Winter Jacket (29 page)

Elle
n Dyson was a striking woman – tall and blonde with the same intense grey-blue eyes as her children.  I wasn't sure if she liked me though. I had received a warm welcome from Brian, but the same courtesy hadn't been extended from his mother. I tried not to be too off-put by the chilly reception. She was clearly upset her husband hadn't made it back in time for dinner, and everyone who sat around the dining room table knew that.  Brian had barely looked up from his plate since we'd sat down, and Hunter looked equally uncomfortable.  I felt decades younger and the meal brought me back to my youth and similarly tense family sit-downs.

“Hey, Elle,” Brian interrupted my thoughts.  “Did you know that Hunter was supposed to be a boy?”

I glanced in the direction of my girlfriend, who was currently rolling her eyes.  “I wasn’t supposed to be a boy, dummy.  Mom and Dad just wanted to be surprised by the gender when they had me and didn’t request to find out beforehand.”

“Then why do you have a
boy
name?” Brian grinned around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

Their mother cleared her throat.
“That’s enough, Brian,” she gently corrected.  “So, how did you two meet?”  It was the first time Hunter’s mother had really spoken beyond a few polite requests for someone to pass the butter and rolls.

I turned my eyes toward
Hunter.  We’d been anticipating this question for some time now; I’d expected the question to have come up much earlier than this, however.  In a perfect world, we wouldn’t be testing the reception of the answer on her parents first.  But, in a perfect world, we would have met some other way.  Although I suppose there are worst ways to have met. Prison comes to mind.

Hunter
wiped her mouth with her napkin and carefully set it on the table next to her utensils.  If the reception went poorly we’d already discussed making a hasty exit rather than linger and hash it out.

“We met at school, actually,”
Hunter said without pretense.  I could see her make eye contact with her mom.  I couldn’t tell if it was an unspoken challenge or just her way of showing she wasn’t ashamed.

Mrs. Dyson trained her attention to her plate as she carefully cut up her chicken breast into uniform bites.  “What’s your major, Elle?”

I’m sure my eyes grew about two sizes.  I looked to Hunter for direction, but she only frowned and shook her head. “I’m actually not a student.”  I gripped onto the table’s edge, knuckles turning white.  “I’m a professor.”

“A professor?” her mother echoed, eyes still trained on her protein.  “You look…young to have a PhD.”

“Good genes, I guess,” I said with a nervous laugh.  “I moved through graduate school pretty quickly,” I admitted before pausing, “but I’m 30.”

Her shoulders went tense.  “Brian,” she said in a quiet voice, “you may be excused.”

Hunter’s brother looked annoyed.  “But I haven’t finished—.”

“I
said
, you may be excused,” his mother interrupted sharply.

The teen boy grumbled something unintelligible before grabbing a roll, shoving himself away from the table, and storming out of the dining room.  Mrs. Dyson watched as he left the room.  When he’d gone, her grey-blue eyes returned to me. 
Even though Hunter and her mom had the same eyes, I’d never seen Hunter look at me like this, though.  “And what do you teach?” she asked.

I cleared my throat.  “English,” I managed to croak out. “I specialize in Composition and Creative Writing.”

Her mouth pinched and she glanced at her daughter. “Sweetie, didn’t you tell me you were taking an English class?”

Hunter
looked paler than usual. “A writing seminar last semester,” she confirmed with a nod. “It was Elle’s class.”

The somewhat jovial atmosphere immediately turned tense – tenser than it had been when her mom had discovered I was older than her daughter. 
Hunter’s mom dropped her silverware onto her plate, creating a wincing ceramic clatter. 

Hunter
raised her hand, palm out, anticipating an explosion. “Mom,” she said in a shaky voice, “before you go off the deep end, just hear me out.  We didn’t start dating until after the semester ended. Nothing inappropriate happened, I promise.”

Mrs. Dyson seemed to be taking a few calming breaths.  “I think I’ve been relatively accepting of this situation, all things considered.”

“Mom.”

“No,” her mother, calmly interrupted.  “Let me say my peace.  I won’t lie and say that your decision to date girls didn’t come as a surprise.”

Hunter made a motion to interject, but her mom effectively silenced her again.  “You never really had any serious boyfriends in high school, but no parent ever expects that one of their children is gay.”  I had to give this woman credit.  She said the g-word without stuttering or blushing.  “But then you expect me to be, what,
okay
, with you dating your professor?
 
It’s a little much to take.”

Hunter
’s gaze, which had started out locked on her mother’s disappointed expression, had now drifted to the little flower pattern on her plate.  “She’s not my professor anymore,” she grumbled.

I sat on the edge of my chair, watching the exchange like a particularly tense tennis match.  I knew I should say something, but what magic words could I possibly offer when I myself still felt uneasy about the circumstances under which we’d met and the age difference?  But I had to say
something
.  I couldn’t sit back and let Hunter take this punishment.  I was just as much, if not more, culpable.

“Mrs. Dyson.”  Her head spun as if on a swivel.  I wondered if she’d forgotten my presence.

“Ellen,” she corrected.

I nodded. “Ellen,” I repeated. This was the part where I was supposed to be eloquent, gracious, and reassuring – three things I currently wasn’t feeling. “I know this isn’t an ideal situation,” I started, fumbling for the right words, “but I want you to know that I care very much for
Hunter, and I truly just want to make her happy.”

I felt
Hunter’s hand search under the table to find my knee.  She squeezed just above my kneecap.

Mrs. Dyson removed the cloth napkin from her lap and set it on top of her plate.
Apparently dinner was over. “And I appreciate hearing that,” she countered, “but you’ll forgive me if I have a hard time understanding what a 30-year-old woman could possibly gain from a relationship with a 21-year-old.”

Hunter
’s chair made a horrible scratching noise as she abruptly stood up and the legs of her seat scraped against the wood floor.  “Thank you for dinner, Mom,” she said in a clipped tone, “but we have to go.”

“
Hunter.”  I knew we’d talked about leaving like this if things got too tense, but now that it was actually happening, I didn’t want to run away, leaving things so broken.

Hunter, ignoring my plea,
threw open the big, colonial-style door and nearly ran into a man as she blustered outside.

“
There’s my little girl!” the man greeted. “What’s your hurry?  Where’s the fire?”

“Hi, D
ad,” she said flatly.  “We’re leaving.”

Hunter
’s father was a handsome man, probably in his mid-50s.  He had a full head of hair, brown with a little grey peppering his temples.  He was wearing a grey suit, with a white dress shirt, and his dark tie was loose around his neck. “Leaving?”  His heavy eyebrows furrowed.  “But I didn’t get to meet your friend.”

I tried to choke back my sound of displeasure.  In my experience, mothers always had an easier time labeling their daughters’ sexuality.  Very few fathers had ever acknowledged me as a girlfriend.  I was typically introduced as so-and-so’s “friend.”  Mr.
Dyson seemed to confirm what was typical.

“Dad, this is my girlfriend Elle,”
Hunter said, huffing a frustrated sigh.  “Elle, meet my dad.”

I raised a hand to greet the man, but before I could utter a syllable,
Hunter was tugging at my elbow and dragging me down the front walkway towards my car.  I let her take the lead; honestly, I had had enough family time for one night.  Instead of arguing with her, I turned my head and smiled graciously at the startled man and waved the hand not currently being seized by his daughter.

I unlocked the car and
Hunter surprised me by kissing me soundly on the mouth.  I was too startled to do anything but stand there while she pressed her lips against mine.  I could taste the sweetness of the orange juice she’d had with dinner. 

When she pulled away, she smi
led wickedly.  She grabbed my hand, interlocking our fingers, and spun to face her parents’ home.  “Bye, Dad!” she chirped.  I twisted to look toward the front stoop and saw her startled father, still standing there.

             
He audibly cleared his throat and tugged at his necktie.  “Bye, hun.  Drive safe.”

Hunter
dropped my hand and marched to the passenger side of the car.  I fumbled with my keys momentarily and weakly waved once more in the direction of her father.  He nodded, still watching us, as I climbed into the car and started the engine before pulling away.

+++++

My car idled at an intersection.  I stared at the road directly in front of me.  Since we’d left her parents house, neither of us had spoken. I clenched and unclenched my jaw. "Hunter, you know it's not too late."

"For...?" She recognized my
serious tone, I’m sure.  She looked up and spotted Del Sol’s outside the car window.  "For coffee?” she guessed.  “No. The caffeine will keep me up all night."

I pulled my eyes away from the road just long enough to catch
Hunter's attention and frown. "Were you not at that dinner?"

Hunter
folded her arms across her chest and looked straight ahead as well. "It could gone worse."

I slapped my palm against the steering w
heel in frustration. "I'm not five, Hunter – we've all pretty much establish my age tonight –you don't have to sugarcoat things."

"I'm not sugar
coating anything!" Hunter vehemently insisted. "Look,” she stated in a more reasonable tone as she turned slightly in her seat to face me. “My family is very much like a clan. It's hard to break into their inner circle.  But you shouldn't let that discourage you. You think my last high school boyfriend got it easy?"

I tightened my grip at the top of the steering wheel. "But at least he was a boy and born in the same decade as you."

Hunter glared at me. "I thought we weren't going to let our age difference get between us anymore."

I stared straight ahead. 
I knew if I looked at her, my resolve would crumble. "Well, I guess I was wrong. Because it does matter."

In my peripheral vision I saw her wipe at her eyes.
"Why are you acting like this?" she asked in a quiet, solemn tone.

I sighed tiredly. "I'm just being reasonable."

"No. You're being fatalistic," she bounced back accusatorily.

"You
r family plays board games, Hunter,” I tiredly countered.  I was honestly exhausted. “You went to church every Sunday until recently. I feel like I'm dirtying your sheets."

She sulked, crossing her arms across her chest. "Isn't that what the laundry is for?"

The rest of the car ride consisted of a tense silence.  I ran over a few sentences in my head to apologize or break up with her; I didn’t know which to do at this point.  I felt like I’d underestimated just how hard this relationship was going to be.  Thankfully I didn’t need my brain to drive, and my body drove my car back safely to the front of her apartment complex. 

When I parked the car in front, but let the engine continue to run,
Hunter looked genuinely surprised.  The shock shifted to hurt, but she didn’t say a word.  Instead, she unfastened her seatbelt.  “Have a nice night,” she said stiffly. 

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but words failed me again.  I watched her open the passenger side door, stiffly exit the vehicle, and walk around
the front of my car.  My headlights illuminated her figure, upright and proud.  I waited a few moments, watching to be sure she got inside her apartment building. I sat a few more minutes in my car, just listening to the engine run.  Finally, my mind still tormented with indecision, I shifted the car out of park and drove away.

+++++

I drove around town that night with no destination in mind.  I just knew that I didn’t want to go home.  Sylvia would be waiting for me, and she’d warmed up to me a little more, but she still wasn’t the cuddly fur ball I’d hoped for when I’d adopted her.  She only became that creature when Hunter was near.

I en
ded up at Troian and Nikole's condo on the other side of town. As soon as Troian answered the door and saw me, she knew something wasn't right.   I was quickly ushered inside and seated on a stool at the kitchen island.  A variety of bottles of hard liquor appeared, courtesy of Nikole. I poured myself a tumbler full of scotch.