a thing, and while I felt I was descending down a rabbit hole from hell, I could tell from just looking at him that even though he noticed their discomfort, it didn’t faze him.
“What’s your pleasure?”
My mother’s eyes widened and her hand fluttered to her throat. “Pardon me?”
I rolled my eyes and caught Myer doing the same over their shoulders. “To drink, Mama. Jackson’s offering you something to drink after your unexpected trip.”
My daddy cleared his throat once again, a nervous tic he’d had ever since I could remember. “Oh you know us, sugarplum. Gin and tonic for me and a white wine spritzer for your mama.”
I gave Jackson’s side a quick, reassuring squeeze and went into the kitchen to not only get their drinks, but escape.
“Help!” I whispered loudly to Myer while she helped me pour their drinks.
She gave me a pained smile. “I sent Wade in to serve as backup. He’s always gotten along with your folks.”
“Well sure he does, Myer,” I retorted. “Wade’s a good ol’ boy, one you’ve molded through the years to become a Southern parents’ wet dream. I wish you hadn’t sent him in there. They’re going to take one look at Wade and another at Jackson and it’s only going to serve as a stark reminder that, once again, I didn’t choose what they think is right for me.”
“I think you’re worrying over nothing,” she replied. “All your friends here like him. Heck, Wade adores him to distraction. Jackson’s smart and charming, makes great money, fixes everything, and last and most important, he makes you happier than I’ve ever seen you, Lauren.”
I gave her a tightlipped smile as I walked over to them. Jackson took the drinks from me with a wink and handed them to my parents. As he extended his reach over, the left sleeve of his henley stretched back, exposing part of the tattoo work. My mother grasped his wrist and held it up.
“Why, Mr. Sullivan,” she exclaimed as she tightened her grip. “That’s quite something you’re hiding underneath there.” She turned toward my daddy. “John Thomas, did you catch the colorful artwork Lauren’s beau is sporting up his sleeve? Isn’t that somethin’ else?”
“Eleanor, honey, leave the man alone.”
My mama remained undeterred. “Don’t mind me, Jackson. Tell me, what inspired you to mark yourself in such a way?”
“Got different tats to remember different markers in my life. Would you like me to take off my shirt and show you all of ’em, Mrs. Renwick?”
He was playing with her, and I felt torn between wanting to egg him on, feeling my mother deserved his provocative ribbing, and wanting to jab him in his side to get him to stop and behave. I was perturbed that my parents had just shown up unexpectedly, changing the whole vibe of the evening, but I also wanted them to like Jackson, in spite of myself.
My mama visibly shuddered. “Um, that won’t be necessary, young man,” she choked out. “I’m sure your stories are just as colorful as your tattoos.”
“Mrs. Renwick,” Wade cut in, “lots of people got ink these days. Hell, I wish I could pull off Jackson’s look.”
“Well, as you know, Wade,” my father interjected, “certain people may get ‘ink’, but others think beyond the moment and understand how such modes of expression can affect their future.”
The vibe turned scary intense and Legs, Rails, and Mad Max were no longer watching the game. Not the one on TV, at least.
“Jackson Sullivan’s a good man, Mr. Renwick,” called out Legs. Legs, actually born Henry Davidson, Jr., got his nickname because he easily stood 6’5” and was 240 pounds of solid muscle. I knew he was a big ol’ teddy bear, but standing there with his arms crossed and his gray eyes boring into my dad, Legs looked freakin’ scary.
“Can’t get no better than Jax for your girl,” vouched Rails, whose real name I had just recently learned was Donovan Connors, but I still hadn’t learned how he earned his nickname. I had asked Jackson, but it was one of the only times he wouldn’t answer, saying it wasn’t his story to tell.
“I think I know who’s a good choice for my daughter,” retorted my father. He icily perused them all up and down, and one look at his face told me he had already made up his mind about them, about Jax and about my ability to find “a good man”. I glanced over, and Jackson wasn’t looking over at his buddies or even at my parents. He was staring at me. I gave him a weak smile, unsure of what he was expecting to find in me at that moment.
Whatever I gave him must’ve been the wrong response because the veins in his temple and neck convulsed and he tightened his usually luscious, full mouth into a thin line. Without losing focus on me, he called out, “Party’s over, folks. Everybody clear out!”
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!
Lightning quick, every single one of our friends got their stuff, cleaned up their li’l party area, and got out without one complaint or staggerer. I also couldn’t help but notice that everyone there, not just Jackson’s friends, but mine too, made sure to give my man either a chin lift or a backslap of support on their way out.
“Son, don’tcha think that was a tad overdramatic and unnecessary?” drawled my daddy while gi
ving him an exasperated look like he would some petulant adolescent. “Usually I leave it to the women to make a scene and clear a room.”
Jackson glared at him. “Am I supposed to feel like less of a man because you’re comparing me to women?”
My parents just stared at him, not expecting that response. Hell, I didn’t expect that kind of response, but I couldn’t help but fall even more for him because of it.
But he wasn’t done with my dad. “Mr. Renwick, I think now’s a good a time as any to cut through the layer of bullshit that’s been dirtying my woman’s doorstep for far too long.”
My daddy’s face blanched. “What on God’s green earth are you talkin’ ’bout, boy? I don’t know what you’re implying, but—”
Jackson didn’t wait for him to finish. Instead, he walked off, at first to my office, and then to my bedroom.
My mama leaned in toward me and in a hushed voice asked, “What on earth is he doing carousing through your house? And right in the middle of our talk!”
I threw up my hands and looked upward, as if I were pleading with the universal forces that helped combat crazy-parent mojo. “Is that what we’re having here, Mama? A talk? Really?”
“Well, I’ll admit we were curious about your young man here,” she replied. “But I had no idea he’d make such a scene. He’s quite a volatile one. Did you know this about him, Lauren Elizabeth?”
“Well, seeing as you two crashed our party, uninvited and without any heads-up, and then you insult my man in front of our friends, can ya blame him for not wanting to subject them to any more of your nonsense?”
I had no clue myself what he was up to, but I was feeling just as much on edge as my parents were at that moment. When he walked back in and I saw what he had in his hands, I felt like I was going to throw up in my mouth.
“Jackson, w-what are you doing?” I could barely get the words out, the muscles in my throat squeezing my vocal cords, like a boa constrictor.
In his hands were my artist portfolio, which catalogued all my best work since I graduated from the Rhode Island School of Design, my personal sketchbook and last, but certainly not least, the list containing my Mama’s Rules for Dating.
Dear Lord, don’t let this happen. Please don’t let this happen…
Still whispering, for what reason I was not entirely sure, except maybe because the sheer force of pure, unadulterated panic was precluding my ability to speak, I attempted to pull Jackson aside for a word, albeit one barely audible to human ears. Of course, he didn’t budge, but he leaned in to try to hear me.
“Jackson, listen, I’m sure you think you’re helping me here in some way, but trust me, you’re making things worse. A lot worse. Daddy’s gonna think what he’s gonna think, and he’s sixty-two years old, which means he ain’t changing anytime, like, ever. So, back down and let me smooth things over, okay, honey?”
“No Lauren, you don’t get it,” he said in this steely, determined, barely-containing-his-anger voice. “You are not the one to smooth things over. You’re not taking the hit. You’re gonna let your man take care of somethin’ that should’ve been done a long time ago. And you’re sure as fuck not gonna apologize for me.” He then turned first to my mother, dangling her list in his hand and breathing fire directly at her. “Is this piece-of-shit list your fine idea?”
Her mouth dropped, and my daddy got all red in the face. “Don’t you dare talk to my wife like that. In all my years—”
Jackson and I may not have been together for very long, but I still knew his patience was done. “You know what I can’t believe? That either of you would think that your daughter needed some ass-backwards list of rules from the Stone Age to find herself a man. The only kind of guy who would be snared by manipulative bullshit like this—” he growled and crumpled the list in his hand into a ball and threw it at their feet, “—is the kind of asshat too stupid to know when he’s being led around by his dick. He’s the kind of dipshit who thinks being a man is about the chase, and not in the living easy with his woman.”
My mama may have been caught off guard, but she was no shrinking violet, daisy or peony. “Mr. Sullivan,” she interrupted, “I can assure you we have our daughter’s best interests in mind. I can see you’ve grown quite fond of our girl, and I can understand why. She’s a beautiful and spirited woman. But she knows playtime is over and those rules are there to help her find an appropriate man to have a life with. She wants to get married, have children. Can you honestly say you want the same things for your life as she does for hers?”
His hands still on his hips, Jackson stared at her for a moment before speaking. “And you take one look at me, with tattoos and a motorcycle, and see someone that you and your family shouldn’t take seriously.”
“Well, son,” my daddy started, “can’t exactly strap a car seat to the back of a Harley now, can ya?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Renwick, don’t you want better for Lauren than to play by rules that only end up burying the stuff about her that’s most alive?”
If there was any doubt or hesitation before, in that moment it was vanquished. I was head over heels in love with Jackson Sullivan.
“Haven’t you figured out that one of the many things that makes Lauren so fuckin’ amazing is how she doesn’t hide anything she’s feelin’? If she were to become some calculating rule-follower, the best parts of her would fade into nothing right in front of your eyes. She’d be breathin’, but you’d have a ghost for a daughter.”
He still had my portfolio and sketchbook, holding them both strongly with only one of his large hands. He placed them on the dining room table next to us and opened both at random. His face warmed even further as he stared at my drawings and photographs of my work in front of him. He arched an eyebrow at my completely speechless and wide-eyed parents.
“She told me how you all look at her work like it’s a hobby, some way for her to pass the time until she gets what I’m sure you two would think is a ‘real’ life. Have you seen what your daughter can do? Fuck, it goes beyond being able to paint or draw. It’s like you’ve been gifted with a goddamn pearl and you’re throwing it back so you can go looking for sand.” He shook his head and then turned to me. I was standing there with tears in my eyes, taking in the miracle that was this man. My man.
“How long have you known about that list?” I whispered, thinking I was probably never going to get my voice back.
“Baby, we’ve barely spent a night apart since that first night on New Year’s Eve,” he said, followed by my mama gasping and my daddy clearing his throat and getting all red and sweaty in the face again. Jackson just rolled his eyes, shook his head and basically ignored them. “You think I wouldn’t notice every little thing about you and your place the same way you’ve noticed everything about mine?”
“But then why didn’t you say anything before?”
He looked genuinely surprised. “Because, baby, think it’s safe to say that you’ve done the complete opposite of everything on that list since minute one. Thank fuck. Frankly, until I met your parents tonight, I thought the list was a gag you kept up for a laugh, especially with the way you and Myer love to poke fun at your Southern roots.”
I blushed bright pink and bit my bottom lip. “I was trying to live by that list, but none of it ever stuck when it came to you.”
He cradled my face in the warm palms of his hands and came nose to nose with me. “Lauren, never will you hide from me. Never will you keep anything about you away from me. I don’t care if it’s needy or ugly or what. I want you, all of you. We clear?”
I let out a breath and looked down at my shoes.
“Look at me, Lauren. Now,” he demanded in a low, rough voice.
I found his eyes and I could barely see the blue because the blacks had dilated large.
God, I loved this man. “We’re clear, Jax.”
“One more thing.”
“Baby, I’ll be here to fight whatever battles you need me to fight. But you gotta know that if you were truly okay with all that you are and all we are, there’d be no way in hell anyone, even your folks, could make the kind of scene that happened here today. And that would be because either they’d have enough respect for you and your choices to keep their mouths shut or they wouldn’t be allowed in your space until they could find a way to demonstrate that respect.”
I blinked several times, trying to keep the stinging at bay. I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Because I knew he was right.
“Honey?” The sound of my mother’s voice snapped me out of my self-realization stupor. They were standing over my books and from my brief glimpse over, it seemed as if they had perused most of them while Jackson and I were having our little moment.
“Lauren, I can’t believe we…that we didn’t…”
“Didn’t do what, Mama?”
“That we didn’t…” She looked to my dad for clarity.
I gulped air in, holding my breath.
“Acknowledge you were this talented,” my daddy finished.
My body froze solid. “W-what?” I whispered.
“We should’ve acknowledged a lot sooner how incredibly talented you are, baby girl. We didn’t try hard enough to understand how important your work is to you, but your young man is right. Doesn’t matter what your mama or I think. If this is who you are, then that’s whatcha gotta do.” He closed the books and handed them back to me. I tucked them against my chest like a shield, still not completely believing what I was hearing.
“Daddy, you used to call my artwork ‘chicken scratch’ and my art school ‘a Yankee Doodle camp’.”
“Yeah? And you went there anyway and then had thirteen group shows, three solo shows, and a bunch of prizes and honors that your mother’s better at keeping track of than I ever was.”
He knew about my shows, the prizes I had won, the work I did outside my job as a mural artist. All these years I thought that information had just moved right past him, but he, actually both of them, had been following along the whole time.
Rule Breaker Page 9
