Rene Gutteridge: Listen

Frank held out a firm hand. “Just stay here, okay? I’ll come back to get you in about forty minutes.”

Gavin slowly sat down.

Frank walked out. He knew it already. This rookie was going to be a thorn in his side.

A soft hammering sound filtering through the ceiling meant Hunter was home, probably tinkering with something electronic. If he wasn’t rebuilding a hard drive, he was writing software or designing software to write software.

Computers irritated Damien. They cheapened society, caused social unrest, not to mention contributed to the butchering of the English language and the rendering of grammar obsolete.

He had no love for technology and used it only when necessary. A cell phone hung off his belt, only to satisfy his wife. He refused to learn anything except how to answer it. Watching people text back and forth was like driving a stake through his heart. He’d once tried it, just for kicks, but it took ten minutes to type two sentences, and he refused to send something with a typo. Plus, the English language wasn’t meant to be condensed into abbreviated substitutes, like LOL. He constantly told his children LOL meant “love of language.” They never got that joke. Maybe it wasn’t that funny to them. Or maybe the joke was on him.

He set his briefcase down, slid his blazer off, and went to the kitchen. It was his night to cook. Kay would be home at seven sharp. At least twice a week they made sure the entire family ate together, which so far hadn’t paid the dividends the parenting magazine had promised.

But they’d been doing it for only eight years. Maybe he needed to give it more time.

Hunter stalked through the kitchen, his backpack hanging off his shoulder. “I’ll be back.”

“Dinner will be ready in a few-”

“I know. I know. It’s family dinner night. I’ll be back.”

Damien sighed and turned to tend to the broccoli. The teen years were like a chasm-huge, black, swirling, sucking-a gulf that separated him from his kids. He missed them.

Jenna’s cell phone conversation filtered down the stairs and into the kitchen. He could hear only snippets, but it sounded like high drama, which was one of only two moods she was capable of. The other was a blend of sneer, seethe, sulk, and snarl.

The timer indicated the rolls were done. Outside, the Navigator’s purring engine sounded through the windows.

Soon the back door opened. Kay walked in, looking exhausted but happy to be home. She dropped her things and hugged him from behind. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He’d fallen for her the second they’d met. Tiny dimples pulled through each of her cheeks. Her eyes shimmered like expensive jewelry. A short pixie haircut showed off her delicate features.

And she always smelled like fresh flowers.

Kay went to change, Jenna continued to sound overly frantic, and Hunter finally came back home, ten minutes after the lasagna was ready.

“Dinner is served,” Damien called.

The kids took their sweet time getting there.

Kay didn’t wait but filled her plate while saying, “Mike and Jill are getting a divorce.”

“I thought they already were divorced.”

“Separated. They filed this week.”

“Oh. That’s too bad.”

“You know, Jill’s really hard to get along with. I can’t imagine being married to her.”

“Well, they say it takes two to tango. Or tangle, whatever may be the case.”

“I got to know Jill better a couple of weeks ago when we worked on that fund-raiser together. She’s just so abrasive, but maybe I’ll warm up to her.”

“Maybe she’s having a hard time with the div-”

Kay shushed him as the kids arrived at the table, whispering, “Natalie’s in Jenna’s grade.”

Damien could only assume Natalie was Jill and Mike’s daughter, but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t even know their last name. He actually didn’t even know Jill and Mike at all, though Kay swore he’d met them before at school functions.

Damien got comfortable in his chair and served himself. Then he said to anyone who wanted to listen, “I’m going to talk to Edgar about my position at the paper.”

Kay looked up. Hunter tossed a roll in the air and tried to catch it behind his back. Jenna stared at her broccoli.

“What for?” Kay asked.

“I’ve been writing the op-ed and issues column for five years now, and I’d like a change of pace.”

“Like what? The comics?” Hunter twirled his knife between his fingers until Kay snapped at him.

Damien tried to smile and acknowledge that at least Hunter was participating in the conversation. “I thought I might like to be an investigative reporter. I’d still be dealing with issues, but I’d have a lot more facts to work with, and I could get out of the office more.”

Kay set down her fork. “Why would you want to do that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m getting a little bored.”

“You always said what you did was important,” Hunter said. “People’s lives are changed by your column and what you have to say about things and all that. Words, words, words.”

“Shut up,” Jenna said. “He’s a grown man; he can do what he wants.”

Kay chewed her food, staring at him. “How can you be bored? We run 24-7. Most nights I don’t even get to bed before midnight.”

“It was just a thought. I’ll still be doing the crosswords of course. Couldn’t give that up. But sometimes you need to shake things up a little, you know?”

Kay shrugged. “Ask Mike and Jill. I’m sure they’d rather be bored.”

Kay watched the whites-only scramble she was making for her eldest child, Jenna, who had somehow converted from a lover of all things fried and fat to a near vegetarian. Except there was one problem with that-she really hated vegetables.

She fried up some turkey bacon, hoping her husband and son wouldn’t complain too much. She thought it actually tasted pretty good.

Damien came into the kitchen, kissing her on the cheek. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” She smiled.

She served Hunter, who, with earbuds in, was busy playing his DS. He wasn’t supposed to play it at the table, but enforcing the rules she once had in place for him at nine was getting harder at fourteen.

“You seem stressed,” Damien said, sitting at the table.

Kay sighed. “Yeah… being a mom isn’t what it used to be. I mean, you should see them.”

“Who?”

“The high school moms. They’re nipped and tucked and tan and skinny. It’s ridiculous how much money they spend on themselves. Shameful, really.”

“Kay…”

“I’m serious. It’s like being in high school all over again, except I’m battling varicose veins instead of acne.”

Damien took her hand. “You look beautiful. Classy.”

“Maybe that’s what I have on them. Class. I’m not showing up in a tank top, you know?”

Jenna bounded down the stairs, her backpack swung over one nearly bare shoulder. Kay’s eyes widened as she noticed her outfit.

“Whites only?” was the only thing she asked as she threw herself into a chair.

“Yes.” Kay put a double helping on the plate and added two slices of bacon. She set the plate in front of her daughter and then went to pour some orange juice.

Jenna ate in silence while Damien read the morning newspaper.

Kay sat down across from her. Jenna glanced up and asked, “What? Why are you staring?”

“I thought we talked about ripped jeans.”

Jenna set her fork down and glared, folding her arms. “No. I think you did all the talking, as I recall.”

“We agreed you weren’t going to wear those kinds of jeans to school. And if I’m not mistaken, I don’t believe spaghetti-strap tanks are allowed either.”