Love Unwrapped

by Hayden Hunt

  I’ll admit, this compliment softened me up a bit. “Well, your roll didn’t come out bad either. I mean, I couldn’t see the pictures on it, of course, but it looked good lighting-wise.”

  “Yeah, thanks! I actually light meter myself on my digital camera, so that part was a breeze for me.”

  Huh, so he is a photography major. Or, at least, he’s a photographer.

  “I didn’t know you were into photography?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I guess that’d be hard to gather based on my performance in the first class, huh?”

  I smiled politely. “Well, it did seem a little new to you…”

  “Yeah, well, this definitely is. To be honest, I probably wouldn’t be doing this class if it weren’t required. I’m addicted to my digital photography, what can I say? Photoshop is a godsend.”

  “So, you’re a photographer?”

  “Yeah, well, not a professional… Not yet, at least. But that’s what I’m here for. What about you? Is this just a gen-ed class for you, or…”

  “Oh, no, it’s not just a gen-ed class. I’m not actually even going for a degree. I’m just interested in photography… I mean, I’m not exactly a photographer, though. I also want to do it professionally, though, whenever that’s possible for me.”

  “Hey, awesome! So we’ve got a partnership of aspiring photographers. I bet our project totally kicks ass, man.”

  I tried not to laugh at him too hard. His enthusiasm was still a little annoying, but now that we were talking about something with actual substance, it was growing on me.

  “So, when and where do you want to meet up to do this project?” I asked, as I stood up to hand in my negative and grab the assignment sheet.

  “Are you free tomorrow? Tomorrow is my lightest day, as far as classes and work go.”

  “Yeah, I work from eight to four, but other than that I’m available.”

  “Sweet, we can hit golden hour! In either the morning or evening.”

  “Golden hour…?” I asked, sure that this was some slang I wasn’t privy to.

  “Yeah, you know, golden hour. The best hour of light during the day? It’s the hour after sunrise or before sunset.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Oh! So it’s a photography term?”

  “Yeah, totally.”

  I’d been doing a lot of research, but, surprisingly, I hadn’t heard that. Though I wasn’t terribly insulted that I didn’t know. I’m not the kind of person who gets insecure about that kind of thing. In fact, I love to be taught new things.

  And the fact that Patrick knew this, whereas I didn’t, made me like him even more. Obviously, he is a more serious photography student than I had initially imagined. I probably shouldn’t have been so quick to judge him.

  “Well, golden hour works great for me. How about before sunset, though? I’m not really keen on anything that forces me to be up earlier than I have to be.”

  He laughed again. “I feel you, man. I was hoping you’d say that. I am not a fucking morning person, not at all. Where do you want to meet?”

  “Oh, I don’t know…” I thought about it. “How about the lake?”

  Our town’s lake is a pretty picturesque place. Not just because of the water, which is nice. But the area that surrounds it is fantastic, too. Off to the right of the lake is this nature trail that leads into a forest-y area. On the other side of the lake, is a sandy beach. So it seems like the most versatile place around here to shoot some portrait photography. We could get plenty of different kind of landscapes in one shot.

  “Yeah, sure, that sounds great. Meet me at the red tree an hour and a half before sunset, then?”

  The red tree is a tree smack dab in the front of the lake that, a long time ago, had been spray painted red at the bottom. Nobody really knew why, it hadn’t been done to any other trees around the lake. But it did serve as a good, distinctive place to meet up.

  “Okay, I’ll see you then.” I nodded.

  “Awesome, seeya!”

  To my surprise, he didn’t linger in our conversation like he usually did. He must have been getting a phone call or something, because he grabbed his phone out of his pocket and answered it as he walked toward the parking lot.

  I still found him kind of annoying but I was surprised to be feeling a little bit better about the project. At the very least, he knew what he was doing, which would make this a lot easier.

  And he wouldn’t be a bad guy to do portrait photography of, either. He was actually quite handsome… If you could get past the overly outgoing personality, that is.

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  17

  Daniel

  “Thank you!” I said cheerfully to the taxi cab driver as I handed him cash.

  “No problem, Happy Thanksgiving!”

  “Happy Thanksgiving to you too!” I said as I grabbed my suitcase out of the backseat and started walking toward my parents’ front door.

  I had this weird mix of excitement and nervousness going. But I needed to do this, it had been a long time coming. I hadn’t been home for Thanksgiving in six years.

  To be fair, that wasn’t all my fault. My rocky relationship with my parents was a two-way street. I may have not done much to mend our relationship, but neither had they. And they were the adults in the relationship.

  But I was an adult now too. Well, technically I’d been an adult since 18, but everyone knows you’re still essentially a child at that point. I matured slowly over the past several years. I finally felt like I was at a point where I could take the first step in improving our relationship.

  I was their only child after all. I had no siblings, nobody else to call my family. And, admittedly, I was pretty lonely because of this.

  I guess that was the whole reason I decided to come out here in the first place. I made the decision three weeks ago when I overheard my coworkers discussing going back home for the holidays. We had a very generous chunk of time off for Thanksgiving and most people took advantage of that by traveling to their home towns.

  I usually just used the extra time to lounge around my apartment, binge watching TV shows and eating Chinese food leftovers on Thanksgiving day. Which never bothered me before. In fact, I enjoyed not having to fight with my family over the holidays.

  But I guess as I’d grown up and started to think about settling down with my own family one day, it made me reflect on how shitty things were with my own. And I didn’t want to continue down this path with them.

  The first few years I missed Thanksgiving with them, they asked what my plans were or if I planned on coming home. But after a few years of rejecting their offers, they stopped asking. They didn’t even mention it this year.

  But that was perfect because it gave me the opportunity to drop in on them by surprise. It made me a little nervous just showing up at their house after so many years of not coming home, but I was their son. I knew as soon as my mom opened the door, she was going to be thrilled I took the initiative to come here.

  At least, I hoped she was. I hoped they both were.

  I started pulling my suitcase up the rocky gravel of their driveway. They desperately needed it repaved. The whole house was slowly falling into disarray. The grass was way too long and dying in some spots, and paint was chipping off the wood panels.

  It was an old house, but I was kind of surprised to see this. My father was pretty good with his hands and he used to be meticulous about keeping the lawn nice and green. But maybe as they’d gotten older, he hadn’t been able to keep up with it as much. He did work a lot. I was always amazed he was able to find time to do anything around the house honestly.

  I rang the doorbell once, my heart racing as I waited for my mom to come to the door. Undoubtedly, my father would be on the couch glued to whatever football game was on television.

  But minutes passed, an
d nobody came to the door. I rang it once more, starting to tap my foot with nervousness.

  Still, nobody answered. This was weird—where else would they be at this time on Thanksgiving? They didn’t know I was coming but I very specifically asked them if they’d be home on Thanksgiving for this reason. They had told me they would be, that they would just be cooking at home like usual.

  I tried to peek in through the blinds of the window to see if any lights were on inside, but I couldn’t see anything. I rang the doorbell once more and then decided I would give my mom a call.

  I didn’t want to do that; I really wanted the surprise to be in person. But what else was there to do at this point?

  “Hello?” she answered, sounding surprised to hear me call on Thanksgiving.

  “Hey, Mom, where are you?” I asked.

  “I’m at home, sitting at the kitchen table. Why do you ask?”

  “You haven’t heard the doorbell ring?” I asked, hoping to somehow still preserve the surprise.

  “No, we don’t have one.”

  I was completely confused and starting to think she wasn’t hearing me right.

  “Mom, no, the doorbell,” I emphasized. “Have you heard the doorbell?”

  “I told you, we don’t have one.”

  “Don’t have one what?”

  “A doorbell.”

  I started to get a little scared at this point. We’d had a doorbell the entire time I lived here. This was the only house I grew up in. Was something wrong with her? My mind immediately went to early Alzheimer’s or dementia or something. How could she forget we had a doorbell?

  “What are you talking about, Mom? Of course there is a doorbell! There’s always been a doorbell at our house.”

  “At our old house, you mean?” she asked.

  My heart sank.

  “What do you mean, old house?”

  “I mean, the house we lived in when you were growing up. It had a doorbell. Our new house doesn’t.”

  “Your new house?” I gasped. “You moved?”

  “Well, yeah, two years ago.”

  “Two years ago? And you never bothered to tell me this?”

  “I guess not,” she said nonchalantly. “I don’t know why we would. It’s not as though you ever come to visit us.”

  “Uh, how about the fact that I’m your son? And I haven’t even known where you’ve been living?”

  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I didn’t think it mattered much. I still am not sure why you’re so upset over this.”

  I tried to take a deep breath in. This was all a reminder of why we had a falling out in the first place. God, she could be so clueless and so selfish. How did neither of them think to contact me about moving houses?

  I was their son, for crying out loud! This was how it’d always been, though. I always felt like an unimportant third wheel in my own household.

  But I wasn’t going to get mad. This was probably still salvageable. I could just get a cab over to their new house and surprise them that way. I didn’t think she even suspected yet that I came home for the holiday.

  “So what street are you living on now?” I asked.

  “The street?” she said, confused.

  “Yeah, what street are you at?”

  “Well, Daniel, I don’t think you’re going to recognize the street name or anything.”

  I laughed. “Mom, I know it’s been a few years, but I grew up here. I still remember every street, trust me.”

  “You didn’t grow up here. You grew up in Greenton.”

  “Yes, I… Wait! Are you saying you moved out of Greenton?”

  “Well, yeah, we moved out of the state.”

  “Out of the state?” I nearly shouted.

  Oh my God, this was so much worse than I thought. I was pissed when I thought they had just moved houses without me. But they had moved out of the God damn state?

  “You know we used to always talk about moving down to Florida.” She said casually.

  “Florida? No, you never mentioned Florida to me in my entire life! I… I cannot fucking believe this.”

  “You can’t possibly be mad about this!” she said, beginning to get defensive. “You rarely ever call us! It’s not as if you’ve been a big part of our lives or anything.”

  “Big part of your lives? Mom, I’m your fucking son. Your only son. I should matter enough that you can tell me when you move out of the fucking state.”

  “Don’t use that language with me! You have no right to be mad. Besides, now you know, so no harm done.”

  “Uh, yes, harm done, Mom! I’m in Greenton!”

  “What?” she asked.

  “I was going to surprise you guys and come down for Thanksgiving. I’m in Greenton, in front of my childhood home, as we speak.”

  “Well, that is pretty unfortunate,” she said, as if I’d just told her I forgot to grab milk at the grocery store.

  “Yeah! A little unfortunate! What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

  “I don’t know, Daniel. You could have called. We would have told you we moved out of Greenton.”

  “Right, I could have booked a flight to Florida instead,” I said in an exasperated tone.

  “Well, no, probably not. We live in a small condo. It’s no place for visitors, anyway.”

  “Wait…” I began slowly. “You’re not saying what I think you’re saying, right?”

  “This is why you need to call, Daniel.”

  “So you’re saying even if I had asked, you wouldn’t let me visit you on Thanksgiving?”

  She gave an annoyed groan. “We just don’t have the room, Daniel. It’s nothing personal.”

  I had to literally laugh at that. “No, you’re right, it is nothing personal. That’s kind of the issue, right? I’m not a personal member of this family. We don’t have a personal relationship and we never have.”

  “Well whose fault is that?” she snapped. “You never wanted to visit before. You never tried to call. You’re not innocent in this!”

  “You are my mother!” I argued. “You two are my parents. You were supposed to make me feel loved and cared for and all of that nurturing shit. Instead, you guys pushed me away as far as you possibly could. You kept your distance until I was eighteen and then you couldn’t have been happier to have me out of your life, right?”

  She sighed. “Look, Daniel, I must go. I’m baking a few pies for tomorrow and—”

  “Oh, sorry Mom, am I ruining your Thanksgiving weekend with all my issues?’

  “Frankly, Daniel, you are kind of putting a damper on the day. I’d like to enjoy my Thanksgiving.”

  I nearly threw my phone at the concrete.

  “Really, Mom, do you? Do you want to enjoy your Thanksgiving? Because so do I! But now I’m stranded in Greenton with no place to go and no family to see!”

  “That’s not my fault, Daniel! You should have called! And you’re fully capable of getting a flight out of Greenton.”

  “Great, so you know I’ll just spend tonight in a hotel and spend my Thanksgiving waiting for a damn flight!”

  “I’m sure you’ll be able to find one fairly easily. Nobody flies on Thanksgiving day.”

  I was seeing red. “That’s not the fucking point, Mom! The point is you don’t even bother to tell your only son that you have moved out of fucking town and now I can’t even see you. But, oh, wait, even if you had told me that you moved I wouldn’t be able to see you because you don’t give enough of a flying fuck about me to let me stay in your damned condo!”

  “That is enough!” she snapped. “I will not be spoken to like this. I hope you get a fast flight home, but I am ending this conversation now. Bye, Daniel.”

  She hung up the phone.

  I went from seething mad to incredibly depressed. It took all I had not to crumble on the floor and start bawling right then.

  It was the same vulnerability that I always felt as a kid. I hated that it was all coming back to me now. All those nights I spent cry
ing under the covers in my room, wondering why I couldn’t get my parents to care about stuff like parent teacher night or my soccer games. Wondering why they always brushed me off and ignored my questions about their day when they came home from work.

  My entire life, I’d felt like a burden to them. And I knew that I was; all kids technically are. And I fully understood that having kids was hard. But wasn’t it supposed to be, like, a burden you actually wanted to have?

  It never felt like that with my parents. I always felt like an unfortunate accident that brought nothing but difficulty to their world. They loved each other—they always loved each other—but I felt undeserving of the affection they gave to each other.

  I was kicking myself for wanting to even try with them. I should have known it was going to come to this once again.

  Still, I never thought they would do something this shitty. To actually move states and not even mention it to me? Not even I would have ever done that to them. Not even at my worst, when I was eighteen and hated their freaking guts. I still would have always told them where I was.

  Apparently, I didn’t get the same courtesy from them.

  I sank down on a little metal bench that sat next to my old front door. It broke my heart, being here at my abandoned old house and being unable to go inside. How many times did I sit on this bench as a kid? It brought back all these memories that were hard to ignore.

  I needed to ignore them, though, because the more I thought about my childhood the bigger the chances I would break down and cry.

  I might have done that anyway. Every time I made a move to pull out my cell phone and call another taxi, I could feel a wave of nausea pulling at my stomach.

  I couldn’t believe that not only did they move without telling me and saw no problem with it, but that my Mom didn’t even care that I came to see her. She didn’t care that I travelled to her; in fact, she didn’t want me to come see her and my father.

  And she certainly didn’t care that I was now stranded and alone on Thanksgiving weekend. She wished me a quick flight… A flight that would take me back to my lonely New York apartment.

  I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving. All I wanted to do was spend a quiet, normal Thanksgiving with my parents, but obviously that wasn’t going to happen. There was nothing else for me in this old town, so I really needed to go.