by Leanne Davis
No one, not one adult, ever washed, folded, and gave me back my clothing before. Never. I was never cared for like this. I feel truly fussed over. I can’t get over Tara. It’s odd. And strange. The claustrophobia returns. The wonder of it all. But I can’t help imagining what it might have been like if I were taken care of like this when I was a kid. It would have been… well, it would have felt pretty good for a kid. I shake my head. I’m not sure what to do with it now, since I’m this old. I feel annoyed that Tara came in to my room. And touched my stuff… my underwear! That’s weird, right?
I suppose she can’t help mothering another young guy under her roof. Perhaps she doesn’t realize how intrusive that is. I’m not sure what to think or feel. I feel coddled, infringed upon, and kind of cared for, which annoys me so I try to deny that I might like it… even if only a little bit.
Coming downstairs, I see that Tara’s making coffee and toast today. She has two eggs frying. She asks if she can make me something. “I’ll eat anything. Sure. But you know I can make it myself. In fact, you don’t have to provide all my food.”
“Humor me. Wyatt only lives at home during summers and vacations. So, I don’t get to do this stuff much anymore.”
“And you somehow find yourself missing the dirty laundry of a twenty-year-old man including his underwear and sweaty shirts?”
She laughs out loud. The toast pops up and she puts avocado and an egg on it. Handing it to me, she starts another one for herself. “I don’t miss teenage man sweat. There’s something distinctive about it. Especially Wyatt’s after all those years of football practice. The mud, grass stains, and sweat. Oh, the sweat. It took three washings sometimes. But I miss taking care of a kid. It goes by so fast. You blink and they suddenly go from five to twenty.”
“Wyatt was five when you met Ryder?”
“He was. We tried to have kids, but I couldn’t get pregnant. Wyatt became even more precious to me.” She sets her coffee down, shaking her head. “No. He was always that precious to me. I think I fell in love with him far sooner than I did with Ryder. But it made me that much more grateful for his presence. I never regretted my choice and feel so honored that I could mother him.”
I bite into the avocado egg toast. I’ve never had this combination and I cringe at the anticipation, but damn! I like it. The egg mixes well, enhancing the flavor and texture of the avocado and the crunchiness of the toast.
“Wyatt was a football player?”
“Still is. He’ll be starting next year for the university. We are so proud of him. He’s amazing. Strong. Fast. Light on his feet. But mostly, I think, it’s his innate ability to react quickly as well as his ability to lead. People respect him and his work ethic, so they give him doubly what he gives to them. You know?”
“No. I never played the sport. I never threw a football with my old man or any other man or woman for that matter.” I wince. Lord, why would I say that, sounding all sad? Hell, I never played any sport that I can remember.
“Forgive me. I know that.”
I eat my sandwich. She pushes half of hers toward me. “Want this? I can’t finish it.”
I take the uneaten half sandwich she hasn’t bitten into yet with a nod and a smile. She smiles back at me. “How do you survive on your dried goods? You have the appetite of a champion defensive lineman.”
“I just eat what I can whenever I have the chance.”
She nods and for some reason, I know she is not the type to recite platitudes. She seems to really know what’s up. “I hope you realize that?” I add. I press down on my tongue with my teeth. Why? Why am I warning Tara that I could be using them? Since I am. But why tell her?
She laughs out loud. “I know. Believe me. I’d take advantage of me too if I met me at your age.”
“What is it you did?”
“I flirted pretty hard with being a homeless drug addict. I dappled in it actually. Even mugging people for drugs and food money. I lived in sad, wet, garbage-ridden tent cities with the most miserable company you can imagine. I hated cops and authority and normal people. I—”
“Married a cop.”
“I hated Ryder’s occupation and his gun and his entire profession at first. I came here to pull myself out of the shit I was destined to sink into. He was one of the first people I had to serve at the café. But he was always surprising me. You know? He was always fair and seemed outside the box in his wisdom and caring. He still is. As is demonstrated by the fact that you’re staying with us.”
“Yeah, both of you have surprised me.”
“Well, I was kind of an ass when I learned about Tara’s history. I learned a lesson. Not to be so judgmental. Or intolerant…” Ryder’s voice comes to me from the small laundry room that leads to the backyard. I turn, somewhat startled to find him there.
Tara glances up. Setting her plate in the sink. “Why are you back?”
“I forgot my phone.” He walks over to the console table where they keep their cell phones. All of them have their own separate chargers and that’s where the phones sit when they come and go from the house. Ryder grabs his and tucks it into his back pocket as he says, “Trying to get your head around the idea that I’m a cop? And my son is my blood? You’re not the first to wonder.”
“Yeah. I didn’t expect Tara’s son to be black. I thought perhaps he was adopted but then…. Yeah, it’s all pretty surprising.”
“Well, we feel that way about you, Wesley. So far, you’re holding up your end of the deal. I think Tara pegged you right, and I’m glad I listened. Just don’t fuck it up,” he adds before kissing Tara again and walking out the door.
“Don’t fuck it up.” Tara nods. “I think that’s a fair summary of it all.”
I laugh. “Yes. Were you really that bad?”
“I was far worse than what little history I’ve gathered about you.”
“Does Wyatt know?”
“He knows, yes. But no one really knows, right? All those situations that come up and questionable things you do because it seems normal at the time, but once you get out of that life, you realize why others can never understand.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I get that.”
She and I share a smile. A real one. I think about all the things I’ve done and seen that others wouldn’t understand. And I believe Tara does the same. How can we share such an obscure kinship? How can I feel comfortable in the house of a cop? A guy who walked in on a conversation I was having and yet, I don’t mind? It blows me away. I can’t get my head around them. Or my being here.
Later, I go into the restaurant, but Dani isn’t working. My disappointment is sharp. I do my duties. Nothing much comes up past the initial training. Chloe is once again pleasant, cheerful and fun to talk to, as are most of the staff, with whom I easily find a happy rapport. I’m outgoing and even charming when necessary. It comes from years of fitting into places I have no business being in. I used to want to fit in, but now I don’t care. However, fitting in has the added benefit of less strife, less fear and less distrust from others. Plus, in a cheerful workplace, it’s easy to enjoy the professional ambiance.
There’s a bus I could catch to work. Tara fronted me half a day’s salary for spending money and the meals are cheap at the restaurant for the staff. It’s a pretty sweet gig, even if it counts as one of my longer pit stops. I worked a whole month in one place before, but there I was not staying with anyone. And here I’m staying with not just any people, but genuine, supportive folks.
I think they are a very kind couple, for real. But I can’t help being on the lookout for when their real personalities emerge. That’s been my experience usually. Appearances, even the nicest ones, are usually fronts and flimsy covers of decency. Hell, if people can’t be decent to an innocent kid, namely me, well, hell! Then who are they decent to? No one, in my experience.
Wyatt? Hell, I rarely see him. He’s taken to living with Dani, it seems. I don’t know that for sure, but it’s the impression I get. The days when she works make my wo
rkday go by triply fast. She’s funny and sweet. The bashfulness around me hasn’t waned, even if she smiles at me more often now. We don’t interact or discuss anything too important. No comments about her boyfriend or how he might feel about us talking. There’s mostly jesting and ribbing. Maybe even mild flirting, but she doesn’t encourage it.
Ryder is always doing something at the house. Outside. Inside. He excels in carpentry. Also in mechanics. He does yard work, too. He’s currently working on a new railing for the porch. Tara told me about it when I asked what he did in that shop of his. I wander past and see him sawing something. I stop and stare but finally ask, “What is that?”
Ryder turns at my question. “What is what?”
“That.” I point at the saw near him. I know it’s a saw, but it’s so different from what I imagined.
He smiles. “Oh, that’s a skill saw. I use the big table saw over there to rip the wood and the skill saw to cut the smaller lengths. Come here, I’ll show you.”
He does, too. For twenty minutes, he tells me about his project and the tools he uses, just to teach me. I ask questions, which annoys me in a way. I mean, I don’t need to bond with the cop that I’m staying with who is holding my pack hostage inside his gun safe. Away from me. But still, I ask. I’ve never known a thing about hand tools.
Another evening, after a long day at work, it’s hot and Tara and I pull up to the house. Wyatt and Ryder are throwing a football back and forth in the grass next to the house. Wyatt releases it and the ball seems to float against the sky in a high perfect arc that spins before it drops directly into Ryder’s waiting hands, without him even taking a step.
So, what if he were some kind of phenomenon on the college football field? I’d never be. Scholastically or athletically. Fuck, I was too busy surviving the abuse I received from all the adults in my life and trying not to die, sometimes literally. So, excuse the hell out of me if I don’t throw a football right.
But as we walk from Tara’s parking spot towards the front door, Ryder calls my name. Tara puts her hand up to block the glare of the evening sun that blinds us.
“Wesley, grab it!” Ryder calls out as he tosses the ball my way.
I don’t lunge for it and it flops to a stop near my feet. Tara laughs out loud. She calls to Ryder who frowns in surprise. “Not everyone hails the almighty football gods, Ryder Kincaid!”
Wyatt glares, of course. Hard. “Or maybe he can’t.”
I glance at his parents. Ryder jogs over to Tara and kisses her cheek before they discuss their day. Another quirk these two seem to participate in regularly. With. Each. Other. They don’t fight every day, but they talk about their days and moods and issues and all the other comments people say to them. I never knew people discussed so much shit. Wyatt even joined in before. I heard him. Usually, it happens when I’m upstairs. I can hear them if my door is open or if I strain to hear them, which… okay, I might do occasionally. I can hear these little everyday conversations. What gets me is they actually seem to know lots of stuff about each other. They vent and give advice and joke and even make fun of each other. Sometimes, one or the other is being a jerk or grumpy and the others tease them until they stop their annoying behavior. Without fists. Ever. It’s like a science experiment when I listen to them talking.
In response to Wyatt, I flip him the bird. Twice. Using both hands.
He grits his teeth. But surprisingly, the little baby doesn’t snarl a response or rat on me to his daddy and mommy whose backs are to me. Honest to God, I thought he might. Instead he reaches out and grabs another football and lugs it. I turn, ready to disappear inside, seeking the relief of modern air conditioning. Why not? But then, to my utter amazement, the ball hits me in the fucking head!
I hear a snicker coming from the side of me. Dani. Of course. Right then. She just had to come and visit her damn boyfriend. God, I hate her boyfriend. And her being his girlfriend. Them together period makes me sick.
No. Fuck. Why do I feel anything about them? She’s just the best part of this fucking place. It’s nothing more than that. It’s not jealousy about their relationship. No.
I rub my head as I collect the ball. She walks up to me and Wyatt comes closer. “You two—I saw what you did, both of you. You two are kinda assholes to each other,” she mutters, resting her hands on her hips as she looks between us, still chiding us. Wyatt walks forward and wraps his arm around her, pulling her closer until his mouth touches hers.
“Not my fault he can’t catch.”
Tara and Ryder turn towards us now.
“Show him how to throw or catch then, QB1. You’re such hot shit,” Dani says. I eye her, shocked to hear her kinda flirty and snarky, which she isn’t usually, at least not with me. Probably because she’s not all that comfortable around me yet. Not like she is with her stupid boyfriend. I hate them. Together that is.
“QB1?” I ask.
Wyatt turns, his hands still on Dani. Oh, he’s so sure to let me see him holding her, he practically mauls her and keeps her close to him. “Starting quarterback. QB1 for the most popular and best team in the state.”
Dani pretends to slap at his arm. “Quit being such a conceited ass.”
Ryder steps closer. “You really have never played before?”
Dani snorts. “Neither have I. Not all people spend two hours a night with a ball.”
Ryder takes the ball and comes closer to me. I glance around, feeling self-conscious with QB1 of the state, whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. He is staring at me while connecting with his girlfriend, wrapping his arm around her and leaning his weight towards her.
“All right. Playing catch isn’t exactly rocket science. Hold the ball like this, aim your body where you want to throw it…” and on Ryder goes, explaining the science of a throw. He even comes behind me and shows me how to pull my arm backward and forward. “Strong as you are, you’ll probably be a cannon with it.”
I’m not. I throw it. Heat fills my face with embarrassment and self-consciousness because Dani is watching me with her hands linked through Wyatt’s. She stands in front of him, her back to his front, their arms touching. They move their arms together as one and several times, he wraps them all around her in a bear hug, whispering something into her ear to make her laugh. She’s got a great laugh. Sweet and giggling without being annoying. Are they making jokes about me? My atrocious and awkward pose? The stand when I try to mimic Ryder’s throw? When I say I’ve never played sports, I mean nothing beyond public school seventh grade physical education class. That’s the last time I ever participated in team sports. We never played football that I remember.
I throw the fucker, hurling it as far as I can. It does go far, but with no accuracy. Ryder nods. Dani claps, despite having Wyatt’s hands in hers. He separates her hands from his and lifts them above her head. She tries to tug them down but he’s teasing her, so he keeps them up. Oh, aren’t they so fucking cute? I grit my teeth, turning away.
Ryder jogs down to the ball and throws it back at me. It comes right to me. He obviously taught his QB1. I try to gauge it but I’m too far back and it bounces and comes up to hit me right in the gut. I let out an “Oof” at the impact. Wyatt laughs. Fucker!
Then surprisingly, he adds, “Keep your eye on it. Stay under it. The thing isn’t going to bite you.”
I give him a glare. If Dani hadn’t been standing directly between us, I’d have said something a lot more crass and on point than he’s ever heard before. Maybe explain what I was doing while baby-boy QB1 was getting his life handed to him on a silver fucking platter, in homey, sweet, perfect Silver fucking Springs. But I hurl the ball back towards Ryder, who again throws it up in the air towards me. High and arcing, it drops closer to me. I stay under it and keep my eyes open, waiting to get hammered between the eyes. But I can’t let that happen. I can’t give Wyatt the satisfaction. I’m under it now and it lands in my hands. I’m pretty shocked when I catch it. Wyatt, to my surprise, lets go of Dani and steps around her,
focused now on the ball. He can’t seem to help himself. He hates me but seems unable to tolerate bad football playing. “Your stance is all wrong. Do it like this,” he shows me. “Your knees need some more give. You’re as stiff as a board. You’ll probably break your leg and end up here for the rest of my life. So, don’t do that.”
I try it all again. I still suck. I’m too stiff. It all feels foreign. I wallow in clumsiness and can’t seem to stop, no matter how much I will myself not to.
I catch a few throws. Wyatt shrugs. “Now try doing that with five guys bigger than my dad and as strong as you and me combined coming after you. Not so easy then…”
Wyatt barks out orders that I know are correct, but he makes me want to punch him between the eyes. Ryder gives them, too, but his are far less contentious and he doesn’t irritate me. Ryder starts throwing balls way up high, at random and Wyatt and I are fucking… what? I don’t know. What do you call that? Playing together? Both of us go for the ball and try to catch it.
One time. Out of a dozen attempts, one time I manage to jump up and outreach Wyatt and grab the damn ball, coming down with it still in my hands. I crash to the ground, of course, knocking the wind out of myself, but that prized ball of Wyatt’s is in my hands.
I did it strictly to keep it away from Wyatt, not to enjoy it for myself.
Even if I were enjoying it, this time, it was okay to play catch or whatever this was called. The old, stupid cliché of a father and his sons, well, no one ever offered to do such a thing with me. Maybe, just maybe, it’s kind of enjoyable.
I’m sweaty now and push my shirt up to wipe my face with it.
Wyatt ditched his shirt. We have similar heights and builds, but completely different faces. I have to admit though that it’s a bit disconcerting how much our physiques look the same.
Dani sits in the grass, hands behind her as she leans on them, her knees bent. Her gaze strays to me. Several times. It’s nothing. I’m sure. She’s used to this. Sweaty-ass football players. Her damn boyfriend’s their leader for God’s sake.
