Never a Hero

coming upstairs to meet them.
    My dad was genuinely friendly and enthusiastic in his greeting, but my mother was characteristically reserved.
    “I hope you’re not too close to him,” she said to me, once he was gone.
    “Wh-why is th-that?”
    “Think about it. A good-looking young man like that, and yet he’s not married?” Her lips twisted in disgust. “He’s probably one of them . The last thing you need is to be mixed up with people who are bad influences in that regard.”
    “He’s a n-n-nice person, Mom.”
    “Well, we know all a boy has to do is pretend he likes you and you’ll do anything. Just like with Jeremy Brewer.”
    My cheeks flushed, hot with humiliation. It was so typical of her to throw the incident with Jeremy in my face. Yes, he’d acted like my friend. He’d kissed me and touched me, but when we were caught under the bleachers, breathless in each other’s arms, he’d turned his back on me. Nick would never do that.
    And yet, the seed of doubt my mother had sown was there, under the muck of my shame. He had pushed me away, time and again. Maybe it wasn’t about the HIV or his ridiculous sense of nobility at all. Maybe I really was as pathetic as my mother said.
    “What is this, anyway?” my mother asked, looking through the delivery cartons on the table. “It smells terrible.”
    “I thought you liked Chinese food.”
    “I like good Chinese food.” She pushed it away. “I don’t see why we can’t go out.”
    “Owen’s already paid for this,” my dad said. “Anyway, we came here to see Owen, remember? To spend some time with our son.”
    “And we can’t spend time with him and have a decent meal at the same time?”
    “Restaurants are so noisy, Valerie. Especially on Fridays. This is more intimate.”
    It was a nice attempt, but nothing could salvage my dignity. The food tasted like dirt in my mouth. I could barely stand to swallow. Through it all, my dad attempted to make small talk, asking me about Tucker Springs, my work, my friends. No matter what subject we landed on, my mother continued to ooze contempt.
    “And now you’re learning to play piano!” my dad said with a smile. “It’s wonderful.”
    “It’s ridiculous is what it is,” my mother mumbled.
    My father ignored her. “Tell me about this girl you’re playing in the recital with.”
    It was no use, though. My answers became more and more muddled, my tongue heavier with each tick of the clock. When they finally stood up to leave, I nearly wept with relief.
    “How about if we all go downtown tomorrow?” my dad said at the door. “We can have lunch first, and then you can spend some time showing us around before the recital.”
    It was the last thing in the world I wanted to do, but arguing would have meant speaking.
    Only one more day, I told myself. One day with them, then play the recital, and then they’ll go home and everything will go back to normal.
    The problem was, I didn’t know what normal was.

    The next morning dawned bright and bone-jarringly frigid. Clear winter days were often the coldest in Colorado, and this one seemed determined to prove a point. The air felt sharp and angry against my bare cheeks as I led my parents through the Light District.
    I took them to The Vibe for lunch, because it was the only restaurant in the area I was familiar with. I knew my mother would hate it, but I couldn’t come up with any place she wouldn’t hate.
    She glanced around with obvious disapproval. “Is that macramé?” She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the wide jute hanging that separated the counter from the seating area. “Looks like it’s been there since the seventies. I bet it’s never been cleaned, either. Just think of all the dust mites that must live in it.”
    “I’d prefer to think of no such thing,” my dad mumbled.
    I stuttered through my order, feeling my mother’s judgmental gaze on the back of my neck. My father and I barely spoke through the meal, but my mother talked plenty. The bread was too dry, the fries too soggy. The fish tanks smelled bad and the bathrooms were too dirty. After that, it was back out, into the deceptively bright, sunny day.
    “Y-y-you should s-see it at n-night,” I told them as we walked through the Light District. “They t-turn on all the l-l-lights, and when the w-w-weather’s good, they have f-free c-concerts over th-there in the amphitheater.”
    “What a waste of electricity.”
    Her negativity was never-ending. Nothing met