Chapter 8

Normalcy

The Hersdens could be classified as a traditional Christian suburban family. Church was paid a visit each Sunday morning and breakfast was eaten at the table, Dad reading the newspaper, Son whining about his upcoming math test and raving about sports, Mom cooking in her bathrobe and slippers, and Daughter grabbing a slice of bacon and a sip of milk before hurrying off to her job. They hosted barbecues in the summer and took family vacations, and their bond ranged from average to superb depending on the circumstance.

Dana Hersden set the dining table with her daughter at five o'clock on the twentieth of May. She had her special white tablecloth spread and plates, saucers, glasses and silverware were arranged formally just for their guest, although Ramona laughed that the decorum wasn't necessary; her visit over at his mother's home had been overly casual, after all. Regardless, Dana insisted they treat Jake like he was the governor. The mom of two had a penchant for organizing an attractive and cozy environment for those who were new to her home.

"So you and him have been dating for about a month now, yes?" Dana asked, tying her apron around her back and combining the ingredients of her personal recipe to chicken casserole into a pan.

"Yup," Ramona replied, forking a bite of the thawing cheesecake beside the stove top. "He's a two-in-one boyfriend and friend. I can comfortably tell him loads. He listens and he tells me funny stuff about his family or his day out repairing AC's or refrigerators."

"Glad to see you're so pleased with him," Dana said, then looking at Ramona cautiously. "He hasn't been...advancing on you against your will-"

"Dad made you ask that, didn't he?"

"...Yes," Dana confessed quietly, "but only because he's concerned, honey, just as good fathers are."

"Jake is a total gentleman. He hasn't pressured me or even asked me to do anything beyond kissing," she paused and grinned, "but I'll be pressuring him soon enough."

"I won't hear it," Dana blurted, blushing and smirking. Her daughter had grown up, whether John Hersden could accept that yet or not. "Go about your business with him as you please, but I doubt I could stand to acknowledge the details."

"I wouldn't tell you much anyway, Mom," she giggled, forking another hunk of the dessert. "I was just teasing you."

"Oh, good—hey, you pig! Put that away!" Dana scolded, and Ramona swiftly pushed the tin to the end of the counter underneath the cabinets. "Fantastic, now Jake's going to have dessert that's already been dug into."

"I'll tell him it was me. Don't sweat it."

"Don't act like he's one of the family just yet. I wouldn't until he puts a ring on your finger."

"We've been dating for a month, Mom!" Ramona exclaimed, giggling. Although the notion of eventually marrying him didn't unsettle her.

"And you're awful attached to him nevertheless," Dana pointed out.

"Does that upset you?" Ramona asked teasingly.

"It doesn't, honey, so long as he's not just some hornet. Judging what you've said about him, though, I'd gage him fitting. But we'll see when he's here, won't we?"

"Don't critique him for everything he is, please," Ramona sighed, dreading what immoderate expectations her dad held for her boyfriend. John was not only displeased with their age difference but also Jake's "shady background". John thought it was peculiar how Jake hadn't mentioned to her what repair company he worked for, or why his mother's house was as utterly let go of as it was. Ramona chided herself for telling John about her dinner over there at all after his ensuing opinions.

"I won't," Dana promised, "not if everything he is isn't criminal."

In the unclean and smelly confines of the shack's single downstairs bathroom, Jake rummaged through the tilted cupboard above the sink for his cologne. A stale bottle sat in there somewhere, one that he'd bought, or maybe stolen, some years ago. As a professional repairman, he felt compelled to smell like a classy moneyed man for his girlfriend's folks. He'd also be combing his hair back and trimming his nails so they were neat and clean.

Picturing her father as a strict and typical white-collar man unnerved Jake because he countered the type fully. Her mother should've been simpler and less intimidating to handle, as he'd learned to handle his own's abominable attributes over the span of three decades plus. It wasn't possible that Mrs. Hersden's atrocity, if she even had any, could rival Mama's, and the high school-aged brother wasn't bound to be rocket science, either. He just couldn't be himself for these people. Jake Fralo was not Jake Fratelli.

John Hersden stood at an uncurtained window in his entryway, peering through the glass at the black jeep that pulled up his driveway. He was motionless as a statue, hands in his pants' pockets as he watched Jake exit his car, smoothen his dark, short thick hair with a free hand, cough into his jacket's sleeve, then journey up to the front door. John stepped towards the door to answer himself, but Ramona sped downstairs from her room, enthusing, "Is he here, Dad?! I'll get it."

She brushed past him and opened the door, enthusiastically kissing and embracing the tall, tan Italian. "Jake, this is my dad, John," she introduced, taking and holding Jake's hand.

"Uh, hello, sir," Jake said, smiling and offering his unoccupied hand.

John nodded and shook the bigger and tanner hand. John was balding, Jake observed, to the likeness of Francis. Wiry gray hair curved from temple to temple, bordering a circle of bare scalp. Austere brown eyes behind his rectangular-framed glasses surveyed Jake, and his face was shaved. His height peaked at Jake's eyes.

"You have a nice house," Jake complimented. "Well furnished, tidy."

"Thank you," John said. "How are we doing?"

"I'm good, yourself?"

"I'm alright." John fought against grimacing at the sight of his daughter pulling their guest's coat off.

"Dad, will you show him his seat and ask him what he wants to drink?" she asked, hanging his coat up in the closet.

"Right this way," John said, leading him through the living room and into the dining room. Their carpeting was white and stainless, the air was a hundred times fresher than that of the shack's, there were no cracks or holes strewn in the walls nor ceiling, no audible creaks in the floor, and not a spiderweb visible.

Suspended over the square dining table was a twinkling chandelier cradling four lit candles. The chairs were cushioned, and there was an abstract painting on the wall beyond the pair of chairs across from where Jake was seated. Ramona sat beside him, handing him a garlic breadstick to snack on.

"What would you like?" John asked from the kitchen's threshold. "We have ice water, lemonade, milk, apple juice, wine, beer…"

Jake's palate fussed for a frosty beer, but alcohol wasn't the kind of beverage to impress with, so with unapparent dejection, he said, "Lemonade, thank you."

"Oh, I'm so happy you came, Jake!" Ramona said, grabbing his hand. "Do you like chicken casserole, and cheesecake for dessert?"

"Yep. The words alone have me salivating," Jake said truthfully. This meal had to be infinitely tastier than Mama's cooking, he was guilted to presume.

"Hello, Jake," greeted an older and slightly slimmer version of Ramona who walked in from the kitchen with a pan of steaming casserole. "I'm Dana Hersden. I'm pleased to meet you."

"Ma'am," Jake greeted with a smile. "You and your daughter look alike. You are both stunning."

"Thank you!" Ramona and Dana gushed.

Ramona scooped some casserole onto her plate, only to be scolded by Dana. "We're not eating until your dad and brother are seated and we say grace."

Ramona scrunched her brows. "Since when do we say grace?"

"Since our guest is here," Dana replied with light tartness.

"Well, alright, but Jake isn't very religious."

Jake's throat went dry. Was not being a regular church-goer frowned upon amongst the normal? "But I am, Ramona," he lied in a lighthearted tone.

"Oh, it's okay if you aren't, Jake," Dana assured him. "We're not devout ourselves."

"But we celebrate Christmas," Ramona said, "and Easter."

"Me, too," Jake said. And they did. In their childhood, Mama would spoil them with the stolen gifts she could get her mitts on, and on Easters all three sons would explore for eggs outdoors. Whenever Francis found one, he'd hurl it at Sloth, so that by dusk he'd be soaked in yolky slime and shell fragments.

"Where is Dill?" Ramona asked as John set an iced lemonade before Jake and took his seat across from them.

"He should be here shortly. He was at his friend's house studying," Dana said, then placing her attention on Jake. "Ramona says you're a repairman. Do you work for Handy Connections or another business?"

"Uh, yeah, that," Jake said. "I've been with them for...eight years now."

"Ah, we'll ring you the minute something around here needs fixing," Dana said with a smile.

Jake almost gulped. "Sure thing."

"Actually, our water's not heating up like it used to. The showers have been just above lukewarm for the last three months. It could use a little tinkering if you ask me," John said, his gaze solid on Jake. "One of these days when you're not booked, you think you could swing by? We won't nag ya for a discount, I promise."

"Yeah, yeah, of course." An unflickering assertion sailed in his words, surprising him but bloating his pride.

"Sorry, I'm late," a squirrelly teenaged boy said, jogging into the room.

"Dylan, this is Jake Fralo," Dana said.

"Hey," Dylan said to Jake, giving a brief wave, and sitting at the right end of the table. "This looks great, Mom." He reached for the spatula. "I'm starved."

"We're going to pray first," Dana announced, bowing her head, folding her hands on the tabletop and closing her eyes. "John, would you start us off?"

John cleared his throat, mimicked his wife's pose, then began, "We thank the Lord for blessing us with this meal, and we thank Him for blessing us with health and safety. Amen."

Dana, Ramona, Dylan and lastly Jake murmured an Amen after him before feasting. Dana and John exchanged statements among themselves, and Ramona asked Dylan how his studying session went, while Jake ate the cooking that deserved national notification in his book. He'd definitely be back over for Thanksgiving.

"This is the tenderest chicken I've had in ages," Jake commented, causing Dana to blush in flattery. "Really liking the sauce, too."

"Aren't you sweet," Dana said. "Would you like Parmesan for that?"

"Yes, please."

"You'll have to try her lasagna one of these days," Ramona said.

"Of course." Jake surveyed his surroundings. He looked into the kitchen, seeing a bag of dog food tucked into a crevice between the fridge and the counter. "Oh, you have a dog?"

"We did," Ramona answered, a frown tugging at her lips. "Horizon. He was our golden retriever who passed away just last November. He was twelve."

"Sorry about that." Jake patted her back. "You guys thinking about getting a pup?"

"At some point," Ramona said. "There's an adorable corgi at the pet shop on 14th Street I've been eyeballing."

"We ought to throw out that old dog food," John noted. "We forgot about it."

"Did your family have any pets growing up?" Dana asked Jake.

"No, my ma had allergies," Jake fibbed. Mama didn't care for animals, his father especially. When Jake was five, Francis brought home a stray mutt that had been running around a few streets away. Joseph had tired of how the dog wasn't housebroken within the first week and his final straw was drawn when it peed on his dirty socks on the floor. Mama and the boys could only cringe, their ears crackling with the telltale bang of a gunshot outside one morning, a mound of dirt shortly nearby the tool shed.

"You a football fan?" John asked Jake.

"Uh, yeah," Jake said, convinced all ordinary men were supposed to love the sport. He didn't, nor did Francis.

"The Ducks or the Beavers?" John pressed.

"...Ducks."

"Right taste," John congratulated.

"You, Dad, and I have to explain to the guy next door why they kick ass," Dylan spoke up, earning a chuckle from John and a scowl from Dana.

Dana looked at Jake's emptying plate. "Don't hesitate to get seconds."

"I certainly won't." He was grateful the talk of football ceased. He couldn't summarize the duty of the quarterback to save his life.

"Cheesecake time!" Ramona beamed, springing from her seat, hungrier for it than anyone else.

"I hope you don't mind she tore into it earlier, so there's a few chunks missing from a corner," Dana said sheepishly.

Jake laughed. "No trouble at all, ma'am."

Ramona ambled out of the kitchen with the tin and a spatula. Setting it down, she promptly helped herself. Jake highly revered Ramona's tendency to not fixate on her body image. She was not chubby, nor twig-thin. Her thighs were on the thicker side and her breasts were bigger and fuller than her mother's. Jake craved not for the dessert but for their bodies to entwine, for his hands to caress her curves, and his lips snapped together to jam the gush of saliva his muse had stirred. He reminisced about his childhood baths, sharing a moldy loofah with Sloth and Francis, in fear that he'd spring an erection right there at the normal family's table.

...

"Mine's the third door down on the left," Ramona said, leading Jake up the carpeted staircase, towards her bedroom.

Jake looked at the multitude of family photos and portraits hung on both the left and right walls down the upstairs hall. The first picture of the right row showed a pig-tailed, toddler-aged Ramona in Dana's lap, John sitting cross-legged alongside, their background a sunny, mowed park field. Her infant brother popped up in the third picture down, and the photo at the very end of this wall was taken perhaps a year earlier, as their looks matched the present, except Ramona's hair was shorter and fluffier in the photo. Jake wasn't ashamed to envy the Hersden gallery because the Fratelli gallery was at a bare minimum.

"Here we are, stud," she said, pushing her door open and stepping inside. The room was moderately spacious and as girly as it could be with its pink wallpaper, canopy bed, vanity, and floral window curtains. Posters of popular bands and singers covered much of the walls, and cut-outs of KISS and Duran Duran band members were taped to her dresser drawers. On her desk was a pail of paint brushes and colored pencils, heaps of paper, and multiple paint kits.

She produced a large portfolio from her closet and removed its contents. "These are my paintings and drawings. I have them dated at the bottom corners. Some of my earliest projects in here date back six years, so those aren't too good, but my newer ones are okay...well, better than okay." She giggled at her mini boast. "You can sit on my bed and check those out while I go pee real quick."

Jake nodded and began flipping through the stack once she was across the hall, in the bathroom. She was talented, he decided upon examining several artworks. Her sketches of a blond dog who was probably her dead pet Horizon qualified for a State competition in his eyes. The shading and contours were exemplary, and he could tell she'd put plenty of effort, time and energy into her landscape and nature paintings. Her self portraits weren't bad, either. She was an ameteur artist, but had potential to go places if and when she gathered the confidence and inspiration.

As Jake bent down to pick up a fallen colorful and detailed drawing of overlapping, fluttering butterflies, he saw a crumpled pair of violet panties a short ways beneath the bed. When the libidinous part of his brain processed how they were likely unwashed, he snatched the garment and held them inside-out against his nostrils, sniffing long and hard. The art strewn over the duvet was utterly forgotten about as the lingering faint odor that clung to the clothe sent a rush of blood to his groin, his lustful instincts spiraling madly into overdrive. Keeping them masked over his nose, he inhaled and exhaled rhythmically—the noise of the toilet flushing knocking his sobriety back in like a punch to his jugular. Jake pocketed the panties in a flash and eyed a random painting when Ramona re-entered the vicinity.

"These are amazin', peach!" Jake said with improvised enthusiasm, his arousal not diminishing.

"Oh, thanks!" She smiled, plopping next to him, her hips pressed against his. "I invest myself in this stuff in my free time. Which is your favorite?" she asked, flushing.

"Uh, this one here." He took an uncolored self portrait where she was drawn from her torso and above. "It's drawn almost as beautiful as you are in real life."

"You're too sweet," she said, snuggling against him. "You've had my heart for a few weeks now and you still bathe me in flirty compliments."

"I mean what I say, though," Jake insisted, pulling her onto his lap. "You're the sun in my sky."

She parted her lips to thank him but the words were jammed in her throat to stay when he yanked her in for a fierce kiss. His mouth and hands were as greedy as the night they'd made-out in the meadow, although this instance wasn't as comforting or private because her parents and brother were just downstairs.

He held on to her body for dear life as she straddled him, struggling to exercise her moistening lips against his with his skill. Their noses bumped and their smacking would've gone overheard if someone were halfway down the hall. Ramona's caution matured as Jake's actions did. When his big, warm hands slid under her shirt, his fingers unclasping her bra, she pushed him away, borderline frantic.

"Slow down," she gasped, his fingers tracing the dip of her back. Reading his annoyed expression, her stomach muscles clenched. Her fingers swam through his hair and she whispered, "I'd rather do more...intimate things when we're alone, not with my family around, you know?"

His countenance softened and he nodded, his touch relocating to her waist. "I get it, it's alright, 'Mone."

"How about we...continue in your jeep?" she suggested. "We can park behind a closed shop, say midnight tonight?"

Jake could've sworn he misheard her. Was his little prude flowering into a temptress? Had his prayers been answered?

"What, baby, you gonna sneak out once your mama and daddy are fast asleep?" he teased, pecking her chin. "Just like ya did when ya were in high school, eh?"

"Actually, I didn't. I wasn't a partier then, either. Your rare Goodie Two Shoes," she said. "Doing this will be the closest I've ever come to breaking a rule, even though I'm not breaking any rules…" she laughed. "It'll just feel like I am."

He snickered. "Yeah, I'll take ya someplace dark and empty, but if I do, you have to show me how naughty you can be for me."

"I'll try," she murmured, getting to her feet and taking his hand. "Let's go back downstairs before they think we're messing around up here."

"I'm sure you're too late." He followed behind her, enthralled for what was to come at midnight.