Just Hatched

between us that makes the silence comfortable, too.
After dinner, we sat close together on the hood of my car, holding hands and gazing out over downtown from the top of the parking garage. Drunks of all types, North Enders, families, couples, and loners shuffled along on the streets below us.
“There used to be a sandwich shop over there.” Jodie pointed past the intersection. “My family had a booth at Saturday Market one summer, back before it got so big, and I would run over and grab a sandwich. Apparently, their bread has plastics in it. My parents always gave me shit about eating fast food when there was so much good food at the market.” She shrugged. “I was a kid; I was kind of limited. That Pho was great, though. I’ve never had it, or those spring rolls.”
“It’s kind of a Seattle staple. I probably had it once a month or so when I was at U Dub. Growing up in Sacramento, Chinese was about as exotic as it got. But they do have Pho now, though.”
“My mom loved Chinese food. We have the place in Emmett, but she liked this restaurant here that used to be over next to the steakhouse. A few streets over that way.” She arched her arm and pointed like a bomb dropping. I find it endearing the way that Jodie likes to use her hands when she talks.
“You don’t ever say much about your mom. It must still be really hard for you.”
“Well, yes and no.” She thought it over. “She’s everywhere. And that’s both comforting and heartbreaking. Sometimes at work, I feel like she’s about to hand me a book to re-shelve, and when they call me Mrs. Miller, I want to turn around and look behind me.”
“She must have been an amazing mom; you turned out great.”
“Well, she got better as I got older. She would be the first to tell you she wasn’t perfect. Her drinking tapered off after she met Russ. But she kind of got around, if you know what I mean, between high school and Russ. My biological father could have been one of any number of guys.”
“Russ isn’t your real dad? I mean, your biological dad? But you look alike.”
“Not really, but people always say that. We have the same smile and mannerisms. I look more like my mom, Basque, some Mexican. I wanted to be just like Russ from five on, so I copied him all the time. I don’t remember life before him very much, but I know it was lonely, just me and Mom. And her parents were strict Catholics. They threw her out when she got pregnant, and we moved around a lot before she met Russ. The way they met … Mom was actually on her way back from a date when her tire blew out. Dad stopped and changed her tire, made sure she got home okay. Typical Russ. The next day he went to the diner where she worked and asked her out. By the time I was six, everything had changed. Mom rarely ever drank, we had a real home, you know. Mom got a job at the library part time and eventually moved up. She only had her AA degree – she did that by correspondence mostly.”
“Oh. So, you don’t know who your biological father is?”
“Nope. Don’t know, and I don’t care. I went through my own wild period, too. Nothing like my mom’s, but I drank and smoked pot when I moved to Boise. I dated guys and girls. I almost bombed out one semester. It wasn’t fun, so I gave it up. I used to go to The Balcony. Back when I was trying to work through my sexuality, it was a place I could hang out with gay friends who weren’t afraid to be out with me and straight friends who didn’t care. How ‘bout you? When did you figure it out?”
“Oh, I think I always knew. Way back in kindergarten I fell in love with a girl who was in first grade, Lily Jett. When her class walked down the hallway past our door, it was like she was moving in slow motion, you know, hair blowing, her head turning towards me. I went home and asked my mom if girls could like girls. She said they could, and I took it from there. California is more accepting than here. I know I’m lucky in that. I’ve heard lots of horror stories. Were your parents okay with it?”
“Well, I actually never told my mom. We didn’t talk about sex at home, and our church said it was a sin. We went to a different Catholic church than my grandparents, Mom and I. Dad was raised Presbyterian but doesn’t go anymore, so he’s fairly liberal, I mean for this area. He says your beliefs are your own, and there’s no call for trying to make others believe the way you do. Anyway, by the time I figured my sexuality out, Mom was sick and I didn’t want to upset her. Eventually, I told my dad. He wanted to know if I had a girlfriend or if I was exhibiting any ‘risky behavior’, whatever that meant. It made me laugh on both accounts, because I am basically a hermit. But you know, my dad’s pretty sheltered. He’s probably relieved not to have to deal with a bunch of sweaty guys. Anyway, he’s cool. He likes you.”
“Really? Does he know we’re …” I hesitated. There have been times in my past when defining a relationship in any way was the kiss of death. “… seeing each other?”
Jodie laughed at me. “He’s pretty sure we’re dating, but we haven’t talked about it. He raises an eyebrow and says ‘Again?’ when I tell him I’m headed over to your place. That’s his way of letting me know he cares without trying to