Chapter 20
James
Nadine's parents are big on regular weekend trips to the Oregon coast. They’ve gone a couple times a year since Nadine was a little kid. They always rent the same place, play the same games, eat at the same restaurants.
It’s like a Lustre family thing.
I’ve tagged along a couple times, but not since college.
Like Lustre family dinners, I sort of stopped participating in family things once Paulo and Nadine got serious.
But when Nadine asks if I want to go with her and her parents the weekend after our failed “have sex with other people” experiment, I jump at the chance.
Mostly because I’m dying to get away from Portland.
Things at work have been more hectic since the promotion, and since I’ve been feeling kind of itchy and bored with the whole bar scene, I’m not really sure what to do with myself.
I’ve got this weird restless feeling, like change is on the horizon, and I don’t really know how I feel about it.
I need a break.
“So. James.”
Nadine's mom snags a carrot off the cutting board where I’ve been assigned to chop vegetables for the salad, and nibbles it as she leans back against the kitchen counter and studies me.
I continue to slice the carrots in careful, even rounds and don’t look at her, hoping like crazy that she’s not going to ask me about my intentions toward her daughter.
Nadine says she hasn’t told her parents about the fact that we’ve gotten all sexy-times, but Sandra Blanton’s always struck me as the type of parent who knows things.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” she says.
My knife falters. Surely she doesn’t mean…
“On your promotion,” she continues, grabbing another carrot.
Oh. That.
“Yeah, thanks.”
She laughs. “Oh, come on! You sound like it’s a punishment.”
I shrug. “It’s just…not that big a deal is all.”
“Well, Nadine seems to think it’s a pretty big deal. She talked about it for, like, thirty minutes straight when she called to tell us about it.”
I glance up to look out the window to where Nadine and her father are manning the barbecue.
It’s cold and dreary, seeing as we’re at the beach in almost-winter, and she looks adorable in one of my oversized gray UO sweatshirts with the hood drawn up and the sleeves hanging several inches below the tips of her fingers.
“Your parents must have been so excited,” Mrs. Lustre is saying.
I glance back down at the cutting board and reach for the cucumber.
“James…” Her voice has that warning, maternal thing going on. “You did tell your parents?”
“Not really,” I mutter.
“But why? Parents live to hear news like this about their children.”
Parents like you, maybe.
And it’s not that my parents don’t like hearing good news about their kids; it’s just that I don’t think my title change from product manager to senior product manager would even register with them, much less be deemed worthy of congratulations.
