The prodigal son has come home for fall break. We’re having all of Dean’s favorite foods—fried okra, squash casserole, rib-eye steaks—while he regales us with tales of college. His classes are all great, and he’s keeping fit in the off-season, and he’s figured out which dining hall has the best Saturday-morning pancakes. Oh, but he hasn’t figured out how to do his laundry yet, so does Pam mind doing that while he’s here?
“Of course I don’t. I’ll have everything folded before it’s time to go back to school,” she says, beaming.
“Thanks. I’ve just been studying so much. We’re learning a lot of stuff that’s really different from high school. And, like, the people are really different, too. I’ve never met so many people who are different from me.”
“You’re having fun, too, though, right?” I say.
An observation about Dean’s stories: They’re a little too squeaky-clean.
“Well, sure. It’s college.” He side-eyes Dad before grinning at me.
Oh, yeah. I am definitely going to make him tell me the dirt later.
“Have you met any girls yet?” Jayla asks, her eyes all twinkly and sly.
Hell, yes, my girlfriend is on Team Find-Out-What-Really-Happens-in-College.
“A few.”
“A few,” says Pam.
“Well, I don’t want anything serious. I’m trying to focus on school and baseball.”
“S’good,” Dad grunts around a mouthful of steak. “We don’t want any distractions.”
“Because women are merely distractions and not actual human beings,” says Mimi, rolling her eyes.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Hmph.”
Jayla kicks my foot and smiles at me, like, I love your grandma. And I smile back, like, I know, right?
Dean drains the rest of his drink and makes a big show of stretching. “Pam, can you get me another glass of tea?”
Jayla fixes him with her best withering smirk. “And you can’t do that yourself because . . .?”
Dean pretend-scoffs. “I’m the second-best pitcher we’ve got. I have to protect my pitching arm.”
“Lifting a tea pitcher is not going to strain you. You can fill up mine while you’re at it.”
She jiggles her cup so the ice rattles against the sides, and to my surprise, he does it. He goes to the kitchen and refills it, and when he comes back, he hands it back to her with a bow and a flourish. She laughs and keeps her chin high like royalty.
I think if Dean found a girl like Jayla, he’d be a whole lot happier. He needs a queen, not a groupie.
“So, what’s new around here?” asks Dean.
“I found a new 113 guy, and he’s killing it. He’s pretty cool.”
Jayla grins. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only person who would use the word ‘cool’ to describe that kid.”
“Yeah.” I frown. “That’s kind of why he’s my freshman buddy.”
“Only seniors get freshman buddies,” says Dean.
“None of them wanted him. I don’t know. I just, I feel like he could use some extra help, you know?”
“Well, I think that’s wonderful,” says Mimi.
“Yeah, that’s cool,” says Dean, and I’m so surprised I nearly put steak sauce on my squash.
We go over wrestling, other sports, town gossip. It doesn’t take long.
“Hope’s still dating Mikey,” I say.
Mimi clucks her tongue. “I hate to see her with that tattoo boy, don’t you? He looks like he smokes those marijuana cigarettes.”
Dean and I snicker.
“And Ethan comes home from school every weekend to see Bella,” I say.
Dean snorts. “Loser.” Only he says it like a term of endearment. “Wow, it’s crazy how nothing ever really changes around here.”
“Yeah.” And then I remember something did change this year. A big something. “Wait, no, something big changed at school this year.”
“A new brand of tater tots in the cafeteria?”
“No.” I glance around the table. Haven’t mentioned this in front of Dad, and not sure why I’m doing it with Jayla next to me, but here goes: “People aren’t allowed to have rebel flags anymore.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, you can’t have them on your clothes or on your car or anything. No Confederate flags anywhere on school grounds.”
Dad’s eyebrows furrow, but his lips stay sealed. Thank goodness.
“It’s about damn time,” says Mimi.
“I can’t believe it finally happened.” Dean looks stunned. Not that I blame him. I was pretty shocked, too, when I found out. When you live in a small town, it’s like life moves more slowly. It’s easy to think nothing will ever change, until BAM, it does, and it gives you hope for all the other changes that might be next. “I mean, good,” he says at last.
Jayla is silent beside me. We’ve talked about the whole thing, but I hope I didn’t make her uncomfortable bringing it up in front of my family.
My dad puts his fork down, and it clatters against his plate.
Oh, crap.
“You know, that’s a Constitutional right they’re taking away.”
No, no, no. Please stop talking.
But he doesn’t. “You should be able to wear whatever you want on your own shirt. That’s freedom of speech.” He sticks some okra in his mouth.
I’m trying to put words together, but Mimi is on him almost before he’s finished speaking. “It’s a public place full of minors, Frank. The administration’s allowed to dictate what people wear while they’re there. It’s important that all the students feel safe.” She nods at Jayla. Who I hope will still want to be my girlfriend by the end of this dinner. I put my hand over hers and squeeze. “Pass the squash casserole.”
Dad snorts. “I don’t see what ‘safety’ has to do with anything.”
“I’m sure you’d take issue with folks wearin’ ‘Death to Whitey’ T-shirts, wouldn’t you?” Mimi says.
“Well, that’s just not the same!” Dad says. “It’s an important part of our southern heritage, and people are trying to erase that. First, they take it off the Georgia flag—”
“Wait a minute. You need to check your history,” says Mimi. “The flag we have now is almost just like the original.”
“But—”
“Come on, Dad,” Dean cuts him off. “There’s no way you believe that ‘heritage’ crap.”
Dad doesn’t respond.
“You really think it’s okay for people to walk around a mixed school wearing reminders that people who looked like us owned other human beings?” Dean goes on. “THAT’S what the flag represents. Even if your Daddy’s Daddy’s Daddy fought in the war, a bumper sticker on your Ford is nothing more than a shout that your family was pro-slavery.”
Dean is at least two feet taller than my dad by the time he stops talking. I wish I had been the one to lay it all out there for Dad like that, and not just because of the way Jayla is looking at Dean right now.
Not to mention, Dean’s looking back.
Dad glances at Jayla, turns eleven shades of red, and starts stammering. “Well, I’m not saying slavery was okay . . . I was just talking about the Constitution. I don’t want any trouble for anyone at the school—”
Pam pats his hand. “We know you’re not a racist, honey. We see everybody the same.”
I feel Jayla stiffen beside me.
Oh boy . . .
“Can I say something?” she says.
“’Course you can, sweetheart,” says Mimi.
“Okay . . .” She looks at me. There’s hesitation in her eyes, but I nod. “I don’t mean you any disrespect, Mr. and Mrs. Barton, but I don’t think racism is that cut and dry. People always think, ‘Oh, this person’s a racist, and that person isn’t, and that’s it. The End.’ But it’s not really that simple, is it? When you’ve grown up in a place where people are treated differently because of their skin color, certain ideas become a part of you, whether you want them to or not. I think the fear of being pegged as a ‘racist’ can actually make people act worse and treat people of color more differently.”
“So true,” Dean says. He winks at Jayla and she blushes. Which is pretty uncharacteristic of her.
Dad and Pam glance at each other. Not sure what that means, but I’m so proud of my girl right now for shutting them up, it’s a struggle not to lean over and kiss her. Assuming she still wants to be kissed by a guy who pretty much sucked at speaking up right now. I have to make sure I do better next time.
“That sounds like something I heard on NPR,” Mimi says, cocking her head to the side.
Jayla smiles. “We might have listened to the same episode.”
Mimi is so aflutter, I think I might have some competition for who at this table is most in love with my girlfriend. Everyone else seems unsure what to do next now that we’ve established that A) my dad may or may not be a racist, but he definitely just said a lot of racist things, and B) Mimi and Jayla will probably be getting mani/pedis together in the very near future.
Dad doesn’t continue arguing, and trust me, he can argue with the best of them. Instead, he quietly eats his okra, which I feel means he’s at least thinking about what we said, even if he isn’t ready to change his mind yet. That’s not nothing.
I don’t know. Sometimes I worry that being from here means I’ll always be three steps behind the rest of the world.
After dinner I walk Jayla to the truck, but stop before I open her door.
“I’m really proud to be your boyfriend,” I say. “If you still want to be my girlfriend?”
She nods like she’s scared her voice won’t work and throws her arms around my neck, and I hold her for a few seconds or maybe a few minutes or maybe eternity.
When I get back from taking Jayla home, I let the truck idle in the driveway for longer than I probably should. Eventually, I force myself to go inside. Pam, Mimi, Dean—they’ve all disappeared, leaving my dad alone at the kitchen table with his phone. Something about the way he pushes it to the side when he sees me lets me know he wasn’t actually using it. Just waiting.
“Hey, buddy.” I can’t remember the last time he called me that. Heck, I can’t remember the last time we were alone together. He looks supremely uncomfortable right now.
“Hey.”
Did Pam put you up to this? Or was it Mimi?
“I’m sorry about tonight,” he says.
I really don’t have the energy or patience to hear whatever his excuses are going to be.
“I do a lot of things wrong. I feel like—like I’m not the dad you’re supposed to have, and I’m sorry you’re stuck with me.”
My breath catches.
“You’ve always been different. Even as a little kid. I don’t know what to do with you half the time, but I want you to know, that’s not your fault.”
“Okay.” I whisper it because my voice isn’t working.
“I’m so very proud of you, son.”
And then he’s hugging me, and I imagine it’s what being boa-constricted feels like, but it feels good, really good, and I am definitely not crying into his flannel shirt.
Before I can fully suffocate, he pulls away. “About tonight. If you and your brother think that this flag rule is such a good idea, then I’ll at least read an article on it. I don’t want to make trouble for you and your girl. Also.” He looks uncharacteristically sheepish. “Your grandmother might have given me a reading list.”
“Um, well, that’s great.” And not at all surprising. “You can talk to me about it, you know. I want us to be able to talk about things.”
He squeezes my shoulder—gently—which means it only kind of feels like a vice.
“Me, too.”