“I’m twenty-two, ma’am. And it’s Adeline.” My words may be respectful, but the cool tone of my voice is most definitely not.

“I would appreciate it if you could pretend to be decent, Mother.” His eyes flash with my same fury, and under the cover of the tablecloth I take his hand, and he looks to my eyes as my fingers touch his.

Being decent isn’t on her agenda though. “I’m simply saying, you and relationships don’t mix. I mean, you know that. I thought you were the content-to-be-a-bachelor type now. Not the relationship type.”

“Mother, please.” He’s warning her, and his eyes are on fire.

Warning or not, she’s not finished speaking. “Don’t get me wrong, your whoring around isn’t good for my reputation. I actually miss the days when you were married and I didn’t have to worry what you were doing with half the female population of Chicago. I liked your wife. She was a very accomplished, delightful woman, and now what… a twentysomething… I mean, what is it you actually do, Mandy?”

“It’s Adeline, Mother, and she happens to be an amazing designer at my firm.”

“Oh, calm down, son. I’m sure Mad … Adeline is an amazing decorator.”

“Designer!” He’s seething, his jaw is set, and I wonder how it is he actually managed to speak the words between his teeth that are clenched so tightly together.

“Yes, Jordan. Of course. I’m sure it’s like calling a maid a servant. Some things offend people so. One must be sensitive to others’ self-worth issues these days.”

“Ah yes, dear.” Now it’s his father’s turn to weigh in. “We mustn’t call the help a slave. Terribly tedious all these rules about the working class.” Good God almighty, were it not so damn painful a situation, I could likely laugh at them.

Our food arrives at that very moment, and looking to Jordan’s dark and vengeful eyes, I’m guessing it’s a good thing. We eat in silence and are blessedly left in peace, and as cocktails are served and as people take to the dance floor, Jordan takes my hand and pulls me out with him. I’m thankful for the distance from his parents. They are as awful as I imagined they might be, and as we move through the throngs of people I want to wrap my arms around him and pull him close. His eyes are dark and serious, and he’s not smiled since we arrived. I want to be away from this place, away from these people. They aren’t him. He doesn’t say a word as we move around the floor, and I’m afraid to say anything. His eyes are distant, and he is definitely not here with me, at least not on any emotional level.

As we take our seats once again, it’s his father’s turn to torment him. “So you know Jordan’s ex-wife cheated on him, right? It’s why he’s now divorced. Divorce is such an ugly word, you know. We’ve had to do much explaining on his behalf for that one.” I nearly spit my drink across the table at his words. Not because of the words he’s said so much as the fact he would humiliate his son in front of me. I had no idea Jordan’s ex-wife cheated on him, and while my heart breaks for the pain this must have caused him, I’m just as furious with his father for being the one to tell me.

“I’m aware he’s divorced, yes. Just like the other fifty or so odd percent of adults in this country. Not really an impeachable offense these day, but certainly a scandalous affair indeed, if I do say so myself. Oh, the horror of it all!” I’m practically shaking my finger in the air in mock-exaggerated shock and disapproval—oh the horror of it all—where the hell did that come from? I’m shocked at my rude sarcasm, adopting their snooty accent and all, but as I look to Jordan, the corners of his mouth are ever so slightly pulled up. It’s no smile, not even close, but it’s a response.

“Well, I just think it’s important to understand such things early on. Wouldn’t want to get in too deep, if you know what I mean, just to be heartbroken later.”

And that’s when Jordan hits his boiling point. “Adeline and I are leaving. Thank you for dinner. I guess I’ll see you in another few years.” I stand too as his parents stare with slack jaws and mouths hanging open. As we turn, Jordan squeezes my hand gently and then turns to them once again. “Adeline knows me better than either of you have ever cared to. She’s well aware I’m not perfect and I’m divorced, and for the better part of a decade I chose to indulge in shallow, meaningless dalliances that fed my physical needs far more than anything else. I’m ashamed of you, and quite frankly, I hold you responsible for every last emotional shortcoming I now have the pleasure of trying to undo. Good night.” We turn and walk out of the restaurant hand in hand.

When we reach the valet, he hands them his ticket, and as we wait, we stand side by side. He’s not spoken to me, and while his words may have been protective and warm, he’s cold right now. It isn’t me. He is fighting a long-waged battle in his mind that revives itself every time he’s forced to speak to them, and so I give him space.

He tips the valet and holds my hand as I climb in before he returns to the driver’s side door and pulls out into traffic.

We’re silent as he drives, and I watch him. He’s distant, and I imagine him a small boy, being subjected to their tortures. They are cruel, and oddly, I doubt they even realize it. My heart cries for the little boy inside him who was so neglected by them, abandoned to survive alone in a mansion of loneliness. No child deserves such treatment, especially not the one who would grow to be the man I fall in love with. I want to fight his battle, but of course there is no real battle to fight. The war is long over and the damage is done, and yet looking to his hardened face and cold eyes, clearly the pain is not laid to rest.

When he heads toward my apartment, I’m surprised. He pulls in, opens the car door for me, and walks me to my front door. But as I unlock the door and step within, he doesn’t follow, and my heart falls. For all the torture they caused him, I thought I would at least be able to ease it in some small way with my touch, my presence, but apparently that isn’t at all what he is wanting.

“You could come in?” I’m hopeful, but the coolness of his demeanor sends a very clear message.

“I wouldn’t be good company tonight. I’m sorry.” He barely holds my eyes as he turns me down, and as he mumbles his good-bye under his breath, he turns and leaves me standing looking after him.

I retreat, alone, inside my apartment and spend the next hour cleaning. I throw on my best grimy cleaning clothes and clean every last closet my small little oasis has. It pushes him out of my mind to some small degree, and it keeps the pain of his rejection from eating at me. I’m moving soon enough, and while I own little and am no packrat, I’ve still accumulated junk that has managed to find homes within the darkest recesses of my moldy old closets.

When Kelli shows up unannounced and with a couple bottles of wine, I decide I’m lucky for such a friend. This is what I need—wine and company. Half a bottle of wine later, we’re cleaning while trying on bits and pieces of my past three Halloween costumes and bopping around to some old Bell Biv DeVoe, using a spatula as a microphone. Oh the things you find when you go closet diving and the things you do after half a bottle of wine. And then there’s a knock at my door, and Kell runs to get it.

***

I actually made it home, into the house, and onto my couch before I couldn’t bear being apart from her and abandoned my loneliness for her. I feel awful for the torment she endured on my behalf, and while she handled their personal brand of lunacy and torture perfectly, I didn’t. I more than feel bad; I’m humiliated. I’ve met her parents. I know what real people are supposed to behave like, and it sure as hell isn’t the way my fine folks do. She’s lucky to have her family, and while I’m happy she never had to deal with parents like mine, I’m oddly jealous. I envy what she has, and while I would never want her to suffer anything such as my parents, I sure wish I could share hers.

When I mount her steps, there’s a warm glow of her space through the closed blinds of her front windows, and the pounding of some obscure music from within. But it’s the image that greets me when her door is pulled open that shocks me the most.

“Hi, Kelli. I didn’t realize Adeline would have company.” And why the hell does she look straight out of a nineties hip-hop music video? The ponytail is high and off to the side with the perfect oversize scrunchie, and the blue eye shadow could likely be seen from a mile away. If this isn’t enough, Adeline rounds the corner from her bedroom, and I nearly choke.

She’s standing in the hallway, wearing shorts, very short shorts, and a midriff tank top that leaves little to the imagination. Were that the only surprise, I’d probably tackle her to the ground and pull the skimpy fabric from her body and ravish her. But somehow, and for some reason, she just didn’t stop at the hot pants and tank top. “Why’s your hair orange?” It’s an innocent question, and as the nineties hip-hop scene pounds away on her cheap speakers, I enter.

“Oh … hiya. Uh… Well this probably looks odd, but … we were … uh … cleaning.” Cleaning? The muscles of my mouth relax for the first time all evening, and as she walks toward me a smirk pulls at my lips.

“I see… Is that glitter on your…” and as I reach for her shimmering cheek, I continue, “Oh, yes … it is glitter… That’s … odd.” Now my muscles are really relaxed, and a smile I really didn’t expect to show up today spreads across my face.

She’s blushing, or at least I think she is under all of that makeup. And as Kelli regards us, she laughs and grabs her purse. “Okay, lovelies. I’m out.”

Adeline is polite. “You don’t have to leave, Kell.” Oh hell yes she does.