I Do, Don't I?

Chapter Twenty-Eight

It was a long silent drive to New York. I could sense the tense atmosphere inside the car that he wanted to say something and that I also wanted to say something--although I don't know what it is--but neither of us has the guts to speak.

So, anyway, skipping the awkward part, we stopped in front of Mom and Dad's warm home at a humble part of the busy city.

I pushed the door open and made my way to the front porch. I lifted my fist to the furnished mahogany door and hesitantly knocked.

There was no answer.

I tried again, this time louder.

"You know, there's a reason why doorbells were invented," John said.

I froze in place, only my eyes moved to the white plastic button on the side of the door. "Right," I gritted through my teeth. I pressed the button and heard the distant sound of the doorbell coming from the inside.

A moment later, the locks began to click and I could feel my pulse rising to my throat. The door swung open and it was an unexpected smiling Jessica.

"Hi Rachel!" she turned to John. "Hello, John!"

"How are you doing?" John asked, grinning back at my sister.

"Great! Especially when I saw you," she giggled. "Come in! I've got lots of things to tell you."

I felt frozen in place as Jessica pulled John in like an excited little girl to show her daddy her crayon drawing of her family.

"Rachel, darling!" Mom said when she rounded the corner from the sitting room, her face all lit up. "What are you doing just standing there? Come inside!" Before my brain could send a signal for my feet to move, mother has pulled me in and closed the door behind us. "What brought you here? And where's Jude?"

"He's not here."

"Oh," she said, sounding a bit crestfallen. "Then...how did you get here? Did you drive alone? You know you can't drive yet--"

"John drove us here," I cut in and watched her expression shift to a full stop. "I'm sure you have met, right?"

"Yes," she said stiffly. "Yes, we have." She turned to the stairs and yelled. "Frank, honey! Rachel's here!" she glanced at me with wide wary eyes as she offered a rigid smile.

I heard footsteps rushing down. The sound of excitement. We both looked up and saw Dad in a yellow collared shirt and beige checkered shorts. "Rachel!"

"Dad!" I couldn't help but give a wide smile back.

"Are you staying for dinner?" he asked as he rushed down the steps towards us.

"She's with John," Mom said, slashing the happy moment with a sharp silence.

Little by little, Dad's grin shadowed.

**********

The table is awkwardly silent except for Jessica continuously chatting with John who seems to be genuinely interested and happy with what they're talking about. While Mom and Dad were "preparing dinner" in the kitchen (which we all know that they're discussing about what and how to tell me everything during dinner) I occupied myself with the framed photographs of me and my family at the sitting room then I found an album underneath the small sidetable beside the couch with a wireless telephone sitting above it. I browsed through old family photos of me and Jessica, Mom and Dad, the four of us, a various combination of two (like, me and Mom or me and Dad or Jessica and Mom or Jessica and Dad) and some solo photos (of me, Jessica, Mom or Dad) smiling at the camera, images that seem as if to say that problems have never come across us. The backgrounds tell me that some photos were caught in family picnics, in beaches or someplace really serene.

Presently, across the round dining table, I could see the exchange of glances between my mother and my father while Jessica and John carelessly discussed something about Jessica's school. We all waited until they ran out of things to say before Mom broke in.

"Rachel, I..." she faltered.

"Mom," I turned to her. "I don't like being married to Jude at all."

"I knew it," Jessica said bluntly as she forked a sliced tomato into her mouth.

"Honey..." Mom sighed.

"It's not too late," I tried to sound hopeful. "We don't have kids. We can still file a divorce."

"Darling, it's not that simple," Dad said. "Do you hear yourself? Divorce? It, it, it's a, a crucial thing," Dad stuttered, in rush for words.

"I know. But at least there's no one getting hurt, right?"

"You're going to hurt Jude," Mom said sweetly.

"No, I won't," I opposed. "He doesn't care about me at all."

"He does care for you, sweety, it's just that--" Dad said but I cut him in.

"If he cares for me, why didn't he ever call me while I was gone. He didn't even know where I've gone or probably, who I'm with. He never called me, Dad. He didn't."

There was a sharp silence and, of course, trust Jessica to break it.

"At least John calls," she squeaked.

We all turned to her. She humbly continued knowing that we're all waiting for her.

"I mean," she shrugged, composing herself, trying to look more confident as she toyed her fork around her white-sauce pasta. "You should probably check your phone. He always calls you every night just to hear your voice. When Jude doesn't come home from work, like, when he comes home really really late and you can't sleep because you're afraid of closing your eyes alone, John talks to you until you fall asleep and he listens to your tiny sleeping sounds--which is not snoring, by the way--that Jude doesn't like and that he wants you to go under surgery about, John likes it." She nodded.

For a moment, my head lagged like I can't get all the words in my head. Well, I can't blame her. She talks a lot.

"Really?" I croaked.

"Yeah," John said gently. I could feel his eyes on me.

I turned to him, my eyes a little bit blur from the tears that started to fill my eyes. I chuckled, choking back the tears. "Crazy," I whispered.

He nodded, a smile curling on the edge of his lips. "Maybe."