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If you’d have asked Jake if he was gonna bring Bradley home to meet his family, last month—no, even last week—the answer would’ve been hell to the fuck no.
Sure, a small, perpetually-fractured, child-sized part of him wanted to get his family’s approval—wanted them to see what he sees, a kind man with manners and a smart mouth and just the right amount of stubbornness to keep Jake in line—but the rest of him, the sensible part, the part with the intimate knowledge of how his family works… is terrified, that if he finally makes the journey home after years of missed holidays and declined invitations with Bradley in tow, he’ll take one look at the nearly-identical Seresins—in looks and attitude—and run for the hills. Not to mention the fact that the last time he saw his family in person was at his sister-in-law’s funeral five years back, and the time before that was nearly seven years prior, though it was only his youngest brother Tee and his wife Adri, who were staying in San Diego for a conference.
Unfortunately for everyone involved, Jake-from-last-week didn’t know that his baby sister Mallory was moving to Australia for her dissertation research, or that this could be the last time the whole family’s able to get together for what could be years with Mallory gone plus Chris and Tee taking on bigger and bigger projects in the near future. Which left him no choice on whether or not to bring Bradley, as Mallory, his big sister Joanna, and his Mama, all called—both separately and together—and begged him to bring his partner to at least one dinner, at the very minimum.
(Partner, because he and Roo both thought they were a little old to be just boyfriends, especially with their history.)
Even now, an exhausting week of anxious fretting, insomnia, and frustration over making proper introductions heightens the tension in the stuffy truck-cab exponentially as they pull onto the gravel drive leading up to his childhood home. He lets out a long breath through his nose and Bradley reaches over the console to place a firm, comforting hand on Jake’s knee.
“Hey,” he says softly, not taking his eyes off the road. “It’s all good.”
Jake nods stiffly, jaw clenched and tendons in his neck straining as he stares forward resolutely.
“We can still turn back, Jake.” Bradley soothes, slowing the truck to a stop as he pulls over onto a makeshift shoulder. “Say we got new orders or something. ‘Spur of the moment, can’t plan for, can’t work around’ kind-a orders.”
Jake takes another deep breath before shaking his head, frowning but determined to see this through. “Can’t back out now, we’ve got witnesses,” he murmurs, gesturing vaguely towards three tall figures waiting on the porch, illuminated by the warm light spilling out through one of the front windows.
The corner of Bradley’s lips twitch minutely and Jake glowers as if that could make them run back inside.
“That’s not creepy at all,” he jokes, scoffing lightheartedly to disguise the nervous, barely-there tremor in his voice. Of course, Bradley—being the stupidly observant man that he is—catches it and glances towards him with a soft frown, doe-brown eyes full of concern.
Jake avoids his gaze and instructs him to pull all the way up, figuring they might as well get it over with as soon as possible. Thankfully, as the truck rolls to a stop, Mama sticks her head through the door and barks a few indiscernible words at the impromptu welcome wagon and they meander back into the house, clearly dragging their feet in order to catch the first glimpse of the guest of honour.
With an arched eyebrow, she pulls a wooden spoon out of the folds of her apron and brandishes it in a sweeping motion towards the onlookers like a sword. Bradley poorly stifles a laugh as the group suddenly hurries inside, tripping over their feet and pushing each other through the doorway.
Now without an audience, they slip into the perfect-sized spot between a cherry-red minivan and an ancient, rusted-over F-250. Bradley licks his lips nervously, turning towards Jake. “Can you give me another run-down of everyone? Just in case.”
He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly but easily agrees, wholeheartedly supporting Bradley’s efforts in stalling their entrance.
“Mom and Dad are Lisa and Tom, and siblings from oldest to youngest are Joanna—but don’t call her that, she only answers to Joey—Chris; then me; then Tom Jr., but everyone calls him Tee; and then Mallory.”
Bradley’s heard this all before, multiple times even, and he has it written down on sticky notes and scrappy loose-leaf paper on his desk, but he must still be worried about making the wrong impression. He takes a deep breath and grabs Jake’s hand as he continues.
“Joey and her husband Matt have got four kids—their oldest is Lexi, then the twins Toby and Taylor, and with another on the way, but apparently they haven’t figured out a name yet even though she’s due like, yesterday. Chris has two girls, Polidora—everyone calls her Pokey but don’t use it if she doesn’t introduce herself with it—and Calliope. Though if you call her anything but, she’ll hit you real hard, so just stick with Callie.” Jake spares him a look out of the corner of his eye, taking in dark brows furrowed in concentration and soft frown, as if committing the entire spiel to memory. He tries to lighten the mood with a teasing, “Want me to cover the dogs too? I don’t remember if we got around to that last time.”
Bradley only nods earnestly, fingers twitching where they’re twined with Jake’s.
“Deana’s a Great Pyrenees—the kids call her Dee-Dee—and Batman’s the Cattle Dog.” At his slightly-confused, intrigued look, Jake tacks on, “Lexi named him. Apparently, he’s got a blob on his head that looks like the Bat-Signal she saw in the comics I gave her from that clutter-purge I went on like, three years ago? And Bruce got vetoed real quick because there’s already one a mile or so down the lane. I’m not gonna give you the names of all the livestock ‘cause I don’t even know half of ‘em and we’re not gonna have any dealings with them anyway.”
Bradley looks just as overwhelmed and apprehensive as Jake feels but while he gave the final run-down, someone moved back into the window and is still standing there, obviously getting impatient. It’s probably Mallory—she and Jake have always been close, despite the 7-year age gap, and she’s been dying to meet Bradley for almost a year and a half now—but he won’t be able to actually tell until he’s up on the porch or actually inside the mudroom. Though, the odd shape of the silhouette might mean that his heavily-pregnant eldest sister is the one waiting on them, in which case they need to hurry the hell up before she passes out on her feet.
Without giving himself time to hesitate anymore, he swings open the passenger-side door and steps down and out, moving to the front of the truck with their shared duffel in hand to wait for his partner—who only stares up at him through the windshield with wide, anxious eyes.
The fact that Bradley was willing to put on a brave face as Jake sulked and brooded during the drive down means a lot to him, in a way Jake’s not sure he knows how to verbally express. It’s his turn to be brave now.
He rounds the side of the truck and pulls open the drivers-side door, stretching out a hand for Bradley to take—as both a physical and emotional support.
“Come on, Roo,” he murmurs, voice as soft as the smile on his face. “We’ve got people to wow.” Bradley still hesitates, but Jake has the perfect incentive. “I think Chris’ old pit bike might still be in the shed, maybe you could convince him to check it out after dinner.”
Bradley’s eyes narrow, knowing exactly what Jake is trying to pull, but clearly curiosity wins out because he heaves himself out of the seat with a small grin as he says, “Guess it is a good thing I forgot to take my tools out of the bed, huh?”
Jake huffs a laugh as he rolls his eyes. “We both know you didn’t forget to take them out, sweetheart.” Bradley has the decency to look sheepish, at least, but Jake doesn’t care if they’re there as long as he’s happy and they aren’t rolling around in the back like a bunch of loose grapes.
As they go up the front steps, a piercing whistle echoes through the house and out the screen door in front of them. Jake smiles wistfully at the sound, feeling nostalgic as Bradley winces at the volume.
“What was that? Oh my god, that hurt,” Bradley stage-whispers, maybe a tad too loud but his ears are probably ringing something awful.
Jake merely grins, staring through the screen door where they can see straight to the massive dining table—the only piece of furniture in the house that has enough space for everyone and then some. A young girl with long, strawberry blonde hair—Callie—walks into the room and Jake’s face twitches valiantly in an attempt to restrain the uncontrollable grin. A chuckle slips out as he pushes the rickety door open and steps inside, causing her eyes to snap in his direction before she takes off in a dead-sprint.
“Uncle Jake! Uncle Ja—”
Her voice cuts out mid-cry as her lunge reaches its target, mouth filled with the cotton of Jake’s shirt. She’s shaking like a leaf, clutching desperately at his arms and back and anywhere she can reach, and Jake brings a hand up to cup the back of her head, hunching over to surround his youngest niece with his arms as he drops his duffel bag to the ground and tucks his nose into her hair.
“Hey, ladybug,” he murmurs near her ear. Her sparkly plastic headband is digging uncomfortably into the side of his face, but Jake can’t bring himself to care. “I missed you.”
Callie doesn’t respond, only squeezing him tighter, and he squeezes back as he takes a deep breath to calm his heart down a little.
Citrus and mint, he thinks to himself, eyes burning. Cora’s favourite conditioner; like mother, like daughter. Just as he glances up at Bradley, Joey and Mallory turn the corner, arm in arm. They both freeze, identical expressions of hope and love and all-encompassing joy crossing their faces.
Mal is the first to look away, turning her face down and bringing a shaky hand up to cover her eyes, breathing heavily. Joey doesn’t even spare her a second glance, giving her a bit of space to collect herself as she waddles towards her younger brother.
“Jakey,” she says warmly, her voice sounding more and more like their mother’s with age. She starts waving her hands like traffic-signalling beacons with a low giggle, and she gives a small ‘oof’ as Jake finally—gingerly—wraps his arms around her and leans closer with a muffled laugh, tucking his head under her chin like he’s six-years-old and fell off his bike again.
There’s a strange wiggling sensation between them, and for a moment he’s concerned about the baby—but then he remembers that Callie’s still clinging to him like a limpet, and ended up squished in the middle.
“Blegh,” she says exaggeratedly, sticking her tongue out in disgust as she squeezes her way out from between the two Seresin siblings. “You need new soap, Uncle Jake—that tastes nasty.”
Before anyone can react to her statement, she struts up to the entrance to the kitchen, murmuring something indistinct into the room and turning towards the screened-in back porch, letting out a piercing whistle—identical to her grandmother's. “Company!”
Almost immediately, there’s a thundering stampede of footsteps up onto the porch and bit-out curses before Tee falls through the doorway, landing hard on his hands—Chris launches himself over their baby brother right before Dad picks him up by the collar and sets him back on his feet, as if relocating a kitten by way of the scruff of its neck.
Jake peels himself off Joey, trying to keep her a safe distance away as Chris lunges—an almost perfect mirror of his youngest daughter—and tackles him to the ground.
Bradley steps back to make some space out of habit, having had decades to get used to people throwing down at any given moment, no matter the surroundings. Chris is rolling around and shaking Jake in his arms like a dog with its toy, pulling him into a headlock as Jake scrabbles at his older brother’s hold and shouts nonsensically.
Someone flops on top of them—their youngest brother, Tee—and both Chris and Jake groan as Bradley winces sympathetically.
Tom closes in, gently squeezing Mallory’s shoulder as he passes before he pulls the trio of boys up by their shirts, and wraps all three of them in his arms. “Punks,” he says warmly, and Jake frowns into his shirt at the lengthy pause before he continues speaking. “Your Mama’s been prayin’ for you, son.”
Jake’s eyes burn, as he hears the words unsaid loud and clear.
We’re glad they finally reached you.
He dips down and presses his forehead into his father’s collarbone, shoulders trembling—Dad’s hand rises to cup the nape of his neck, a calloused thumb nestled in the coarse hair; Tee tucks his face into the hollow of Jake’s shoulder, right where joint meets socket, and Chris’ grip tightens from where they were slapped against his younger brothers’ shoulders like a scrappy makeshift huddle; like they’re kids again, just him and his brothers against the world.
Tee’s arms start to shake slightly as Chris speaks. “The kids missed you, Jakey,” he whispers hoarsely, and just like their father, Jake knows from years of stilted conversations and awkward interventions to read between the lines.
Their youngest brother takes a deep breath, leaning heavily against Jake before interjecting his own statement. “I definitely missed ya the most, Jay—these duggers didn’t even think about you once!”
Chris cries out in mock outrage, reaching around Jake’s head to cuff a flat hand against the back of Tee’s who proceeds to smack his hands at Chris like a cat. They both detach themselves from Jake’s sides to reach farther and Dad pushes them further away with a slippered foot as they tussle, each trying to get the other into a headlock.
The sounds of Chris and Tee fighting steadily get further and further away as Tee starts to chase his big brother around, following him back out the rear door as they race around the yard like high-energy dogs. Jake peels himself out of his Dad’s arms, barely managing to turn before his Mama is pulling him into hers and he bumps right back against Tom’s chest, whose arms come to surround the both of them.
“Hi, baby,” Mama says into his shirt, voice muffled but still clear as a bell and familiar as ever.
“Hey, Mama,” he responds softly, hand coming to cup the back of her head just like his father’s did to him. “Sorry it took me so long.”
She sighs deeply, not sad or disappointed—but relieved, reminding him of how she would hug Dad when he finally came home after a long day in the field.
“Did’ya give Corie love for me?” He speaks into her hair, voice solemn. She lets out a shuddering breath, squeezing him tighter.
“Always,” she whispers, fingers tracing soft circles against his shoulder blade. “Me an’ Callie told her we was prayin’ on you finally comin’ home this year, and she passed on the word for us… And your tulip came up again for the first time in almost a decade, since her funeral. I know you don’t believe in divine messages anymore… but I knew that was her sendin’ you back to me, baby. She brought my boy home, with his boy in tow.”
“I believe you, Mama,” he says honestly, voice choked. “If anyone could do it, Cora can.”
She gives him a watery smile, pulling back to wipe her face with a small sniffle, before turning her attention to Bradley. He’s misty-eyed and standing awkwardly to the side, trying to comfort Mallory who’s nodding furiously at whatever he’s saying as she scrubs her wet cheeks with her hands.
Mama corners him as Jake walks up to Mallory, who’s previously mostly-dried eyes fill again. He misses the first chunk of their conversation as she falls into his arms to cry into his shirt, feeling her heart pounding in her chest and his responding in turn. Resting his head on top of hers, he watches as his Mama swipes a gentle hand across Bradley’s cheek, stopping a lone tear in its tracks.
She looks up at him with a warm smile and spreads her arms wide, and he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her. Bradley’s a good half-foot above her, but still looks like a small child swaddled in their mother’s arms—and that’s what he is, Jake realizes with a hitch in his breath.
Bradley’s parents are both long gone, and all he’s got is Mav and the Daggers; while Jake hasn’t hugged his own mother in almost 8 years, it’s been decades for Bradley. Suddenly, the hands clutching the loose fabric of her shirt and shivering shoulders make more sense than ever. Seeing them together, seeing Bradley get the maternal affection he’s been so obviously craving, makes Jake’s heart clench like a fist and his eyes burn.
As much as he was afraid to come home, he missed his family like crazy, though he knew that they’d be waiting for him when he did. No matter whether Bradley heads back to the house (or houses) he was raised in, he has to live with knowing that if he finally does go back, the people that raised him… will never ever be there for him again.
to be continued...