Curveball—Part II
The aura in the living room was stifling and strained. Even the wryest of jokes would not have brought a smile to the three tense faces situated about the room in Peter's apartment. He and Alicia sat within two accent chairs that were positioned in front of the grey sectional their son occupied, smack in the middle. Their strategic seating loosely mocked a courtroom. It was as if they were two attorneys tag-teaming the witness on the stand, their alert and narrowed eyes watching for body cues that may give way to any false statements their son emitted.
"So," Peter started, breaking the rigid silence while Alicia looked on, her arms crossed and lips shut tight. "Do you know how lucky you are, Zach?"
The teen looked up at him, his slouched posture unmoving against the couch pillows, as he exerted no sign of gratitude.
"In the state of Illinois, the amount of marijuana that was in your possession is only a civil violation because it was below the set minimum. Had this happened in another state where it's deemed a federal offense, you could be behind bars right now. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Yes, dad. I know how serious last night was." He looked them both in the eyes, hoping they heard the sincerity he was trying to convey. "I'm going to try not to put myself in that kind of situation again."
"Maybe you should get new friends," said Alicia.
He looked to his mother. The forlorn, worried expression dotted along her face suppressed the smart allelic comment he wanted to spew. "Since we moved here, to the city, Brad and Nick are the only real friends I've had. It's been hard to make…friends."
Alicia and Peter's eyes met, a telltale look passing between them.
"That doesn't mean you have to remain friends with people that are a bad influence," said Peter. "You're better than that and you know better."
His head dropped as he stared at the floor, not knowing what more to say.
"Zach," began Alicia cautiously, "how long have you drank…or smoked? And is this happening every time we let you go out with your friends?"
"No, it's not." He flicked the tattered edges of his long sleeve shirt. "Mom, I'm not a druggie. I'm not using or drinking."
"But you have, Zach. Is that not resonating to you?" asked Peter, blatant irritation laced in his voice. Zach knew that tone, and was well aware that he better start responding as expected before the rare sight of his father's temper emerged.
"It is." He reached for a pillow and hugged it to his chest. "It wasn't until recently I tried them. Nick started having a beer sometimes when we hung out…he'd grab one of his dad's. Then the other stuff came. I didn't really have either until about two months ago."
Both parents quickly did the calculation. About two months ago was when they separated.
"Why did you decide to try them, then?" asked Peter.
Zach shrugged. "I don't know. A lot was going on at school, with Nisa and at home."
Alicia licked her lips and pushed her hair behind her ears. Her pensive eyes met Peter's, the realization almost a little too much for her to accept.
"Honey, if this has anything to do with dad and me, it's okay to say. We won't be mad."
He swallowed hard, the nervous jitters in his stomach practically on the cusp of somersaults. In this moment, he was convinced anything was better than facing the unwavering attention of his parents.
"That's the thing, mom. I don't know if it is that. I just…don't know."
"Are you upset that we're separated?" asked Peter.
"No," he mumbled. "I don't think I'm as mad as Grace, but…it does suck switching houses every week."
"Zach," Alicia said with a sigh, "I know it's hard for you and your sister right now. Dad and I haven't exactly been as fair to both of you since we left Highland Park. But we're trying the best we can and the best that we know how. If you or Grace don't like this arrangement, we would rather you tell us instead of turning to drugs or alcohol, or some other outlet. Just talk to us. We are always here for both of you."
"Mom, I'm not turning to drugs or alcohol. It all just happened." He looked to Peter. "I know there are things I don't know, but I do hope it all works out. I miss us living together."
"I know." Peter's focus drifted to Alicia. "We're trying to make this right sooner than later."
Alicia sat up straighter within the chair and cleared her throat. "Your punishment is for a month. No going out during weekdays or weekends, and no practice driving. You go to school and home. That's it. Understood?"
Zach robotically nodded.
"And no more lying to me. About anything."
Her steely gaze led him to gulp.
When he texted her last night, he wasn't thinking of the implications his actions may have. Before she left home, after giving him permission to go out, she informed them she had to go into work for a few hours. Which meant she'd likely get home later than expected and if he stayed out a little past curfew, he would surely make it home before her. As the police shouted and kids ran, he speedily texted her he was home, because at the time, in his fogged state, he didn't think the chaotic environment surrounding him was that serious. He was the State's Attorney's kid; automatically saved from any madness that came from this bust. So he texted his mom that he was home—a time stamp which showed he was being responsible—as she asked, thinking his typed lie would never come back to haunt him.
"Ok," he said, his voice just above a whisper. "No more lying." Letting the pillow go, he tossed it back against the couch and leaned forward, his hands clasped. Mentally steadying the unease filling his stomach, he took a second to gather his courage to ask a favor even though he knew it was probably wise to wait until the dust settled.
But how could any of this get worse?
"Can I ask one thing?"
His parents looked at him, surprise etched on their faces.
"Alright," Peter said followed by a nod.
"Can I stay with Dad during the week? Not all the time, just sometimes?"
Alicia slowly swept her eyes from him to her husband as her mouth marginally fell agape.
"Uh, Zach," Peter rubbed the budding tension in his shoulder, "is there a reason you want to stay here more often?"
He saw his mother was visibly upset by his request and wracked his brain for how to honestly respond while sparing her feelings.
"I just do. And it's easier to talk about some things when you're here…and not always over the phone."
Peter observed his wife, not sure how to read her mute, stunned expression. He quickly realized she wasn't going to weigh in on this unpredicted request, to which he wasn't sure was bad or good.
"Okay," Peter said slowly. "Your mom and I will talk about that then let you know, alright?"
He nodded. "May I be excused now?"
"Yes," said Peter. "But one last thing before I forget. You and your friends have been assigned six months of community service, which starts in a week. Grandma will be dropping you off and picking you up. If you talk to your friends, you can let them know, in case they need to make transportation arrangements."
Again, he ruefully nodded, further accepting his punishment with defeat.
They watched him go up the stairs, letting the weight of the moment marinate and lead them to question…everything.
# # #
Alicia slowly stirred the pot of marinara, momentarily getting lost in the simmering, rich hue of red. Her mind paused its replay of the talk with Zach in the living room an hour ago as she relished in this tranquil, fleeting moment. It all feels normal. They are under one roof. She's making dinner while her family is scattered about the house waiting to be summoned to eat. In a perfect world, everything is falling into place. Except, their son was arrested for possession of a drug the night before and they are still living apart, separated.
With a heavy sigh, she controlled the burner to low and proceeded to empty a box of dry pasta into the adjacent pot of salted, boiling water.
She felt compelled to stay and make dinner, even after Peter repeatedly assured her they could order out. An indescribable need pulled her towards the kitchen as she opened and closed cupboards to see what ingredients were on hand. The kitchen had always been an escape for her: the hearth of home. And a room where she always felt like mom. Mom. She needed to feel like mom again. In the middle of the night, she'd lost grasp of that title. At least, that's how it felt. Her kids were lying and breaking rules. Although she was aware she wasn't mostly to blame, she couldn't stop blaming herself for their evident, downward spiral.
So now, to sustain a level of reassurance, she decided to do a basic of parental care: make dinner. Ensure sure her children were nourished and their bellies full, even if they were disobeying all rules and mannerisms she'd instilled in them since birth.
Because she is mom.
"I'm pretty sure our son is sleeping off a hangover, and Grace's stomach is still uneasy." His voice broke her mental fog as she briefly glanced behind her to acknowledge his presence before turning back to face the stove and continue to stir the linguini. "She's going to skip dinner and rest in her bed."
"I'll take her soup in a bit."
Peter brought a half-filled tumbler with whiskey to his lips, and sipped as he relaxed against the edge of the island countertop behind her. He unapologetically eyed her occupied form, knowing she was unaware of his smoldering gaze.
"What's happening to our children, Peter?" she asked distractedly. "It feels like since we separated, they're acting out."
"I don't completely agree, or disagree with that." He reached for the glass again and took a swig, smirking when she eyed him over her shoulder. "But they're also teenagers. We knew it wasn't going to be a walk in the park."
"Well I thought it would be!"
Chuckling, he set the glass on the countertop and folded his arms across his chest. "I made a few calls and spoke with Eli. Their records will be expunged."
She looked back at him, saying nothing. Her silence inclined him to elaborate.
"I know I said nothing special, but for the past couple of months, we've finally been out of the news cycle. Zach's arrest would be on public record which means someone in that station could talk and we'd be back under a microscope." He brought the glass back to his lips. "I don't want you and the kids going through that right now. I'll let Zach know after he's finished community service."
"Okay," she murmured.
In all honesty, she was grateful he took this course of action. Last night, when he hinted they would be handling the situation as any other parents, she mentally prepared herself for months of onslaught of media scrutiny; unjust attacks on them as parents, their kids, their marriage, their careers. Instead of questioning his choice, in that high-strung moment, she trusted him. Trusted that he was making an unselfish choice that was right for their family.
But now, the daunting reality made her realize that she was beginning to trust him again. Almost completely, and without question.
"How do you feel about Zach staying here a few nights during the week?" he asked.
Her body visibly stilled for a second, trailed by the quick release of a loud sigh, prompting her taut muscles to relax.
"That was actually a fear of mine." Ensuring the pots were stable, she wiped her hands on a dishtowel and turned to face him. "We have an arrangement."
He set his now empty glass back on the counter. "But they're also struggling with this arrangement, Alicia." When she didn't discredit his claim, he took a deep breath and smoothed a hand down his neck. "I'm not trying to take our son from you."
"I know that, Peter. It's…" she shook her head and looked away, "…he's…he's still my little boy," she said, her voice cracking. "I feel like he's growing up and away from me."
"They are growing up. But they'll always be our kids. That will never change."
She woefully nodded. "I keep thinking of how my parents fought constantly then told me and Owen they were going to divorce. Owen started acting out in response to what was happening at home, while I just…" She swallowed the lump in her throat. "The longer we're separated, I don't know what they're going to do. I feel like I'm failing them."
His shoulders dropped as he resisted the urge to pull her into his arms. "So what are you saying, Alicia?"
She threw her hands up in the air, her conscience void of answers.
"As they react, we can only act. That's all we can do. You can't blame yourself nor compare us to your parents."
She blinked back tears, eagerly nodding, knowing he was right.
"Um…" she inhaled a shaky breath. "I still want to talk with him one-on-one about this, but how about we try letting him stay here on Tuesdays and Wednesdays? Try it out for a month?"
"I'd say you have a deal."
He eyed her as she quickly turned back to the stove, her swift action speaking volumes. Even though he told her she was blameless, he knew she was somehow internalizing this choice, and every choice she's made about their marriage since the day his accusations surface.
Before her emotions truly went haywire, there was one more thing he needed to say.
"Hey," he said softly.
Setting down the spoon, she turned back slightly to face him. "Yeah?"
"I'm sorry…for bringing up Will last night. It was out of line. Won't happen again."
She had forgotten his unwarranted comment in the heat of their moment. Her heart softened at his apology.
With a faint smile, she whispered, "Thank you."
He watched her again, ingested the sight of her clothed in a simple pair of jeans and a cashmere cardigan. Thoughts ran through his mind, ones that would surely be deemed inappropriate in this moment. But they were just. It felt good to be a united front with her again, to effectively communicate and make sound decisions.
Straightening up from his leaned stance, he positioned himself behind her without warning. When he bracketed his arms on either side of her, locking her between him and the stove, Alicia gulped.
He took a big inhale of the stewing aromas, and then dropped his head down to her ear.
"Smells good," he whispered. "Thanks again for doing this."
"No need to thank me."
"Need help with anything?"
She dared not look back and satisfy her curiosity of his mood or their closeness. Reaching for the salt, she added a small dash to the bubbling sauce, ignoring the feel of his lean torso against her backside.
"No, I've got it."
"Okay, I'm going to check on the kids. Call when dinner's ready."
Locking both hands on her waist, he stilled her movements and lowered his head to plant a soft kiss along the side of her neck before slowly pulling back. Her eyes fluttered, the familiar affection making her want to extend a hand and bring his head back to her neck…encourage his mouth to trail across her tingling skin in more kisses.
She didn't turn around, or open her eyes and exhale until he had disappeared from the room.
And only then, did she realize her heart was racing.