by Daryl Banner
I peeled my eyes off of him the moment he turned around. “You could have pool tournaments.” I lowered my eye to the table, as if to check whether it was level. “Fucking sweet.”
James came around to the other side of the table. “We … could play a game or two tonight. If you want. That is, after I show you the rest of the house, and you … get all settled in.” He rubbed at a spot on the felt. “Chalk,” he mumbled, annoyed.
I smirked, watching as he rubbed the felt. Was James actually self-conscious of his house, plain nervous, or just a clean freak?
We continued the tour by backtracking into the living room and taking another wider corridor at the back of the room. Yeah, I watched his ass the whole way, getting ideas. Could you blame me? I spent half the weekend passing him off as another perv who just wanted my nuts. Now that we’d connected and he let me into his home, I was able to see him for what he really was.
Y’know. A hot piece of ass, apparently.
The wider corridor at the back of the house led to a second guest bedroom, bigger than the first, with a door directly across from it that opened into his master bedroom.
I could have cried at the size of his room alone. It was huge to begin with, but its size was made all the more dramatic by the vaulted ceiling, which made its height seem infinite. The back wall was all floor-to-ceiling window looking into the backyard, which was full of weeds and spots of dirt that interrupted the otherwise green sea of grass. He had a wide dresser above which another flatscreen was mounted, facing a colossal bed that was sandwiched by nightstands. Doors led to a walk-in closet and a huge bathroom at the other end of the room, inside of which he basically had a Jacuzzi for a bathtub, a shower that could fit five or six full-grown men, and a two-sink counter.
“Please don’t picture me making all these design choices,” he begged with a nervous lilt in his voice. “My grandparents lived here. This is … all them. I just haven’t had the heart to mess with a damned thing. The house is paid off,” he quickly added. “I just pay taxes on it.” He gave a rueful glance at the bathtub. “I don’t ever really use that, to be honest.”
Literally, four of me could fit in that tub and still have room to stretch out our legs. I pressed my lips together and nodded. “Well, your grandparents had nice taste.”
James smiled with relief. “Thanks. Just …” He gestured at the bathroom. “Please don’t think of me as some over-the-top weirdo who lives alone yet thinks he needs a double-sink vanity.”
I shook my head. “Nah. It’s … fuckin’ roomy and shit.” I turned in slow circles, taking everything in as I strolled through his room. I stopped at the dresser where my eyes landed on a framed picture of an annoyed James being hugged tightly by a chubby-cheeked woman with pretty brown eyes and mile-long eyelashes.
James was at my side. “That’s my sister Jules.”
I nodded. “She kinda looks like you.”
“Does she?”
“Yeah. Same eyes.”
He turned to me suddenly. I met his hardened gaze just as quickly, thinking I’d said something wrong. When I saw the look of lightness in his eyes, I realized something else was happening.
Did I say something right? Or maybe I had just let on that I’d apparently looked into James’s eyes long enough to recognize them in his sister’s.
Our stare-off was abruptly disturbed by a shrill digital chime that rang through the house.
James sighed and took off. “It’s the door,” he threw over his shoulder as he went. “Again, don’t blame me for my grandparents’ taste. Obnoxious doorbell, never liked it.”
I glanced upward, my eyes meeting my own in the reflection of his mounted flatscreen, which stared back at me. I couldn’t believe I was going to live here with James. I feared it wouldn’t sink in no matter how many times I repeated it to myself.
James rushed back the next instant. “You have to hide!”
I gripped my backpack tighter. “The fuck? Why?”
“It’s …” James winced, his face going red. “It’s my mom. She’s probably mad about yesterday.”
“The hell happen yesterday?”
“Look, I’m really sorry to do this, but I haven’t really planned how I’d tell anyone about you or … explain you.” He wiped a hand down his face, blinking a hundred times. “Let alone to my mom, who will get one look at you and get all the wrong ideas. So I just need to deal with her really quick and—”
The chime blasted through the house again.
“I have a really big walk-in closet.” He yanked open the tall slatted doors. “It’ll just be for a minute. I’m so sorry.”
I didn’t really feel one way or another about being crammed away like a web browser full of embarrassing porn when the boss walked in. “Whatever, man.”
The second I stepped into the closet, the slatted door slid shut at my back. My whole world became strips of light coming in from the room. James’s hurried footsteps faded away, tapping along the hardwood as he went for the front door.
I stood there in the closet and listened. I could hear the front door open, and then a woman’s distant voice ringing in. The living room was so big that her voice echoed everywhere. Every word was as audible as if she was on the other side of that closet door.
“What the heck?” came her voice. “What took you so long? I thought I heard voices. You have a friend over?”
“Huh? No,” blurted James, his voice somewhat quieter, yet still carrying through the living room, hallway, and into his big, echoey bedroom where I stood listening in his closet.
“I swear I heard you call out that you were getting the door.”
“I was on the phone,” he lied with ease. “Just hung up. What the heck is wrong?”
“What’s wrong? Are you kidding me, James?”
He sighed. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I really am. I forgot to call and say that the work thing came up. Again.”
“You said the work thing was canceled!”
“It was. And then it was … un-canceled.”
“We waited a whole half hour before giving up. Your sister and I left you five texts apiece. And you know how your father gets when the potatoes go cold.”
James’s voice was annoyed, to say the least, reminding me of a scolded, sulky child. “I said I’m sorry, Mom. Plans changed. What else do you want me to do?”
“What do I want you to do? Answer your texts, moron!” Her footsteps brought her voice even closer, then abruptly stopped. “Oh, sweetheart. That backyard is an honest nightmare.”
“Mom. I’m a grown man. I have a job that sometimes needs—”
“You also have two thumbs and a fancy phone, James.” She didn’t seem to settle in place, constantly moving around, all her words bouncing across the floors and ceilings, filling every corner of the house. “I even drove all the way over here last night, but your lights were all out. I figured you were sleeping.”
“You drove over here??”
“It isn’t like you to ignore your phone for an entire day.”
“And yet it’s entirely like you to ignore yours. I’m an adult. You can’t keep expecting me to drop everything whenever you want just to return a text. Something came up. End of story.”
“Not when you committed to coming for dinner. You’re being stupid about this, James. Plain stupid. I had every right to panic.”
“Where are you going?”
“That overgrowth. Good Lord. I know you let go of that lazy gardener what’s-his-name, but you swore you’d hire someone else.”
“Mom. Come here. Stop. Why are you going into my room?”
I took a step back from the door, striped light shimmying down my body as I moved. Through the slats, I saw the shape of a woman as she strolled along the opposite end of the room, peering through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the back of the master bedroom, hallway, and living room. “You need to hire yourself a landscaper, James. Badly. You clearly can’t keep up with that mess yourself, as you’ve demo
nstrated.”
James was soon to follow. He gave one short glance back at the closet door—me—then addressed his mother, his voice lower. “Can we discuss my yard care another time? I’m sorry I didn’t text back. I meant to. I honestly meant to. Work consumed me, and … hell, I didn’t even cancel plans with a friend of mine who wanted to go for a drink last night. That’s two people I’ve let down.”
“Seven.” She spun around to face him. “Me, your father, your sister, her husband, your uncle, your friend, and Quinton.”
“Wait. Quinton was invited, too?”
“Of course he was! Why wouldn’t I invite him? He ate so much damned dessert, though, I had no leftovers to send back with your sister.” She huffed. “I knew I should’ve made three pies.”
“I’ll be at the next dinner, okay? Promise.”
“You realize some of these weeds left unchecked can eat clean through your foundation, right?” His mother tapped a finger to the window. “That lawn probably has snakes. I know someone, I’ll send you their number. Oh, sweetheart. And with such a beautiful house your grandpapa left you. Don’t you have neighbors out here complaining about this … this floral filth?”
“Floral filth. That’s a new one.” I watched through the slats of the closet door as James put an arm around his mother’s back, guiding her out of the room. “Next time you do dinner, I’ll be there. I’m sorry I missed out.”
“Your uncle hasn’t seen you since Christmas.”
“I’m sorry. Thousand times, sorry. And I love you,” he added, “but please don’t show up unannounced again.”
“Why are you pushing me out of here? What’s with you? You got a hot man hiding in your closet or something?”
James sputtered six unintelligible words before finally saying, “Yeah, sure, me. Maybe you forgot who you’re talking to.”
“That’s who you were talking to, wasn’t it? Bye, mystery hot man!!” she called out as she was pulled into the living room. “Ugh, you’re never any fun. Can’t I just imagine a hot man in your life?”
“Bye.” His voice was annoyed, to say the least.
“Seriously. When are you going to date again, sweetheart?”
“Why are we talking about my dating life suddenly?” he asked in a low voice that still, despite his meager efforts, carried.
“Your sister asked. You know, after we decided you weren’t showing up. She asked if you were seeing anyone, figuring that to be the reason for your weird behavior, then worried how it’d been almost five years since—”
“Mom,” James barked.
“We’re all looking out for you. That’s all. People who are alone too long, they get a little … weird. Don’t get weird.”
“I’m not.”
“You deserve someone. You’re a good person, James.” There was a soft shuffling of feet, and for some reason, I knew a mother’s hug when I heard it.
In the absence of words reaching my ears, my eyes wandered, having adjusted enough to see the shapes of clothes. I reached up and ran a hand along the denim of a hanging pair of jeans. Then I pinched the sleeve of a shirt, the material being of a cotton so soft, it felt like cream between my fingers.
I missed my mom so fucking much.
I missed her so much that it made me hate her for dying.
That’s pretty fucked up, I know. But if she was still alive, then maybe my father wouldn’t have married Countess Cunt, regardless of whether they were already banging behind my mother’s back during his “overtime at the office”. And even if it was inevitable that my parents divorced, at least I would have had my mother at my side instead of being abandoned. It was such a crushing couple of years, having no one in my own home who truly loved me. My dad just turned into a callous prick whose only love was a vagina half his age. He couldn’t have even bothered to lift a finger for his only son when I was grieving the worst.
I wondered at times if he regretted me being born at all.
Maybe I was an accident.
If there was an ounce of compassion in him that felt even the tiniest sting of guilt, he deserved it. And I prayed his guilt was the kind that collected interest, growing into a mountain of remorse he couldn’t possibly ignore any longer.
There’s a banker joke for you, James.
The sound of the front door opening and closing again yanked me out of my sullen thoughts. Then James’s footsteps approached as he crossed his living room and let out a long, drawn-out sigh.
I had stepped out of his closet already and stood in the short hallway. James froze at the other end, stunned by my appearance.
I smirked. “You always speak to your mom like that?”
James smirked. “She is always in my business.”
“You shouldn’t talk to her like that.”
He was about to say something else, then looked taken aback. “Did you hear her, though? She’s insufferable.”
“You shouldn’t talk to her like that,” I repeated.
“Alright.” He took a short breath. “Sorry … about you having to hear all of that. And for hiding you in my closet.”
“Five years, huh?”
James’s face went red. “So you heard everything.”
“Long time to go without getting a facial.”
He squinted. “Facial? What?”
“Y’know.” I made a jerking off motion. “All over your face.”
He looked baffled. I wasn’t sure if he was pretending not to follow, or legitimately didn’t know I was teasing him.
I shrugged. “Unless you prefer being married to your right hand. Assuming you’re right-handed.” I did the jerking off motion again, this time with a mocking smirk.
James looked away, his face even redder, and then he abruptly changed the subject. “Two guest rooms … I have two guest rooms. You can pick whichever one you want.”
“Probably right-handed,” I kept on.
He ignored me. “There’s the one on the other side of the house by the workout room and the game room, or the one here right across from mine. Both have their own bathroom, but this closer one here is actually attached to the room, so it’s more like a private bathroom. The other one is the one guests have access to.”
I crossed my arms and shrugged. “Your house. I’m fine with whatever.”
James bit his lip for a second, then nodded at the room across the hall from his. “Well, this one gives you your own shower and sink and all that. So … you can claim this room if you want. Call it your own. It’s all yours. I’ll, ah … bring you an extra set of towels from the closet. Some PJs. Whatever toiletries you need.”
I nodded, then took a step into the room. There was a big bed against the wall, a desk in the corner by a window that faced the same field as the game room, and a dresser with a bookshelf over it. Atop the shelf was a spread of books, all the same size, that were bookended by two colorful geodes cut in half to show the glittering insides. There was a closed door I assumed was a closet right next to another that was wide open, revealing the bathroom.
“You hungry?” he asked. “I can make us some more lunch to hold us over while you’re getting settled in.”
“Sure. Sounds great.”
James mumbled, “Cool,” before heading off to the kitchen, leaving me to my business.
After a moment of hesitation, I finally went into the room and dropped my backpack on the bed, unsure what else to do. I poked at the lamp on the nightstand, then inspected the titles of the books on the shelf. I noticed A Tale Of Two Cities, Autobiography Of Red, and A Separate Peace among them. On the desk, there was one of those metal magnetized figures of a pendulum with separate spinning arms, which I set into motion with a poke at its top, then watched for a little bit as it swung and came to life.
Was it strange that even after having agreed to the whole deal, after taking the long drive out there, after all we’d talked about and been through over the weekend, I still had an instinct to hop out the window and run?
I was always on the run.
Maybe it was my go-to answer for everything in my life that sucked.
Run.
Instead, I made myself walk around the room some more, forcing myself to adapt to my new rural environment. But when I pulled open the empty drawers, worries flooded me all over again. How the hell was I expected to fill those drawers? With what clothes? What money? How was I going to get a job out there if everything was miles away? On the beach, there was a bunch of businesses within walking distance. I made money here and there by taking on an odd job whenever I could, like being a dishwasher for some scummy diner and getting paid under the counter.
But out there in James’s neighborhood, I didn’t even know where to possibly begin.
The sound of dishes touching the counter in the kitchen made me feel a stroke of warmth. It was something about how normal that made me feel for a second, the sound of a table being set, of cutlery being pulled out of a drawer.
You’ll figure things out later, I told myself. One day at a time. You can leave whenever the hell you want. You’re not a prisoner here.
By the time I came out of the room, James was pulling leaves off a head of lettuce on the counter. Perfectly sliced tomatoes were set on a saucer next to a plate of toast and another of bacon.
He looked up when I approached. “Hey, there. You can go ahead and put on the TV if you want. Get comfy, whatever. Lunch will be ready in a sec.”
“BLTs?” I came up to the counter.
“I still had some cooked bacon in the fridge, so thought I’d …” James shrugged and gave me a light, nervous chuckle. “BLTs. Does that sound good? I can make something else if you want.”
Seriously, this guy would go to any length to make sure I was happy. “Add some turkey. And I don’t want store-bought mayo,” I told him. “I want homemade, made from organic eggs.”
James’s eyes went wide, his lettuce-handling halted.
I smirked, then gave his shoulder a punch, which seemed to startle him even more than my demand. “I’m just fucking with you. Of course it’s fine. BLTs sound great.”
