I was supposed to be the stable one, the responsible one, the parent. I was the one who waited around for Jean-Paul to come home, did the worrying, the watching out. But things have gone cockeyed. JP is becoming my rock.
I had to become a fuck-up for JP to finally shape up.
When I come home, it's JP who's waiting—arms folded across his chest, head cocked, a “where have you been, young man?” look on his face. He’ll produce leftovers from the frigo and sit with me at the table while I eat; ask me how the case is coming. The change in him is astonishing. It's comforting, stabilizing—especially now, with my life upended.
Who would have guessed? While I've been lost these past weeks, JP found himself.
He shows up for work every day, on time. At least one of us should have a job, huh? Henri says JP’s a fast learner; a real self-starter. He takes pride in his work, great pride. "Like you," Henri told me. "He's a lot like you."
Like me.
For so long I agonized over Jean-Paul, wondered how I'd ever get through to him. Somehow I did. But JP isn't like me. He's turning out better than me.
