The bouncing of Jackson's leg, had his knee rapping against the glove box of his dad's car. The thud and rattle was only faintly heard over the screeching wails and riffs of Black Sabbath.
William Woods glanced over at his son, offering a quick, sympathetic smile that went unrecognised. Young love. It was the best of times, and the worst of times. Mainly the best in his recollection. It was two decades ago when he first met Elizabeth's parents, and though that sometimes felt like a lifetime ago with how much things had changed—especially with the kids entering their lives—other times it felt like it was yesterday; he would've been just about as nervous as Jackson, if not more.
Turning down the music, he asked: 'What's got you so riled up, Jackie?'
'You know what,' Jackson responded, earning a chuckle.
'I know that, but what specifically about meeting her parents has got you so nervous?'
Jackson bit his lip, his leg holding still for the moment. He needed advice, but could he really say WHY he was so nervous? Jasmine had been so reluctant to share such information with HIM. How could he turn around and share it with someone else? Telling Kenny already felt like a mistake. It wasn't his place, no matter how important it seemed.
And it WAS important. He needed advice like a fish needed water. Tommy was no help—he'd never had a girlfriend as far as Jackson could recall, so even if there was a fling or two there, it was never anything so serious he would've met her parents.
In the end he said: 'I don't know, I just need advice in general.'
'Well that's easy enough. Just be yourself.'
Jackson glared at his dad. Great, the cheesiest, most generic advice ever. He may as well've asked the Disney channel for help—he'd have gotten the same answer.
William chuckled. 'What? Don't look at me like that. It's the truth. Obviously Jasmine likes you, and why wouldn't she? You're a great kid. You just need to be your same charming, compassionate, and considerate self when you meet her parents, and they'll be smitten with you in no time as well. ANY parent would be delighted to know their child is dating a fine young gentleman like you.'
Jackson groaned. 'Ugh, you make me sound so weird and old-timey. Like, even older than you. I'm not grandpa, you know.'
'Being a gentleman never went out of style, Jackie.'
Jackson shook his head. Silence built upon itself, and as neither man said anything, William turned the music back up, and Jackson's leg started shaking once more.
Eventually—after what felt like a glacial pace, yet simultaneously all too soon for Jackson—they arrived at Jasmine's house. Jackson looked at the front door as if the words "abandon all hope, ye who enter" were emblazoned over the top of it.
William reached over, slapping Jackson's bouncing leg, steadying it under his fatherly grip. 'I could walk you to the door, say hello to the old folks, make sure they're not cannibals who're gonna eat you alive.'
'Very funny, Dad,' Jackson said. He wasn't worried they were going to eat him. He was worried they'd do something much worse, like make it so he could never see Jasmine again.
Staring at the door, he was faced with another conundrum. Would it be weird for his dad to say hello at the door with him? Maybe it'd look cowardly, or childish… maybe it was childish to be brought by his dad in general. Maybe Tommy could've driven Jackson. Would that even be any better? It was far too late anyhow.
Or maybe it would be good for Dad to see them, and them to see his dad. That way they could see he had at least one normal parent—he glanced at his dad. Well, normal enough—and that would mean he came from a good, NORMAL family. One they could trust to look after their daughter, right?
Jackson sighed, unsure if he was making a mistake or not. 'Yeah, that'd be good if you said hi, Dad.'
'You sure?'
'No.'
Laughing, William Woods got out of the car after his son, and together they trekked across the short lawn, following a curving path of white stone inlaid through the neat grass, and stopped in front of the imposing door. William let Jackson ring the bell.
Jasmine's voice called out from within, slightly muffled sounding. 'Coming!' she said. Then there was a slight commotion, and after a delay that was almost too long, the door opened.
It was not Jasmine standing on the other side of it. Well, technically she was, but both her parents were standing well in front of her, and Jackson could hardly see her peeking over both their shoulders. He gulped.
Jackson didn't know what he was expecting when he'd heard Jasmine's parents were Mormons, and strict ones at that. Maybe just for her dad to be wearing that same white shirt and black tie. Maybe he expected her mom to be wearing the same thing. Neither of them were.
They looked rather… normal, if a bit stern and intimidating. Well, her dad was anyway. He wore a grey shirt tucked into grey slacks, with black suspenders over his thin shoulders. The mom wore a plain, chequered blue and white dress, like she just got off a shift at some diner, or stole someone's picnic blanket.
The man had a jutting chin, and a hooked nose which looked like they were trying to stretch out to touch each other. But his eyes invoked the image of a vulture in Jackson, a vulture that was stalking you, pissed off you were taking so long to die. He was a tall, gaunt man, adding to this grim look of a vulture. His brushed-back blond hair—forming a widow's peak high on his forehead—was so light and thin it was hard to tell where it began in some spots.
Jasmine's mom was skinny as well. Something told Jackson there wasn't a lot of pies or cookies baked in this house. But other than her slenderness, it was hard to get a read on the shorter, politely-smiling woman. There wasn't even the faintest dusting of makeup on her face, and her brown hair fell in straight, neat curtains about her head.
Not normal. Plain, Jackson decided.
He didn't know what to say now he was faced with them, and Jasmine—pushed back into the distance—would be no help. Her parents were certainly waiting for him to make the first comment. Thankfully, there could be no awkward silence with William Woods around. Wearing a broad smile, he offered a hand to man before him, and introduced himself as Jackson's father.
Jasmine's dad shook William's hand, introducing himself (Albert Reynolds), and his wife (Mina). Then he glanced down at Jackson and said: 'So you'll be the one to blame if he's a terrible influence on our daughter.'
William laughed it off. 'I suppose I would be, but I'm not worried about that. Jackson's a wonderful boy, and he really cares about Jasmine. He just wants what's best for her.'
Albert raised a brow. 'And how would he know that?'
'Well, by listening to her and getting to know her, I suppose? How does anyone come to know what's best for the one they love?'
'Love?'
'Dad…' Jackson groaned, blushing.
William laughed again. 'Whoops. A bit too early for the "L" word? Sorry, Jackie.' He slapped Jackson on the back. 'Don't mind me, however. I was just here to drop him off. I can wait in the car, if you like, Jackie.'
'Maybe I can call you when I need to be picked up.'
William shrugged, turning his attention back to Albert and Mina. 'It was lovely meeting you.'
'Yes, it certainly was… interesting…' Albert said; Mina just nodded and kept smiling.
'I'll see you soon, Jackie,' William said, and then he was heading off back to the car. Leaving Jackson alone at what was beginning to feel like the front door of an adder's nest.
Jackson smiled up at Jasmine's parents, swallowed most of his worries, and said: 'It really is lovely to meet you.'
A slight twitch of Albert's mouth was the only reaction before he stepped aside, sweeping a wing out to invite Jackson within. 'Come in. There is… much… we need to discuss.'
Jasmine's face wasn't as welcoming as Jackson would've liked. Her concentration did nothing to settle his nerves as he stepped in and looked around.
The house was clean, plain… too much so. He'd expected the walls to be adorned with religious pictures, paintings, or sculptures—he should've been stepping into a mini-church, even his mom had set up one cross in the front hall—but here there was nothing. Literally nothing. The walls were barren, and there wasn't even much furniture. It went beyond minimalism and looked more like Jasmine's family had just moved in. Such emptiness gave every word an eerie echo, as if the house was talking.
He glanced at Jasmine again for help, really taking her in for the first time that day, and had to pause. She was wearing an uncharacteristic outfit. A light blue dress—the skirt of which went all the way down to the floor—peaked out from under a grey-and-white-striped sweater that looked hand-knitted.
Jackson smiled at her and said: 'You look pretty today.'
Mina Reynolds's eyebrows got lost in her hairline, and the vulture looked as if its patience had run out, and it was seriously contemplated killing its meal itself. He turned to his wife and said:
'Why don't you take Jasmine into the kitchen to put the finishing touches on lunch?'
Mina was already bundling Jasmine away, who looked back at Jackson, annoyed and pensive. The door Jackson could only assume led to the kitchen shut, and left him alone in the small living room with Albert.
There was a cramped looking couch, like something you'd expect in your grandparents' house, and a coffee table that was little more than a thick slab of wood, and there was no TV to be found at all. But worst of all, was the first bit of religious paraphernalia Jackson saw in the house—a life-sized statue of Jesus, who seemed to be staring down at specifically Jackson with the most judgemental and pitying look possible.
Jackson gulped, tearing his eyes from the statue to watch the plain, swinging door Jasmine disappeared beyond; he heard no voices from beyond it.
'Jasmine tells me you're a bit of an athlete,' Albert said. He gestured for Jackson to take a seat on the couch. There was something in his tone that made Jackson feel more as if he was stepping into an interrogation room than a warm living room.
He sat down. 'I am. I play football.'
'Barbaric sport. Why would you kill yourself with such a thing when basketball, baseball, or even soccer are right there?'
'Hah, well, you can't really help what your interests are, I suppose. Though I'm sure my family being so deeply involved in football had a large part in guiding me towards that.'
'So your family is full of footballers?'
'I wouldn't say full. But my dad played, and granddad. Now dad's a coach at ASU, and Tommy, my older brother, he plays there. We usually follow in our family's footsteps. It's expected, isn't it?'
Albert laughed at that. At least, Jackson assumed it was a laugh; it sounded painful. 'You and I have very different experiences with that.'
Jackson glanced towards the swinging door leading to the kitchen. Of course, Jasmine wasn't anything like these people. So unlike how he and Tommy both took after their dad.
'No matter what we do, or how hard we try to enshroud Jasmine with faith and God's glory, nothing seems to put a dent in this horrible rebellious streak of hers… and now there's you.'
'What about me?'
'I believe Jasmine said you're… Christian…?'
Jackson frowned, wishing they could've gone back to talking about sport, even with the "barbaric" comments. 'More or less.'
Albert cocked his head. 'Is it more? Or less?'
'Does it make a difference? No offence sir, but you don't sound like you'd be happy with either answer.'
The kitchen door swung open, and Mina walked through, carrying a platter of sandwiches—ham, cheese, lettuce, and tomato—cut into triangles. Jasmine followed behind with a pitcher of orange juice and four glasses.
'You guys better not be talking about religion,' Jasmine said, drawing a glare from her mom. Her dad looked over much more calmly, but coldly as well.
'Why wouldn't we be discussing such?' Albert said. 'It's a rather important topic, especially in the context of your potential boyfriend.'
'He IS my boyfriend.'
'That's not for you to decide.'
'It's certainly not for anyone else to decide,' Jackson said. 'Not even you.'
Again, Mina's eyebrows were getting lost in her hair, though even Jasmine was looking at him, mouth agape. Albert turned that cold, hateful stare upon Jackson.
'When I need the opinion of a meat-headed boy who knows nothing, I'll ask for it. Which'll be never, especially when it comes to the topic of how I should raise my own daughter!'
'Just because he cares about me as an actual person and not a piece of property!' Jasmine said.
'Jasmine Roberta Reynolds!' It was the first thing Jackson had heard Mina Reynolds say, and her voice was much deeper than he expected. 'How dare you speak to your father that way.'
Albert laughed that same painful laugh, like an expulsion of dust after a coffin lid slams shut. 'You think this BOY cares about you? Or loves you? He doesn't know the meaning of such things. All he knows is whatever those sinful hormones coursing through his brain tell him. He doesn't love you, he LUSTS for you.'
'That's not true!' Jackson shouted, leaving his seat.
'Isn't it?' Albert accused, as calm as ever even as his voice filled with venom. 'Do you love her then?'
Jackson's jaw dropped open, but his tongue sat unmoving and useless in his mouth as he looked from Albert to Jasmine.
'Oh God, Dad, why do you always fucking do this?'
'Language, Jasmine!' Mina rumbled.
'I'm sorry if I care for the future and well-being, of my YOUNGEST DAUGHTER, rather than letting you ruin your life with every dumb, spontaneous idea you come up with.'
'No!' Jackson shouted. Every head whipped towards him. 'You don't care about her, not the real Jasmine. You're just trying to cut off all the things you don't like, and prune her into the perfect little grey flower you want!'
'You dare lecture—'
'Listen for once!' Jackson bowled right over the top of him. 'Jasmine is the most beautiful, funny, caring, creative, and incredible person I've met. But you would rather tear all of that away—the music, her laughter, her smile, and her fearlessness—and turn her into a dull, boring doll. It's like ripping off the petals of a rose! Have you ever even stopped to ask her what she wants in life?'
'Music?' Mina asked. 'What music is he talking about, Jasmine?'
'Yes… what music, dear daughter? I doubt you've finally decided to join the church choir.'
He'd fucked up. Jasmine was looking at him as if her heart was breaking, but it was too late to take back his words, and he didn't want to anyway. Why should he have to hide his truth? Albert was fuming, his eyes as wide as saucers. Jackson stared right into them.
'I care more about her than both of you put together,' Jackson said quietly. 'And until you can accept her for who she is, you'll NEVER love her.'
'Get out,' Albert whispered, voice as sharp as a knife. 'Get out of my house and stay away from my daughter! If I ever see you around her or this house again, I'll be calling the police and filing a restraining order!'
'Dad, you can't!'
'DON'T TELL ME WHAT I CAN AND CAN'T DO IN MY OWN HOUSE! Go to your room, young lady!'
Biting back another retort, Jackson moved towards the door. He paused only to look back at Jasmine. There was too much he needed to say for just one look, but he tried his best. He was sorry, but held no regrets, and sorry for a lot more than his actions, mostly for her being stuck in this hell hole ironically enough. But most of it, he wanted her to know this wasn't over, and he still cared for her, maybe even loved…
He ducked out of the door, letting it slam shut behind him.
His worst fear had become reality, but he was too wound up to care about failing her parents' "test," or not receiving their blessing. Jasmine was her own person, and her parents couldn't stop them from seeing each other.
He stomped away from the house, pounding down the pavement. Taking his phone out, he sent a message to Jasmine rather than his dad. Jackson still needed to cool off before speaking with anybody else. He couldn't remember ever being this angry, expect maybe with himself.
Minutes and blocks of houses passed by, and Jasmine still hadn't even read his message let alone responded. They must've taken her phone. He growled at nothing in particular, worry taking over for his anger. If they hurt her… he wasn't sure what he would do, nothing good, certainly.
There was only one thing he was certain of at that moment. Despite everything—perhaps BECAUSE of everything was the better phrase—Jackson knew he loved Jasmine as deeply as he'd ever loved anyone.