by Xavier Neal
“I am.”
“In the...in the flesh.”
“Decorated, but still mine nonetheless.”
She gives June a startled glance. “And you brought a date?”
“That's just June,” Aunt Brandi brushes off. “She's nobody important. Just my assistant. You've met her before.”
Hearing the words irks me more than expected. “That's where you're wrong Aunt Brandi. June is something special.”
June shakes her head and whispers to me, “I'm really not.”
“You really are.”
She shakes her head again and denies to me, “I'm not,” and then quickly to my mother, “I'm-I'm-I'm really not. It's okay you don't remember me. I'm not- I- I probably wouldn't even remember me.”
My hand lands on her thigh preparing to continue this argument despite where we are.
She has to eventually see how amazing she is. Maybe that's why Fate smashed us together. So I could show her that.
Her hand lands on top of mine at the same time Aunt Brandi clears her throat, a mischievous grin growing. “It was my mistake, Tucker. She is very important, especially for the next few weeks.”
The stern look slumps June into her seat.
Don't give me that look. I can't stay just to make June look good in my aunt's eyes. Hey- Just give me- Fine. I'll figure something out! I'll find a way so my leaving doesn't ruin June's career, alright?
“I'm...surprised to see you,” my mother cautiously continues. “I mean in person instead of on a phone screen.”
I try to offer her a less painful smile.
Skype chats don't require me to be in the same room with the person who blew off my father's death like it was a pet dying rather than an actual person. Doesn't require me to stare into the blue eyes I was given, for longer than a few seconds.
“David Stintson, I'd like you to meet my son Tucker.” Her tone immediately softens, admiration and warmth so overwhelming, it churns my stomach. “Tucker this is my fiance, David.”
How can she sound so happy to be with a man who isn't her soul mate? Who isn't the man who helped birth her fucking son? How can she sit there smiling like he’s some reward from Fate rather than the consolation prize he actually is?
Salad is placed in front us. Without making eye contact to the man sitting where my dad always refused, I manage to muster up, “Hello.”
“Hey!” The enthusiasm in his voice is also nauseating.
He didn't just win a Nobel Peace Prize for getting to meet the son of the woman he's banging.
“It's nice to finally meet you, Tucker. Your mother's told me so much about you and your artwork.”
“There would be more to tell if you would let us put one of your pieces in the hotel lobby here in town,” Aunt Brandi tries to tempt me with the same offer I always refuse. “Or maybe in the offices?”
I shake my head at her. “Not happening.”
Aunt Brandi shrugs. “It was worth a shot.”
“I think it would be sweet seeing your work every morning on my way in,” June quietly agrees from beside me. My hand, which is still on her thigh, begins to give it a gentle stroke as our eyes connect. “It would give the building a little extra something special.”
We linger in the moment and for a brief moment I forget there are other people outside of us.
“Would it help remind you that you're not as invisible as you think are? Would an action like that be valued?”
June slowly nods. “Every day.”
David interrupts, “Your mother did mention none of your artwork was displayed at the offices or hotels and that her parents hope to someday change that. I think I'm with everyone else. Seeing your artwork on a daily would definitely unite this family.”
I have a chomp of my salad. “Implying we're not united now.”
David tries to correct, “I didn't mean it that way. What I meant was-”
“Because I refuse to paint something commercial to sit in a case like an NFL trophy- no offense Uncle Brett-”
“None taken.”
“-that means I'm wishing division upon my family or are you simply implying there is division already here and it's my fault, so the only way to undo it, is by creating a miraculous peace painting?”
June's thumb tries to give me a soothing rub.
“Tucker,” Aunt Brandi fusses. “Relax. I think David was just...trying to...offer his opinion and be part of the conversation.”
David nods and extends his hand her direction. “Precisely.”
I give his small, squirrel like appearance a small glare.
No. I didn't think I was going to handle all this this poorly, but he needs to remember his place. No matter how long he screws my mother in the sheets or out of cash, he will never belong here. This will never be his mom or his family.
“You said she told you about my artwork?”
“She did.”
“She tell you the painting to your right was a present I gave her and my father for their twentieth anniversary?”
“Tucker,” my mother fusses.
David's brown eyes soften. “She did not. It's a lovely creation.”
“It's a pop art rendering of their first kiss.”
“Tucker!” She squeaks louder.
“I listened to that story, over and over and over again growing up.” Despite her pleas for me to stop, I continue, “I listened to that story so many times, I could retell it in my sleep. He loved every minute of that day like it was the moment his entire life began.”
“Tucker!” The appalled sound in her voice causes June to tap me as if to say it's enough.
Fine. A little out of line there.
“So where ya been?” Uncle Brett speaks loudly to grab my attention.
A heavy sigh escapes and I pick my fork back up in an effort to refocus my attention on eating. “Hawaii.”
“Love Hawaii,” Aunt Brandi coos before turning to my mother. “Remember, that one vacation we all took together when the boys were still little before Brennan was born.”
“Pretty sure Brennan was conceived on that trip,” my mother laughs and the rest of us snicker.
“So what were you doing there?” Uncle Brett waggles his eyebrows. “Swimming with exotic animals or exotic women?”
Unable to resist chuckling again, I reply, “Both.”
June unexpectedly shifts beside me.
An odd feeling of guilt grabs me.
I shouldn't have to be ashamed for loving women the same way I love art. You're right. I don't have to rub it in her face.
“And of course studying art. That's the true point of traveling around the world.”
“So you say,” my mother snidely whispers.
“No souvenirs?” Uncle Brett jokes, his huge frame leaning back. “Thought I was your favorite uncle.”
“You're my only uncle,” the correction is met with another bite of the salad.
“Well I've got two brothers,” David tosses himself once more into the conversation. “So that statement won't be true for too much longer.”
Uncle Brett's face scrunches seconds before I snip, “Just because you're banging my mother doesn't make us family.”
“Tucker!” She sharply shrieks.
I catch the sight of June's mouth cracking open before I have another bite of my salad.
“I'm going to need something stronger,” Aunt Brandi sighs finishing the last of her wine.
“That makes two of us,” Uncle Brett mumbles.
“It's fine,” David insists. “He's entitled to feel protective. The aggression is understandable.”
“You haven't seen me be aggressive.”
“Tucker,” my mother warns sharply.
I roll my head her direction. “You can say more than my first name mother. Perhaps my middle? The one named after the husband you're trying poorly to replace.”
“Oooo,” Aunt Brandi tisks. “Not...not good...”
“Flag on the play for unsportsmanlike conduct,” Uncle Bret
t grunts.
His sports references typically only come out when he's extremely uncomfortable, which isn't something you would think an ex NFL player could get.
“I'm not here to replace your father,” David calmly states.
“You never could even if you wanted to.”
“It's understandable how you might come to that conclusion with me in what used to be his home, eating dinner with what used to be his wife, from what used to be his chair-”
“My father never sat there.” I reach for my previously untouched wine glass. “He sat beside the woman he loved every night he could because that's where a man in love sits.” Our eyes meet and I push, “Beside the woman he's devoted to. Not across.”
“Tucker,” my mother's growl gets fierce. “That's enough.”
“Is that why you're sitting beside June?” David throws back at me.
Don't...read....into that. I fall in love as easily as I fall out of it.
“You're a psychologist, aren't you?”
“Would that sway your opinion of me?”
“For sleeping with a patient or using babble bullshit in an attempt to irritate me?”
“You're the one who started putting meaning behind seating-”
“And you're the one trying a co-parenting speech to a twenty-six year old.”
“Enough!” June's voice breaks the conversation unexpectedly. She makes an attempt to lift her hands and bumps her wrist against the table. Despite possible discomfort she fumbles to say, “Adults.” The frustration on her face forces me to settle back down as does the deep breath she expels. “We're all adults. How about we....behave...like it?”
“What the assistant said,” Uncle Brett backs her up.
“June,” the annoyance twitches my eyes his direction. “Her. Name. Is. June.”
He tries not to grin. “My apologies.” When his eyes move back to her, he gives her a nod. “I'm sorry, June. I'll make sure to remember your name.”
“It's quite alright,” she mutters, face dropping down to look at the table. “Really. No one...ever...does. It's fine,” her whisper tries to hold steady yet fades to the point I almost miss the tail end of it, “No one ever will.”
I don't agree with her there. And one day I wanna know who taught her to believe that.
Thankfully, the next part of the course is brought in, moving along this living hell.
“So everything has been finalized for the reception,” my mother calmly informs, giving her blonde hair a nervous touch. “I'm very grateful you will be attending, Tucker.”
I don't reply.
“We all are very grateful for that.” Aunt Brandi pins me with a sharp look.
“You could bring a date if you want,” my mother continues to try to connect with me once more. “However there should be plenty of opportunities to mingle if you decide against it.”
“Maybe I'll bring June,” I nonchalantly add and meet eyes with her. “Would that be a problem?”
“Why would it?”
“Aside from the fact you've met her at least a dozen times over the past two years-”
June whispers, “I don't know about a dozen...”
“-and still can't remember her name? How about the uncomfortable looks you're giving her that you don't think I've noticed? Sure, it's been years since I’ve seen it, but I know that look. You don't approve.”
She huffs and folds her hands. “Is there something to approve of?”
Aunt Brandi denies for me. “No. Of course not. She's just my assistant.”
June slinks into her seat once more.
“She's so much more than that,” I counter before turning back to my mother. “And I'm not saying there is or isn't something here for you to approve of, because I honestly don't give a fuck if you do or not, it's just disgusting that you wouldn't, because she's not like Rachel was. Because her family doesn't play golf with yours-”
“Stop it,” my mother fusses. “You stop that right now, Tucker. You know damn well that's not true. We're not those types of people.”
“You are that type of person. You have been ever since dad died. Hiding behind your snooty cocktail parties and who the fuck is who galas. You weren't like that when dad was alive-”
“And now he's dead,” she bites back harshly. “And David likes going to those things with me. And he likes having cocktails instead of beer. And he likes French films. He likes all the things you father didn't-”
“So that's his appeal? Being the complete opposite of the man who worshiped you for years.”
“Tuck,” Uncle Brett tries to pull me back.
“Years! He quit being a Marine for you!”
“He quit being a Marine for you!” She yells in return. “He wanted to be here for you!”
“He wanted to be here for us! We were his whole world! You know it as much as I do! He never let us forget how hard he was willing to work to keep us or what he was willing to do to protect us!” I stand, hands slamming on the table. “He always taught us substance over style! Humanity over profitability! To be kind, humble, and fucking caring to everyone from different walks of life because you don't know what they've been through!” Tears stain her eyes and I viciously add, “You're basically spitting on dad's grave every time you act like you're better than everyone else.”
“Tucker!” Aunt Brandi shouts. “You're. Done.”
“You're right.” I toss my attention to a horrified June. “Take me home?”
Her eyes flicker to my aunt's, who simply shrugs in defeat.
“Tucker, please don't go,” my mother whispers, stifling back a sob. “I'm sorry. Stay and-”
“It was a pleasure to see you again Uncle Brett, Aunt Brandi.” I divert my attention to David. “Enjoy your meal and my mother.”
He grimaces as June starts to usher me out of the room with light pushes.
“Thank you for....salad,” she sheepishly says before stumbling over her own feet.
Maybe you think I'm an asshole now, but you know what? I don't really care. If you'd watched her try to erase the memory of my father mere hours after he died you wouldn't judge me so harshly. He wasn't even cold yet when she actively began deleting his existence.
By the time June gets us in her car and we're exiting the property, an unbearable agitation has made itself what feels like a permanent home in my system. The radio plays classic 80s rock while I try to bury my attention out the window.
I need an outlet. I need something to ease this anguish. I need a pencil. Paper.
In a softer voice than expected, she questions, “You wanna talk about what happened back there?”
“No.”
A long lull wedges itself between us. However, to my unpleasant surprise, June cuts through it with vigor. “We really should.”
“We shouldn't.”
“Because?”
“I'm already tense enough without reliving the simple fact my mother, who practically treated my father's death like a canceled tennis lesson, is now a snob who looks down on others and can't even muster enough courage to tell her own fucking son herself that she's marrying Dr. Dork. I had to hear it from a news outlet.”
June's expression softens and my eyes close just as my head hits the seat rest.
Yeah. I found out she was engaged while searching online for something. Just a random news story on Yahoo. I may be a shitty son now, but I have my reasons. There's one. She didn't even call to try and tell me. Aunt Brandi did a couple weeks later.
The feeling of June's hand on my thigh to provide a sympathetic pat does more than it should. Her touch soothes and stiffens my shaft without any reluctance. A smirk comes to my lips at the thought of her hand drifting over to help clear my mind of the nights’ horrendous conversation. I give her hand a gentle stroke before taking a chance to guide it to my lap. June instantly yanks it away as if she's burned and I work on putting to rest the crazy notion that maybe what I said earlier stuck.
Sex is a healthy way to express more emotions than j
ust love.
Suddenly, June's hand relocates to my lap, fingers lightly kneading my cock.
Fuck. Even just that little bit over these damn dress pants is enough to breathe again.
She commands quietly, “Take it out.”
Opening my eyes to verify her seriousness, I smile wider when the expression never changes. I unbuckle my seat belt, undo my pants, and free my cock for the taking. As soon as her warm hand is wound tightly around it, my head hits the seat once more.
