The night we met

Chapter 3: Repeat

Looking in the mirror Clay had to admit he didn't look so bad considering the night of restless sleep. He scrubbed a hand down his face, leaning on the sink and scrutinizing his red eyes. He should have taken shots of NyQuil or something last night to drown out all the thoughts that kept him awake.

He wanted this day to go well so badly. Tonight was the Winter Formal and no matter what he was dedicated to seeing history rewritten.

Clay turned on the shower and the bathroom quickly filled with steam. He needed to freaking relax and a nice hot shower was going to do the trick.

An hour later, freshly dressed in jeans and a hoodie Clay bounded downstairs. His body felt loose, pliant and there was a pep in his step. Mr. Jensen sat at the kitchen table chewing on a piece of toast.

He looked up at Clay over the top of his iPad. "Great job using up all the hot water for the next month. Really awesome, kiddo."

Leaning against the fridge Clay peeled a banana and stared at his dad with a flat expression. "You aren't as funny as you think you are."

Mr. Jensen looked wounded. "That is an outright lie."

Clay shook his head. He went and busied himself as he dad launched into his one man stand up show complete with his usual routine of everything that was wrong with the New York Post, the difference between peanut butter and jelly, and a scathing review of the recent DC films complete with an awful Batman impersonation.

Mrs. Jensen walked into the kitchen. She was dressed in a Nike tracksuit and her hair was in a ponytail. Mr. Jensen discreetly lowered his iPad to look her up and down appreciatively. Clay was suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

"Had a nice run, babe?"

"It was refreshing. Look at me. I'm physically fit, I have a great job and amazing family," she listed off, fingers pressed to her neck to track her pulse. "I'm practically Maria Shriver."

Clay cleared his throat. "Didn't Arnold cheat on Maria and have a secret love child by like the housekeeper or something?"

Mr. Jensen rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and flexed a bicep. "I could totally be Arnold in this scenario."

Mrs. Jensen gave him a pitying look. "Oh, honey."

"It looks like a bicep, but smaller," said Clay, poking his dad's thin arm. It was a move that Justin totally would've done.

Mrs. Jensen cackled. At her husband's nonplussed look she walked over and Clay was given a front row seat to his parent's make out session. He threw up his hands making the sign of the cross with his fingers.

"My eyes!" he cried, retreating until his back hit the countertop. "I'm an impressionable youth. A youth I say!"

They broke away with a smack of lips. Mrs. Jensen draped herself over her husband nibbling on the toast in his hand. He gave her an annoyed look that didn't quite disguise the fondness in his eyes.

"Your father texted me about your camp out in the bathroom," she said, running her fingers through Mr. Jensen's shaggy hair. He took his glasses off and leaned back to give her better access. "I need a shower. Is there any hot water for me?"

"Could be. Could not be. Who's to say?" said Clay with a coy smile. There was no hot water left. "And by the way let's talk about you two and your obsession with me. Really, Dad? Sending Mom a text to tattle. I'm disappointed in you."

He let out an exaggerated sigh, shook his head and then picked up an orange before wandering out of the kitchen. A minute passed before he slowly slinked back in and his parents watched him stand there in the doorway, picking at a stray thread hanging loose on the edge of his hoodie's sleeve.