Way Down I'll Go

Through Windows of Thine Age Shalt See

"Come on, it would be fun!"

"I don't think it would be a good idea."

"They're my parents. Not a pack of bloodthirsty cannibals."

"I think a pack of bloodthirsty cannibals would be happier to see me."

Rachel giggled and lightly smacked Jo's arm, ignoring the way he still flinched at the touch. 

"That's not true. I've told my mom about you and she said they want to meet you."

Jo grunted, unconvinced.

"Please, Jo? Mom keeps telling me that I'm going to end up alone and destitute if I don't find a man. Meeting you might calm her down a bit."

"I don't see how I'm helping in the "destitute" department," Jo mumbled.

"Jo-"

"And I'm pretty sure I'm not the type of guy your mom is hoping you'll bring home."

"Oh, you mean kind? Thoughtful? Handsome? Respectful? Yeah, she hates those qualities in men."

Rachel could help but smirk at the color creeping into Jo's cheeks at her sarcastically concealed complement. He looked down at the chipped plate he was drying, as if suddenly finding it immensely interesting.

"You know what I mean," he said after a beat.

"You mean that you don't have a high-powered job or a degree from a fancy university or bucketloads of money. Jo, I'm not going to pretend they don't care about that stuff. They do. And I hate that. But you're a part of my life now, and they're going to have to get used to that. And I think if they meet you, see what a great person you are, they'll eventually see what I see. They'll see that no amount of money in the world could buy your kind of character."

Jo was already shaking his head. Rachel could tell he wanted to disagree with her analysis of his character, but knew she would have none of it. Instead, he chose a different objection.

"I'm not great at first impressions."

"Oh, come on. Now you're just making stuff up."

His head snapped up and there was a glint of humor in his eye.

"So you're telling me that you weren't ready to mace me when we first met?"

"I don't plan on introducing you to my parents in a dark parking lot at midnight while you're soaking wet."

He smiled at that. Rachel took the plate from him and crammed it in the impossibly small cupboard. She had tried to buy replacement dishes for the ones that had been destroyed. Jo, of course, had balked when he saw the prices during their trip to Target, and had flatly refused to let her buy them. The next day, they took a trip to the local St. Vincent dePaul and Rachel was introduced to the wonders of thrifting.

Looking at the stack of mismatched plates, she found they made her happy in a way that the perfectly uniform, generic set had not. They made her wonder where they came from, what ordeals they'd seen, who had loved them and then discarded them. They were unique. They had character.

Like Jo.

"What about the boys? Johnny's been clingy and I don't want them to have to manage him for that long-"

"We don't mind!" shouted Drew from behind the closed bedroom door. 

Several other voices chimed in affirmatively, each higher pitched than the last.

Jo shook his head in amusement.

"Little shits," he muttered under his breath.

"Don't say shit!" came Drew's retort.