by F. T. Lukens
“See you tomorrow, Bud. And for the record, I do hope you’re out partying right now.”
“No, no parties for me. I’m spending a night in with—” He cut himself off. Boyfriend was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. “With my best friend.”
Lie.
Bridger had spent most of the fall lying—to everyone and himself—and while he didn’t feel great about it, it didn’t distress him. Not like this. This one hurt. It hurt a lot.
“All right. Maybe tomorrow night.”
If Bridger knew anything about his dad, he might guess he’d wink now, or maybe shoot finger guns, or pat Bridger on the back. There’d be some action, but Bridger couldn’t envision it, and that strange sense of sadness cut through him again.
“Night, kiddo.”
“Yeah, goodnight.”
Bridger hung up. Dazed, he wandered into the living room to see Leo’s concerned expression. He dropped to the couch, then slumped into Leo’s embrace. He buried his head in Leo’s chest and groaned. Leo tightened his arms.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Okay.” Bridger lifted his head into Leo’s fingers, which were running through his hair. “We’ll watch TV. What had you and Astrid completely freaked out when I walked in?”
Bridger closed his eyes and mumbled into Leo’s shirt. “That monster show I told you about.” With his face buried in Leo’s collarbone, he didn’t see when Leo unpaused the show. But he heard Summer Lore’s shaky voice as she wrapped up the episode, and he felt the shaking when Leo laughed.
“Why is Grandma Alice on your TV?”
“What?” Swirling thoughts and emotions about his dad forgotten, Bridger turned his head. “What are you talking about?”
Leo jerked his chin toward the screen. “Grandma Alice. Right there. Wait, is she the Monster of the Week?”
Bridger sat up so fast he made himself dizzy.
The camera had captured blurry footage of the thing that had jumped from behind the tree. Hands raised like claws, mouth open in a scream, eyes wide and feral, white hair blown back from a wrinkled face full of fury, the picture was a dead ringer for Grandma Alice—local uncanny apothecary and supplier of weird ingredients and trinkets to intermediary Pavel Chudinov.
“Oh, shit.”
Chapter 4
Bridger tugged at the collar of his shirt. He’d chosen a button-up for his birthday dinner, though it was only tacos at his and his mom’s favorite Mexican restaurant. He didn’t know why he was wearing it, except that his dad, a man Bridger hadn’t seen in five years, would be there. And why Bridger felt the need to impress him, God only knew.
The texts between him and Astrid and Leo had flown fast and furious all day. The whole Grandma Alice situation was a hot topic as were his birthday and his dad and the fact that he and Leo fell asleep, tangled up on the couch together and sharing a pillow, to be found when his mom came home from work that morning. They were also shirtless, and the chains of their necklaces had twisted together in the night, which was fine. What was not great was trying to get unstuck with his mom watching and laughing until she cried.
Luckily, Leo hadn’t been grounded for staying out all night, since his parents knew he was only across the street.
“Nervous?” his mom asked, coming up behind him and fixing the collar he’d pulled askew.
Bridger would never readily pass up an opportunity to be a smart-ass. On any other occasion, Bridger would’ve flown into a rant about being “cool as a cucumber” or would have scoffed at her assertion and talked in depth about how he was the pinnacle of calm and collected. This wasn’t any other occasion.
“Yeah, actually.”
Lips pursed, his mom paused. “You know what? We’re calling it off. It’s your birthday, you shouldn’t look like you’ve seen a ghost on your birthday.”
Oh, the irony. It burned.
“No, it’s okay. Just… could we invite Leo? Or Astrid? As a buffer?”
She rubbed her temples. “Honey, your dad, well, he had a traditional upbringing. He wouldn’t… I don’t know if he could play nice with either of them. He might say something to offend them. Unintentional of course, but…”
“Okay. So my gay boyfriend and my pierced and dyed best friend would upset his cultural sensitivities. Got it. Great. Happy birthday to me.”
“We’re cancelling.”
“We’re not cancelling. It’s okay, Mom. It’s one day. One day in a decade. I’ll be fine.”
She slung her purse over her shoulder, then placed both of her hands on his shoulders. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Good.” She hesitated. “Are you going to tell him?”
Bridger knew what she was referring to, but he pretended he didn’t. He pretended it wasn’t a big deal to everyone else. He’d come to terms with himself months ago and finally felt comfortable in his skin for the first time in a long time. He hated that anyone could ruin that for him.
“Tell him what?”
“Bridge.”
“No, okay. I’m not going to say anything about being bisexual or being in a relationship with the cutest guy in school. It’s a can of worms he doesn’t need to know about. Happy?”
“No.” She cupped his face in her hands. “My baby is eighteen, which means I’m old. And he’s so special and so great, and everyone who knows him sees it, which makes me happy. I hate that you feel you have to hide any part of yourself.”
“It’s fine,” he said with his cheeks smooshed together. “Can we go eat tacos now?”
Standing on her toes, she planted a kiss on his forehead. “Okay, now we can.”
Bridger bounced his knee through the entire ride. He chewed his fingernails. He tapped messages to Leo and Astrid. He patted the compact mirror in his pocket and both hoped and dreaded a myth emergency.
At the restaurant, they found a table and ordered their drinks. Bridger sat across from his mom, leaving the third seat at the end open. Bridger stared at it as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop. His phone pinged. He sneaked it out of his pocket and glanced to his lap. It was from Astrid.
Drop your napkin and look to your left.
Bridger pushed his roll of silverware off the table with his wrist. It thumped on the floor, and he bent to pick it up while glancing to his left.
Astrid and Leo waved to him from a booth. They shot him thumbs up and mouthed “good luck” while smiling at him with large cheesy grins. Leo made his hands into a heart.
Warmth suffused him, and he returned their smiles with a large toothy one of his own. He suppressed the laughter that threatened to bubble out of his throat. He sat up and knocked his head on the side of the table.
“Bridge?” His mom grabbed her water to keep it from sloshing. “You okay, kid?”
“Fine.” He nodded with his palm on the crown of his head. “I’m good.”
Another text lit up his phone. This one from Leo.
Let us know if you need us. I play baseball, I know hand signals.
Bridger didn’t hold back his laugh. His mom propped her chin on her hands. “Something funny you want to share with the class?”
“No. Just Leo being cute.”
“Ah. Good. I’m glad he’s being cute.”
Bridger blushed and shoved his phone back into his pocket and focused on his mom. Dad or not, this was his birthday. Next year, he’d be at college, and he wouldn’t have this moment with her.
“So,” he said with a sly smile, “want to tell me who you were giggling about with your co-workers the other day?”
It was her turn to blush. “HIPPA laws prevent me from sharing that information, young man. Unless you want both of us to go to jail?”
“No way. I’m eighteen now. I’d be tried as an adult.”
Bridger took comfort in their banter, and his nervousness eased. With his mom smiling at him and his moral support at his back, he’d be okay. But thirty minutes later, his dad hadn’t shown. They went ahead and ordered because Bridger’s stomach growled. Fifty-eight minutes after their arrival, Bridger pushed his half-eaten enchilada around on his plate. His appetite was non-existent, and his attention flitted between his mom’s frowning face and the front door.
“I don’t think he’s coming, Mom.”
“I’m so sorry, honey.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “We should’ve just cancelled. I know you try to be brave all the time, and face things head on—”
Bridger snorted. Far from the truth. He was a definite skirter of issues. Though he had been better recently.
“But your dad…”
“It’s okay. I get it. Mom, he hasn’t shown up in ten years. I don’t know what I expected.”
“Do you want me to tell them it’s your birthday? Do you want to wear the sombrero and eat fried ice-cream?”
Nothing sounded less appealing. “No thanks. I think we should just go.”
She gave him a soft, sad look that made his insides squirm with embarrassment and unease. “Okay. We can do that.”
He sighed and dropped his fork on his plate. He pulled his phone from his pocket and sent Leo and Astrid a text—they were still hanging out in the booth. Bridger could feel their stares on the back of his neck and he flushed with a mix of mortification and inexplicable anger.
Leaving.
As his mom dropped cash on the table, the front door opened and a tall man with blond hair swooped in. He made a beeline for their table, and Bridger straightened from his slouch.
Braxton Whitt had broad shoulders and an athletic build and tanned skin. He wore a goatee and an easy smile and distressed jeans and a T-shirt. In his presence, Bridger felt small, gangly and unsure, as if he was eight years old instead of eighteen. He absently tugged on his collar.
His dad pulled out the chair and dropped into it. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic.” He flashed a grin to Bridger and reached over and ruffled his hair. “Wow, you’re huge. Happy birthday, Bud.”
“Thanks,” Bridger mumbled, patting down his hair.
His mom rolled her eyes. “Braxton, you’re over an hour late.”
He waved her off. “I said I was stuck in traffic, Susan. It’s an hour drive. What? You couldn’t wait for me?”
“Couldn’t you have called?”
“No. I don’t use the phone while driving. It’s unsafe.”
“Well then, no. We couldn’t wait. We were hungry and now we’re leaving.”
His dad held out his hands. “I just got here! And it’s Bud’s birthday. You’re being unreasonable, Susan.”
This was starting well. While his parents argued, Bridger rubbed his eyes and squeezed them shut. This would be a great time for a cryptid emergency or a fire. He’d take either. His head began to ache at the temples, and he had to consciously unclench his jaw.
“Bridger? You okay?”
He looked to his mom. “Yeah, just a headache.”.
“Eighteen, huh?” his dad said, steamrolling over the awkwardness. “How does it feel?”
“Exhausting,” Bridger said, smile still firmly in place.
His dad laughed. “Yeah, being an adult is exhausting. And it only goes downhill from here.” He grabbed Bridger’s shoulder and shook. “You look good though. All grown up. Maybe room for a little more muscle,” he said, playfully jabbing Bridger in the ribs with a fist.
Bridger flinched. “I’ll get on that. Thanks.”
“Here.” His dad fished his wallet from his pocket. He pulled out a crisp hundred and slapped it on the table by Bridger’s plate. “For you.”
Bridger stared at the money. The casual way his dad thumbed through a wallet full of cash made Bridger’s gut churn, and his enchilada gurgled into his throat. Where was all that when Bridger was contemplating fleeing to Florida but couldn’t due to money concerns? Where was it when his mother worked every night in a week because the mortgage was due?
Bridger swallowed, hoping the acid and indignation would ease.
“Thanks.”
“Buy yourself something you want. Not something you need. And please don’t spend it on a girl. Okay? That’s just for you.” He finally released Bridger’s shoulder and tented his fingers.
Bridger felt sick.
“Now, who do we have to yell at to bring you a dessert?”
“No thanks,” Bridger said, folding the bill and putting it in his pocket. “I actually would just like to—”
“Then we’ll go somewhere else for dessert. This place probably only has fried ice cream, right? Not the greatest.”
“Braxton.”
“Oh, what now?”
His mom fiddled with her napkin. “How’ve you been?”
His dad blinked. “Oh, fine. Well, mom died. Your grandma,” he said, turning to Bridger. “Do you remember her?”
“Um, vaguely?” Bridger had a few hazy memories of visits to her house, and a phone call once or twice, but nothing concrete.
“Yeah, you only met her a few times. She wasn’t a big fan of…” he trailed off and cut his eyes to Bridger’s mom. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, she passed a few weeks ago and now I’m stuck settling the estate because my two younger brothers are too busy with their own lives.”
Wow. That was… a lot of information. Information that Bridger could’ve done without.
“I’m sorry to hear about your mom.”
“Why? You never liked her.”
“Braxton.”
“What? It’s the truth.”
Bridger couldn’t do this. Not here. Not on his birthday. Not in his favorite restaurant. Not with Leo and Astrid within earshot. He needed to go. He needed out. His pulse quickened. His chest tightened. Bridger dropped one hand next to his hip and waved it while he pressed the other to the medal under his shirt.
Luckily for him, Astrid knew hand signals too. “Bridger? Hey!” she said, coming to stand by his chair. Leo was right behind her. “How are you? Isn’t it your birthday today?”
His mom shot Astrid a thoroughly unimpressed look. But his dad lit up at seeing the two teenagers hovering over the table.
Bridger went for nonchalant. “Oh, hey, Astrid. Hey, Leo.”
“Are you going to the party?” Leo asked. He made a show of checking his phone. “It started like thirty minutes ago. We can give you a ride if you want?”
“A party?” his dad asked, eyebrows shooting up in rapid succession. “Oh, that’s why you’re acting so weird. You’ve should’ve just said, Bud. What eighteen-year-old wouldn’t blow off his parents for a party?”
“Well, I mean, I hadn’t seen you in so long.”
His dad waved the statement away. “Go with your friends. I actually have great news. Your grandmother’s estate is going to take me a couple of months to get through. I’m going to live in her house in Grand Rapids for a while. I’ll be around and I’m going to be able to come to your graduation. Isn’t that great?”
Bridger paled. “Awesome.”
“Go with your friends,” he said with a smile. His gaze roved over Astrid and Leo. “Just be home before the morning.”
“Um…” Bridger shot a look at his mom. Her frown was deep, and her forehead wrinkled.
“Midnight curfew and only if you’re with Astrid and Leo the whole time.”
“Midnight? He’s an adult now. And it’s a Saturday.”
Bridger winced at the death glare his mom sent his dad. “Um, midnight should be fine,” Bridger said and nodded.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Whitt,” Leo said, with a charming smile. “We’ll take care of him.”
“Go then,” she said with a weary sigh.
/> “Have fun, Bud,” his dad said. He handed Bridger another twenty. “At least get a little birthday dessert somewhere. It’ll soak up all the alcohol.”
“Braxton! He’s eighteen, not twenty-one.”
His dad merely winked.
Bridger shoved the twenty into his pocket. “Thanks, Dad.”
“See you later, kid. Have fun.”
Leo and Astrid pulled Bridger out of the restaurant, and he all but collapsed between them once they were in the parking lot.
“Shit, that was tense,” Astrid said. “You okay? I thought you were going to pass out.”
“I was close,” Bridger admitted, throwing his arm over Leo’s shoulders and leaning into his warmth. “Come on. I don’t want to be here any longer.”
They walked to Astrid’s car; Leo and Astrid talked over Bridger’s head.
Above them, a bird squawked, crying several times from atop the restaurant, over the door. Bridger looked back and saw a large black bird—a raven—flapping its wings and ruffling its feathers. It took off and landed on a tree branch on the side of the parking lot near Astrid’s car. Its yellow eyes followed them until Bridger settled in the back seat. Clicking his seat belt, Bridger looked out of the window, and the bird flew off.
Weird.
“Is there really a party?” Bridger asked. “Because I’m not in the mood.”
“No. That was a lie,” Leo said, ducking his head. “You mentioned last night that your dad wanted you to party. It was the first thing I thought of.”
“You’re a genius, and I adore you.” Bridger leaned across the seat and kissed him, a quick peck on the lips.
“Okay, so what are we doing?” Astrid asked, starting the car. “My parents are home so, unless we want to hang out in my room all night, we can’t go there.”
“Let’s go to the lake,” Leo said. “For a while. Then we can head to mine.”
Bridger leaned his head on the back of his seat. “Wherever is good with me.”
“Got it,” Astrid said, starting the car. “Ice cream first though. We definitely need ice cream.”
Bridger grabbed the crumpled money from his pocket and slapped it on the console by Astrid’s elbow. “I’m paying.”
