by Jay Quinn
Steve stuck out his hand. “I’m Steve Willis, Chris’s boyfriend. Nice to meet you.”
Speechless for once, Schooner ignored Steve’s hand, all the while looking from Steve back to me.
“That’ll teach you to call first, buster,” I said. “Steve, this is my son Schooner.”
“Yeah, right,” Schooner said grudgingly. He took Steve’s hand and pumped it in a perfunctory shake. “Mom, goddamn.” To Steve he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude, but he’s my … he’s mine.”
“Don’t worry about it, it’s no problem,” Steve said. He gave Schooner an amused look and took his hand back. “I’m just going to slip out and take Nuala for a quick walk. I’ll be right back.” With that, Steve took Nuala’s leash off the hook by the kitchen door, clicked it on her collar, and left.
Schooner walked to the kitchen door’s window and watched Steve walk down the stairs from the deck. He looked back to me and gave me a look like he’d never done before, as if he were seeing me for the first time.
“What?” I asked impatiently. “Did you think I’d just never see anyone ever again?”
“No … it’s not that.” Schooner swallowed visibly. “It’s just, it’s just … you’re hot-looking! And he’s hot. I never thought of you that way … you should put some clothes on. Are those his drawers you’re walking around in?”
“Well, I couldn’t find mine when you just busted in here like that.” I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him a stern look.
Schooner averted his gaze and shook his head. “You look like a whore,” he said.
“I do not look like a whore. Watch your mouth.”
When he could look back at me, he said, “I need a drink.”
“At 6 o’clock in the morning?”
“Well goddamn, Chris. I didn’t know I was going to walk into a Falcon video starring my mom and some redneck stud.”
I laughed, long and well. Only in this improbable, ridiculous situation had I finally gotten Schooner to call me Chris. I turned to the pantry and pulled out a bottle of vodka, handed it to him, and walked to the refrigerator to get him some orange juice. When I turned around to get him a glass, he already had the cap off and was taking a long pull directly from the bottle.
Genuinely annoyed with him, I said “Give me that, right now” in my best Mom voice. After he handed me the bottle, I said, “Act like you’ve got some sense. Go sit down at the table.” I waited and watched him until he had jerked out a chair next to where he knew I sat and flung himself into it angrily. He fumbled with the pack of cigarettes Steve had left on the table with his change, keys, and wallet and managed to get one lit. Then he gave me a hard glare and looked away.
I turned back to the counter; made him a stiff screwdriver with plenty of ice and took it to him without a word. Then I returned to the kitchen and got the coffee started. Without looking back at him, I was aware he was watching me the whole time. I was unembarrassed to have him see me dressed only in Steve’s boxers—I figured it was a difficult lesson, but one we needed to get over and done with.
When I finished with the coffee, Schooner looked at me disgustedly and said, “You really should get cleaned up and put some clothes on.”
“Oh for God’s sake, Schooner. Grow up.” I added, “It isn’t as if you’ve never seen me in a bathing suit. You might as well start seeing me as an adult.”
“It’s very disturbing, Chris. You’ve lost a lot of weight and you’re tanned. Now you’re parading around like you’re trying to be some Abercrombie and Fitch boy whore. You’re freaking me out. You’re definitely not the mom I know.”
Resentfully I said, “Look, I’m not the mom you knew. My life has changed, and for the better. I love all of my kids, and you’re a huge part of my life, but you’d each better get used to who I am now. I will always be your mom, but I am also every bit Chris. If I’m embarrassing you, it’s your problem. And don’t you ever call me a whore again, got it?”
Schooner just shook his head, turned his chair away from my direct line of sight, and stared out across the living room.
When the coffee was finished, I checked out the window to see if Steve was in sight. Evidently he had taken the opportunity to give Nuala a nice long stretch on the beach. Neither he nor the dog was in sight. I made my coffee the way I liked it and I made Schooner’s as well. I carried the mugs to the table and sat at my place at the head of the table.
“I am so sorry,” Schooner said as he turned his chair around. “Please don’t be mad.”
I found my own cigarettes in the mound of Steve’s things and thought about how guys always leave something to mark the area they want to claim for themselves. Men were as bad as dogs pissing on trees to mark their territory. Schooner had just encountered somebody who could piss higher than he could. I was really tired of feeling like the tree that got pissed on, but I sighed and forged ahead to try to make several different points to my beloved youngest son.
“Schooner, we need to talk—” I began.
“I won’t call you Mom anymore, I swear …”
Exasperated, I just lit my cigarette and shook my head. “Schooner, it’s not about you calling me Mom, or knowing I am your mom or any of that. You can call me Mom the rest of my life and I’ll take it as a sign of love and respect from you. But you’ve got to start facing the fact that I’m an adult, separate and apart from all that. You’ve got to start respecting some personal boundaries. I’ve been there for you all your life, and I’m not going to stop, do you understand me? I love you, but please treat me like I’ve always treated you. Barging in this house like you owned it first thing on a Saturday morning is not about being my child, it’s about not respecting my space.”
Schooner slammed his hand down on the table. He was so furious he was near tears. “What about you, sitting there with a streak of that guy’s dried come on your neck! You’re not respecting me.”
I refused to be embarrassed. “Schooner,” I said, “I’m not trying to disrespect you. You just caught me unawares—”
“There’s a message on your goddamn voice mail right now, Mom.” He started to cry. “Were you so … were you so eager to fuck that guy you couldn’t even check your stupid goddamn voice mail? I did so respect you. I did so call.” With that, he put his tear-stained face in his hands.
Dirty as I was, I made no effort to hug him. As old as he was, he shouldn’t have needed hugging, in any event. I realized then, Zack had been right: I had spoiled Schooner badly. At 22 years of age, just about to graduate college, he’d just run smack into the realization that my entire world didn’t revolve around him. I got up from the table and fetched a clean dish towel. I anxiously looked out to see if Steve and Nuala were on the approach. Luckily, they were not.
I sat back down at the table and handed Schooner the dish towel. “Wipe and blow, baby,” I said gently. Obediently, he did as I instructed. “First, I owe you an apology for not checking my messages so I’d know you were coming. But I still think you owe me a little latitude there. I haven’t heard from you in three weeks. You can’t believe I’m just sitting around waiting for your call can you?”
Schooner shook his head for “no,” took a drag off his cigarette, and put it out.
“Okay,” I said. “We got that straight. Now, I’ve somehow done you a great disservice by keeping you from this aspect of my life. I’m not trying to flaunt my sexuality in your face, but as I recall, you had no problem noisily fucking your boyfriend in my guest room, even if you did shower afterwards, am I right?”
Schooner chuckled, then took a thirsty gulp of his screwdriver. “Yeah, you’re right,” he admitted.
“Okay. You understand that my developing a relationship with a man outside of our family has nothing to do with you, and doesn’t affect you, and isn’t going to do any harm to you. You do understand that, right?”
Schooner wiped his eyes with his shoulders and gave me the start of a grin. “Right.”
I took a long drag off my cigarette, looked him
dead in the eye, and exhaled. “Now, that guy’s name is Steve—Steve Willis. He’s a great guy and he’s not somebody I’m just screwing around with, get me? He’s someone I believe is going to stay pretty important to me.
“He better be or I’ll fucking kill him,” Schooner said. “He better be good to you.”
I rolled my eyes. “He is good to me and he’s good for me too, Schooner. You will be nice to him and you will not fucking kill him, or anybody, for my sake. I’m grown and I can fight my own battles. If I need your help, I’ll ask for it. But the only help I need from you is to give the guy a chance to be a friend. He’s worth it. You gotta give me that.”
Schooner reluctantly nodded.
I heard Nuala’s barking from down the street. “Okay, now be my big man and go wash your face. Steve’ll be back with the dog any second and I want to start this all over.”
Schooner drained his screwdriver to pulp and ice, then stood. “I’ll be your big man, but you go wash your neck,” he said.
“Deal,” I replied.
Schooner tried to grin. He was not very convincing. Still, I was grateful for the effort.
I stood and walked to the kitchen to wet a paper towel and scrub my neck. From the kitchen window I saw Steve trotting toward the porch behind a fairly bounding Nuala. He was smiling. My dog was happy, my man was happy, and my son was—well, at least mollified. I grinned too as I got my neck cleaned up and checked for any other telltale signs of sex that would rub off.
Steve came in the kitchen door with Nuala, who raced off to find Schooner as soon as she was off her leash. Steve looked at me questioningly. I gave him the “okay” sign and steered him to the seat opposite the one Schooner had chosen. He was used to taking the seat at the head of the table, but he couldn’t have it—not this morning. When he sat, I kissed the top of his head and asked, “You ready for some coffee?”
He rolled his eyes and said, “Sure, but you don’t have to wait on me. I’ll get it.”
“No problem.” I turned to get his coffee as Schooner came back into the dining area and took his seat. I heard him clear his throat and say, “Let’s start over, Steve. I apologize if I was rude to you when I came in. And I apologize for just barging on in the house without knocking. I didn’t mean to be an asshole.”
Score one for my big man, I thought.
“No need to apologize, Schooner,” Steve said. “I understand this place must be your home since Chris moved here. I’m a little embarrassed I had to meet you so unexpectedly. It would have been more respectful to you … you know, better if we met over a beer and dinner at the Crab Shack, right?”
Score two for Steve, I thought as I brought his coffee to the table and sat down.
“You know the Crab Shack?” Schooner said. “Their food’s the best on the beach.”
“I hope so, they get some of it from me,” Steve said.
“No shit? So you’re a fisherman, then.”
“Not just a fisherman,” I interjected, “Steve’s also a hunting guide and crews a boat in marlin tournaments. And he’s also the breeder where I got Nuala.”
“Nuala’s a great dog, Mom,” Schooner replied offhandedly. “But Steve, can you tell me about crewing on a marlin boat? That must be awesome.”
I sipped my cooling coffee. It had grown cold, in fact, but I drank it anyway. I didn’t want to disturb the moment. I wanted it to knit itself into a morning’s worth of moments until I was sure everything was going to be just fine.
Shortly before 8 A.M. Mass on Easter Sunday morning, I walked into church at the head of a line of Ronans. I stood aside and watched my children and their loved ones genuflect, take their seats, then kneel. Then I genuflected myself and joined them on the kneeler. I was proud of my gaggle of ducklings, wondering how I’d managed to rear and feed a family and proudly see my children in full force at Mass on such a fine morning.
On the row in front of us, Zack and Alicia sat with their little boy, not quite 7 months old. I had to admit he was a cute, chubby little fellow, dressed for Mass on an Easter morning like a little prince in a line of Ronan royalty. Despite Andrea’s anxiety, all went well. It wasn’t hard to shake both Zack’s and Alicia’s hands and wish them peace when the time came. I was serene and happy. All it would have taken to make my happiness complete was to have Steve there, but he was off on a boat. Easter tournaments were money in the bank, and that’s how he made his living.
When the Mass had ended and we were blessed and bidden to go in peace, I took the opportunity to invite Zack and Alicia by for brunch and champagne. Andrea’s jaw was clenched, but she did smile. The boys and their spouses made encouraging noises to their father and his wife. Graciously they declined. They had plans elsewhere.
As I turned to leave Zack touched my shoulder and said, “Chris—a word?”
I waited in the aisle while Alicia and baby Zack, then my entire brood, filed past as I waited behind with their father. When the last of the parishioners were ahead of us, I ignored Zack, genuflected, crossed myself, and waited while he made a perfunctory effort at the same gesture of piety. Then I waited to hear what the man had to say.
“Chris,” he began, “I was wondering if I could stop by your place this afternoon, after the kids leave.”
“I hope it won’t be too late, Zack. I have plans this evening.”
Zack raised an eyebrow and said, “Plans with a 38-year-old, from what I hear.”
“Not in church, Zack,” I said dismissively. “This isn’t the time or the place.”
“Oh for God’s sake, Chris. Lighten up. I’m not trying to give you a hard time. You used to have a sense of humor.”
I relaxed and gave him a small smile. “What time?” I asked.
“Is about 4 convenient?”
“Four’s good. You know the address and how to get there?”
“I hope to hell I should. I’ve driven past it enough. Surprised?”
“Let’s just do this at 4. You and Alicia have brunch reservations at the Coral Reef Club you need to get to.”
“Yes, we do. Four then?”
I nodded and we walked together out into the bright sunshine with smiles for the families, his and ours. The morning proceeded smoothly after that. I’d made another ham—it was a holiday tradition, after all, and I had successfully raised a set of traditional- minded children. Once Frank relaxed around Schooner’s siblings and in-laws, he turned out to be elfin, engaging, and thoroughly endearing to all of them. Susan had started to show, and her pregnancy was an endless source of conversation. Due in late August, she was feeling well and enjoyed being the center of attention.
I could tell Andrea was feeling a little left-out. She was used to being the sole embodiment of femininity in the crowd of Ronans, and I definitely heard her biological clock ticking loudly in competition. I pulled David aside and told him to start taking a lot of vitamins—and maybe even to try some boxers if he wore briefs. He rolled his eyes and told me she already had him working on a schedule, as a matter of fact. He endured both a quick kiss from me and my telling him I thought he was a saint for putting up with her.
By 3:30, they were all gone. I put Nuala into her kennel, took a quick shower, put on my new board shorts, and donned one of Steve’s T-shirts that advertised a marina in Eleuthera. It was too big, but my men all seemed to have a thing for me dressing in their clothes. Just as Zack had liked to see me in his old reindeer sweater,
Schooner never left my house without “forgetting” something he knew I’d wear, and it had made Steve smile to see me walking around, my much smaller frame swimming in something of his. It was possession by apparel, and it made me happy to be so possessed.
I got a bottle of water and my cigarettes and went out on the deck to wait for Zack. I dragged an Adirondack chair into the sun and sat, enjoying the ocean breeze and letting my mind wander. Steve had told me he’d be by around 7. He said that would give him time to get home, feed the dogs and let them run, shower, and be back for something to eat.
Thinking back on it, I realized it had been one of the happiest weeks of my entire life. I could count the nights I’d spent with Steve in only double digits, but I felt like I could go on counting forever. I knew the heat of this passion would have to burn down eventually; otherwise my knee joints would melt and my hips would turn to jelly. The relationship would have to move along to someplace more adult, seasoned with a little more give-and-take. But for now, the spring sun was warming my skin and Steve was stoking my ass and my heart for the long climb up the hill that was sure to come. I knew better than to believe we’d always be like this.
I couldn’t see any problems ahead we couldn’t solve. I had no intention of asking Steve to be anyone different other than who he was. In turn, Steve regarded my family with a mixture of awe and amusement. He didn’t begrudge my relationship with three kids, and their significant others, nor did he take issue with their foibles and their frank assessment of him over dinner the previous night.
Liberally greased with drinks at my house, Steve met them all on his own turf. His house in Salter Path was not far from the Crab Shack, where we were going for dinner. My brood all o-o-ohed and a-a-ahed appropriately over his home, his view, and his boat. They played with the dogs and slipped by me, one by one, to tell me they really liked Steve.
Only Schooner had remained somewhat distant, but I couldn’t fault him for being anything other than friendly or polite. Something larger was gnawing at my baby—something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. He and Frank seemed to be fine, teasingly still infatuated with each other. It was Schooner’s first admission of his sexuality, at least with a living, breathing human being at his side, whom his brother and sister could either take to or not. I was very happy they had taken to Frank very well; of course, Frank had gone out of his way to be amiable and endearing. I thought the poor kid must be exhausted by now. I hoped Schooner would let him sleep on the way back to Greenville. The whole Ronan family in full holiday mode was a pretty intense experience.
Only once had Schooner sidled near me, wordlessly seeking the sort of comfort only physical proximity to his mom seemed to satisfy. I asked him if he was okay, and he gave me a weak smile. I sensed he was definitely not okay and I told him so. He muttered something about exams coming up and then graduation after that. He ended by asking me to call him sometime the following week. I took him so seriously, I walked him over to the church calendar I had taped to the side of my refrigerator and we agreed on a day and time right then and there. Tomorrow morning at 10 A.M.; I reminded myself of it once again as I drowsed in the sun and waited for Zack to show up.
