Chapter 25 Grayce

I should have expected Jaxon would get back at me for forcing him to march with me, but when he finally did, it was nothing like I expected.
“Dinner with you and your parents?” I stared skeptically at him, hoping I’d misheard or he was messing with me.
“Yes.” Jaxon passed me the bowl of popcorn he’d prepared for us and tossed some into the air, catching it in his mouth. It was Sunday, the day after the Women’s Rights March, and this time around, he had texted me at seven that morning, telling me to come over because he had a favor to ask. Even though all I wanted to do was throw my phone at the wall and fall back asleep, I’d dragged myself out of bed, put on something that I hoped resembled clothing, and met him at his place. It was a little after eight, but apparently, popcorn and skittles were his go-to breakfast.
“You’re crazy,” I said. We were sitting together on Jaxon’s couch, staring at the blank TV, and I was still trying to wrap my head around what he was asking me to do.
“I know you don’t owe me anything,” Jaxon said. “But my parents want me over for dinner tonight, and I’m not sure I can get through it alone.”
“And that’s my problem how?”
“You’re my friend, right?” Jaxon said. “I just need a mediator there to keep the peace. We don’t have to be there long.”
“It’s weird,” I said. “Your parents have never even met me. What if they think I’m your girlfriend? Because I’m not.”
“I know you’re not,” Jaxon said. “This isn’t me asking you out on a date. This is me asking you to do me a favor. As a friend.”
I sighed loudly and set the bowl of popcorn aside, pondering this. The impression Jaxon had given me of his parents the night of the movie made me even more hesitant than ever. I wanted to help him out since he’d willingly held up an inflatable vagina during the march, but I couldn’t get over the feeling that the dinner would be awkward and uneasy.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” I said.
“Come on, Grayce,” Jaxon pressed. “I had dinner with your mom.”
“Oh, you can’t even use that.” I threw a skittle at him, which he impressively caught with an open mouth. “I didn’t force you to dinner with us; you hijacked it.”
“Irregardless--”
“That’s not a word.”
“—you should seriously help me out. Maybe it will take some of the heat off me with you there.”
“I hate you,” I said.
“I know.”
I sighed again and slumped down on the couch cushion, glaring at the ceiling.
“I’ll do it,” I said. “But if your parents hate me, it’s your fault.”
“Don’t worry,” Jaxon said. “They won’t have time to hate you; they’re still not done hating me.”

It wouldn’t have hurt to tell Alex about Jaxon’s ridiculous and senseless plan to have me over to dinner at his parent’s house, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I knew damn well it was because she’d give me that look she got when I was about to do something absurd, like challenging a three-hundred-pound biker dude to a game of beer pong. Turns out, I’m down for about anything after seven shots of tequila and a cup of Jungle Juice.
I knew this wasn’t a date, not even close. It was just a friend helping another friend, yet I couldn’t force myself to relax for the rest of the day as the hours ticked. I wanted to call my mom and tell her about it, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that. I didn’t want anyone’s opinion, not even hers.
After Alex left for work around five, I was finally comfortable enough to get dressed into something decent; seven outfits later, I’d finally settled on a conservative white dress layered with a baby blue shawl. I tried to fix my hair four ways before finally giving up and leaving it down, and as I applied a coat of mascara and some lip gloss, my hands were shaking. I almost texted Jaxon a few times to bail, but I forced myself to breathe, repeating that I could do this for him as he had done the march for me. Honestly, I’d never met anyone’s parents, let alone the conservative parents of the college quarterback, so the level of bizarreness this had already reached weighed on my insecurities.
At a quarter after six, Jaxon picked me up so we could drive together to his parent’s house. My first reaction to seeing him was utter shock. He looked so handsome, standing on my front porch dressed in a white collared shirt and black slacks. It felt like an actual date, prom even, but I couldn’t know for sure because I hadn’t been invited to my senior prom. As I locked the door behind me, I saw Jaxon staring at me from the bottom of the porch steps. I couldn’t read his expression; it was one I hadn’t seen before.
“Wow,” he said. I stopped and looked down at my dress, hoping I hadn’t already spilled something down the front of it.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing is wrong,” he said quickly. “You look lovely.”
“Oh.” I blushed, looking away from him so I wouldn’t fall over myself as we walked to his car. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He opened the passenger’s side door of his car for me, and I slid in, engulfed by the smell of man at once. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell either; a hint of cologne mixed with a subtle trace of some lemon-scented car cleaner. It was an odor I wasn’t used to since my only roommate was a girl, and we just so happened to buy cinnamon roll scented candles and iced cookie aromas like they were going out of style. I liked it, the manly scent. It was something I could get used to.
“So,” I said as Jaxon started to drive. He was heading out of the city, towards the outskirts, and into the smaller towns. “Do your parents know you’re bringing a guest?”
“They know I’m bringing a friend,” Jaxon said. “They just don’t know who.”
“So, in all reality, you probably could have brought Tyler to help you mediate this charming family dinner,” I pointed out. Jaxon peeled his eyes from the road to glance at me. He was an excellent driver, flawless, and self-assured. It was kind of … sexy.
Hold it together, Grayce, I thought. This is not a date. Pretend it’s Shawn you’re sitting next to.
“When Tyler and my parents get together, it’s almost worse,” Jaxon said.
“Do they not like him?” If that was the reasoning, the feeling was mutual.
“They love him. That’s the problem.” Jaxon shook his head and focused on the road in front of us. “I could probably send Tyler to dinner with them all by himself, and they wouldn’t even notice I wasn’t there.”
“If they like Tyler, they’re going to hate me,” I warned. “Because I hate Tyler. You know, it’s science.”
“I wish I could assure you that that won’t happen, but there are very few people my dad likes,” Jaxon said. He must have noticed the expression on my face because then he added, “Including me.”
“What makes you say that?”
“What doesn’t?” Jaxon shrugged. “No matter how much I give to them—to my dad, especially—it’s never quite enough. Good grades, football, a scholarship. It doesn’t matter.”
“What more does he expect?”
“I don’t think he really knows.”
Starting to feel even more nervous than before, and despite Jaxon’s honest attempts to keep me talking and distracted, I began to shut down, wishing I hadn’t agreed to this and that I was back home instead.
It was dark when we finally reached Jaxon’s parent’s house, but the front porch light was on, and a single vehicle sat in front of the modest home. It was a charming, quiet neighborhood away from the hustle and bustle of Denver but close enough that it had been less than a half-hour drive with traffic. Jaxon got out of the driver’s side, and before I could open the passenger’s door myself, he jogged to my side to open it for me.
“Thank you,” I said, stepping out. “But you don’t have to do that. This isn’t a date, remember? I’m your slightly obnoxious and insecure friend who regrets this moment.”
“It will be fine,” Jaxon said.
“And if it’s not?” I asked, following him to the door. He didn’t answer, and that was even worse. I tried to stand back at the bottom of the front porch steps, but when he looked behind him and saw, he beckoned me forward until I was by his side. We might as well have been holding hands. At this point, I wasn’t even sure what I thought of this, let alone what Mr. and Mrs. Tate would think.
The house itself was clean-cut and straightforward. A fresh-mowed lawn, some bits turning brown as autumn approached, and a clear, stone path led to the front door. While the neighboring houses boasted children’s toys and gardens in the front yard, the Tate home bore no resemblance to a typical, happy family. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed the occupants of this house were traveling military soldiers.
Jaxon knocked and waited, keeping the fingers of one hand flexed in my direction, probably in case I tried to bolt. I found it odd he’d knocked before entering his childhood home, but I had to remind myself not everyone was like my mother and me. Common courtesy, I guess, even if they were your parents.
After a few seconds, the front door opened, and a woman I knew immediately as Jaxon’s mother poked her head out. She was the female version of her son, and not in a bad way. Their eyes, hazel, bold and penetrating, could have been identical.
“Hello, son,” she said, opening her arms to embrace him. When they released each other, she peered around Jaxon to where I’d managed to slink back out of the way.
“Mom, this is Grayce,” Jaxon said. I was surprised when he took my hand and pulled me forward, but he didn’t keep a hold of it. I reached out and took the woman’s hand. She had a gentle grip, the grip of a quiet, passive person.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Grayce,” she said. “My name is Marilyn. Please, come in.” She stepped to the side so Jaxon and I could enter and then offered to take my shawl from me. Despite feeling vulnerable and naked without it, I allowed her to take it because I wasn’t sure it was appropriate to keep it on. I could smell dinner wafting from the dining room, and my stomach growled.
“Well, it’s about time you made an appearance,” a voice said from the other room. A moment later, a man appeared, a glass of bourbon steady in one hand as he reached out to shake Jaxon’s. I thought this was an odd father and son interaction, but I could only assume that this was, indeed, the legendary father of Jaxon Tate.
“And this must be your … friend,” the man said, turning to me. He didn’t offer his hand to me, though, like he had Jaxon, so I didn’t bother offering mine. “My name is Paul,” he said.
“I’m Grayce.” I nodded once at him and forced a smile despite my hesitance. I didn’t like the vibe Paul Tate gave off, and I could tell at once that Jaxon’s entire self-assured demeanor seemed to vanish under his father’s stern eyes.
“It’s nice to meet you both,” I said, looking back at Marilyn. “Thank you so much for having me.”
“We didn’t know we were going to until today,” Paul said. He smiled, but it wasn’t friendly, and I didn’t laugh because I didn’t think he was kidding.
“It’s our pleasure,” Marilyn said quickly, hurrying past her husband to guide us to the dining room. I looked at Jaxon to see if I could tell what he was thinking, but it was no use. As if a wall had gone up, I couldn’t read the expression on his face. “Please, Grayce, have a seat.”
Jaxon’s childhood home was beautiful, if not conservative in size. The dining room table was the grandest part of the home, and I felt awkward and out of place sitting down in the seat Jaxon pulled out for me. While the house was comfortable, it didn’t feel very cozy; instead of hanging photos of the family like my mother’s house would have had, there were shelves stacked full of trophies and medals. Football, soccer, honors awards, it was never-ending. I hadn’t even realized a prize was available for half of the things I saw.
“So, Grayce, I apologize in advance, but Jaxon hasn’t told us much about you,” Marilyn said. Like a housemaid, she served us a generous portion of mashed potatoes, steak, and roasted asparagus as we all sat and waited. I almost stood to ask her if I could help, but when neither of the men moved to help, I stayed where I was. “What are you studying in school?”
“Journalism,” I said, and Marilyn nodded as she finally sat down to serve herself. Across the table from Jaxon’s mom, Paul scoffed. I stared at him for a moment, wondering if he had something to add, but he didn’t even look at me. I glanced at Jaxon, who was looking at his plate of food, looking embarrassed.
“That’s nice,” Marilyn said politely. “Are you enjoying it?”
“I am,” I said and cleared my throat. “I love writing. I—”
“Another fluff career, huh?” Paul interrupted. He looked up at me, reaching for a dinner roll from the basket in the center of the table. He split it open. “Writing is no better than lawyering.”
“Dad,” Jaxon said, but Paul quickly cut him off.
“Whatever happened to a noble, sturdy career that isn’t all about the money?” Paul barked. He was an intimidating man in his size and stature alone, but it was almost worse when his tone deepened. His gaze flickered from person to person: Marilyn, to me, then to Jaxon, and back again. Marilyn and Jaxon were staring intently at their dinner plates; somehow, I seemed to be the only one who held his gaze steady with my own. “Hell, carpenters make more money than attorneys do. Especially if you’re working free for some non-profit propaganda!”
“It’s called pro bono, dad,” Jaxon said. He finally looked up, but not before rubbing his temple with his fingers as if warding off an impending migraine. “And I want to do it because the people I want to help don’t have any money.”
“Isn’t that the problem, though?” Paul said. “How are you going to make money to support a family?”
“I’m not doing it for the money,” Jaxon said. Obviously, he was getting frustrated, but he still couldn’t seem to hold his father’s gaze for longer than a few seconds at a time. “I’m not doing it for me. I’m doing it for the people who need my help.”
“Refugees aren’t people, son; they’re illegal immigrants trying to get into our country.”
I choked on my water, sucking it up my nose until my eyes stung. Coughing, I looked over at Jaxon, who still had his eyes trained on his father.
“Of course they’re people,” Jaxon said. “We’re all people, dad. They’re just people who want to escape the violence, hate, and war in their countries. They’re people like you and me who have no choice but to flee to find safety for their families.”
“Then have them flee somewhere else,” Paul said. He stabbed his steak with his fork and spit a profanity. “My son, a pro bono lawyer there to help these people get in and take over our country.”
“I don’t think you see this like it is,” I said before Jaxon could respond. I was angry now, my temper rising on the brink of boiling over. Every notion of common sense I had screamed at me to shut up, to keep quiet, because out of everyone in the world to tangle with, it probably shouldn’t have been Paul Tate. But I couldn’t stay silent because, honestly … When could I ever?
“Excuse me?” Paul said. He, Marilyn, and even Jaxon looked over at me as though I’d just sprouted three heads. I wish I had, though, because maybe one of those brains would have functioned better than the one I had.
“Grayce,” Jaxon said, but I ignored him. I was sure none of us could believe that it was already getting so out of hand in the ten minutes we’d been there, but I shouldn’t have been so surprised.
“Refugees or not, these people need someone to advocate for them,” I said. I set my fork down so I wouldn’t throw it at someone and looked directly at Paul. “These are families, too, Mr. Tate. Women and children just like you and me. They need help escaping a country in turmoil. They need help to protect their families, and your son is aspiring to do it for free. No payment, no reward. How is that not noble?”
“It was about as noble as that women’s march yesterday,” Paul muttered. “Damn freeloaders, all getting together to clog up the roads holding vulgar signs.”
“The Women’s Rights parade was a march advocating equal rights for women,” I said incredulously. “They weren’t freeloaders, Mr. Tate. They were women, children, and men who believed that women deserve the same rights and respect as men.” I stopped to take a deep breath and looked at Jaxon, staring silently at me. He didn’t have to give me any look because I already knew what he was thinking; I’d caught on quick meeting his father.
“Freeloading feminist welfare hoarders,” Paul said.
“My best friend Alex and I marched in that parade,” I said. “Do you honestly believe we’re ‘welfare hoarding freeloaders’?”
“Your friend Alex a liberal snowflake, too?” Paul asked.
“Worse,” I said. “She’s a liberal lesbian.”
Jaxon, who had just trusted himself to take a bite of mashed potatoes, choked, spewing food all over the table in front of him. Marilyn, who had been listening to Paul and I bicker with a look of pure terror on her face, covered her mouth. I wasn’t sure if it was because she was trying to hide a smile or she was trying not to cry.
“Aren’t you a charming thing,” Paul said. I looked away from Paul and met Jaxon’s gaze.
“You didn’t know this, but Alex’s real name is Aleksandra Janković. Her parents fled the Bosnian war in 1992 and came to America illegally to protect their unborn child. Two months later, Alex was born, and shortly after that, her parents were arrested and deported. She was tossed into foster care, bumping from family to family, never knowing who her real parents were until she turned eighteen.” I took a deep breath and looked back at Paul. “My best friend has a past that humiliates her to the point of hiding it from everyone she meets, and that’s wrong. She should never feel like she’s not accepted because of her descent. No one should. So, if being a liberal snowflake means having compassion for people who aren’t white, straight, and male, then yes. I’ll wear that badge proudly.”
The silence that settled over the table was deafening. Jaxon was staring at me, Marilyn was picking silently at her mashed potatoes, and Paul’s mouth was hanging open in an unpleasant display of half-eaten dinner. I closed my mouth and looked around, wondering if I should just run now or wait to see if I could hold onto the battle a bit longer.
“I think you’d better go, Miss Harrison,” Paul said to me. Both fists were resting on the tabletop as Jaxon’s dad stared at me, not looking pleased in the least bit. I glanced at Jaxon, who had averted his gaze from me to his dad.
“No,” Jaxon said. He stood up from the table, looked at me, and held his hand out. “I think both of us will go.”

The drive home seemed to take five times longer than our arrival. A silence had settled between Jaxon and me. Honestly, I think we were both still trying to process what had just happened back there.
“I’m sorry,” I said after ten minutes or so. The silence had been killing me, but I couldn’t look over and face him, so I kept my gaze on the road in front of us. “I think I successfully managed to do everything tonight that you had been actively avoiding when it came to seeing your parents.”
“Not just in a night, but in less than ten minutes,” Jaxon said, but he wasn’t angry. In fact, he was smiling a little bit as he glanced over at me. “It’s a shame. My mother makes a mean apple pie.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again. Jaxon shook his head and turned his attention back to the road.
“I should be apologizing to you, Grayce. My father was extremely rude to you tonight.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly stop when I could have,” I admitted, and Jaxon chuckled.
“That’s exactly why,” he said. “Most people are afraid of my father. The majority will shut down as soon as he expresses his opinion, so they don’t have to get into it.” He paused, meeting my eyes briefly. “Is that true what you said back there? About Alex?”
“Yes,” I said. “But she’d kill me if she found out I blabbed. Her story isn’t something she’s proud of.”
“It should be,” Jaxon said. “Stories like hers make me do what I want to do.”
“It’s harder when it’s personal,” I said. “Alex is my best friend. I hate to think of the same thing that happened to her happening to someone else. An innocent child, a frightened family. It breaks my heart.” I sighed and then shrugged. “It’s an effortless way to set me off, so I’m sorry again.”
“Never be sorry for speaking the truth,” Jaxon said. “So few people do it.”