by Nicki Rowe
God, I'm such a fucking mess. What would people think if they saw a twenty-eight-year-old man breaking down in the middle of the airport?
I make it to the attendee without losing it and hand her my boarding pass. She smiles at me, showing bright white, perfectly straight teeth.
“Have a nice flight.”
I nod, a lump is lodged in my throat making it impossible to speak.
I find my seat quickly and slump into it. Thank God I got a window seat. Looking out to the tarmac, watching the guys load the luggage into the planes is actually calming me. I reach into my pocket to turn off my phone when I see I have a missed text from Lucky:
Call us when you land.
We'll miss you while you're gone.
More of the tension leaves my body. Surely they didn't want to end things with me, right? Didn't missing me imply they liked having me around?
~ ~ ~
“ALEX!”
My mom's voice rings over the buzzing of conversation and other loud noises of the airport in Montana, causing many, many heads to turn in her direction. She's already running through the airport, arms outstretched, barrelling over anyone who gets in her way as she comes to attack me with her infamous full body bear hug.
I let out a pained oomph when her small body collides with mine and I wrap my arms around her. Her ponytail tickles my nose as I hug her, taking comfort and solace in her arms.
My mother is five-foot-three and pleasantly plump, as she likes to say. She has shoulder length wavy brown hair that's threaded through with gold and gray. Her glasses frame her wide brown eyes and crows feet. Her mouth seems to always be turned up into a smile, but I have seen that mouth set into a disapproving scowl when I was a kid.
My dad is behind her, arms crossed and looking down at his eccentric wife. My dad looks like a hard man with his imposing stature and his permanent unsmiling face (which I have seen turn up into a smile when I graduated both from high school and college), but despite my dad's stoic exterior he was all mush and heart.
“Son,” he says as my mother still clings to me. “It's good to see you.”
I look up at him. He's changed so much in the years since I have seen him. His hair has gone completely gray. The lines in his face were more pronounced. A beer belly is prominent. He still looks good though. I think my dad is one of those men that will look good until the day he dies.
“You too, Dad.”
“Nancy, let go of the boy,” he says gently, taking her by shoulders to pry her off of me.
My mom pulls back, not letting me go completely as my Dad takes my carry-on and leads us out to the parking lot. They're still driving the early 2000's Honda Accord they had when I was in high school and college. I smile at the ugly green car. It's nice to know some things haven't changed.
The drive isn't particularly long. I look around at all the familiar shops and houses. It strange how much your hometown can look the same and yet feel different every time you visit it. There's a charming feel about Livingston that I thought I wouldn't really be able to find anywhere else. I thought after college in Boston I would move back to Livingston, but then Oliver happened and while I liked Lawson it never felt like home to me. I never thought I would find a place that feels like home—that was until I moved to Glensville.
I blink at the revelation. Yes, Glensville has started to feel like home to me. Not only because it reminded me of Livingston in many ways with it's small mom and pop shops or the fact that it's surrounded by beautiful natural views, but because I finally feel happy. I feel like I belong in Glensville. I never felt that sense of belonging when I lived in Boston and Lawson.
The thought of Glensville reminds me that I have to touch base with Lucky, Declan and Gideon. I take out my phone and turn it back on. The second it's on it dings with missed text after missed text.
Lucky: We're all thinking about your grandma. If you need us, call.
Declan: Call us when you get there.
Gideon: Dude, your dudes are freaking out. Call them. Call me too.
I smile down at Gideon's message. I like that he referred to Lucky and Declan as my men. They weren't officially, but I hope all that will change when I return to Glensville.
“I know that smile,” my mom says, turning around in the passenger seat and looking at me. “You got yourself a fella in Washington?”
I shoot the three of them a group text: Made it to MT. You guys worry too much.
“Yeah,” I say to my mom, answering her question. “Something like that.”
My phone begins ringing, cutting off whatever my mom was going to say. My heart thunders in my chest, thinking it's Lucky or Declan. I so don't want to talk to either of them when my parents are in the car. That would be awkward as shit. Luckily, it's only Anthony.
“Hey, man.”
“Hi. Just wanted to make sure you got to Montana okay,” he says in my ear. I can hear the clack-clack of him typing on his keyboard. “I'm sorry about your grandma.”
“Everyone needs to stop worrying,” I exclaim, laughing. “The plane didn't blow up. I didn't die.”
Anthony chuckles. “Hey, Lucky and Declan are crazy when it comes to people they care about.”
I smile fondly at the mention of them. My mom notices it and winks. I know I am going to be getting the third degree later, and sooner rather than later I am going to have to tell her about the three of us. Is there even anything to tell?
I'm not going to think about that right now.
“And Gideon? Why is he pestering me?”
“Oh, Gid's just a pain in the ass.”
I laugh. “I'm good, Anthony. I'll call you guys later, okay?”
“Okay, man. Just call Lucky and Declan first. Declan will be pissed if you call me or Gideon first.”
“Declan worries too much,” I reply, unable to keep the happiness out of my voice.
“True. Bye, Alex.”
I hang up to see my mom still staring at me. Her eyes wide and curious. “Who was that?”
“Anthony,” I reply cautiously. I already know where this is going. “My roommate.”
“And Declan, is that your fella?”
“Ugh. Why do you have to say it like that? Fella.”
She claps excitedly like a child who discovered they can have two slices of cake or something. “So he is your fella!”
“Um...”
“Nancy, leave the boy alone.”
Thank God for dads. My mom pouts, shoots me a this-isn't-over look and turns around.
I let out a sigh of relief. I dodged the bullet....at least for now.
Chapter Eight
Alex
My childhood home is a small two bedroom house with outdated formica countertops and wood paneling in the living room. Growing up we weren't the richest family in the neighborhood, but we also weren't the poorest. We got by on my dad's income from the mechanic shop he worked in, and from my mom's job at the local book store. I tried to help as much as I could throughout high school and college. I worked as a cashier at a local fast food restaurant in high school and would try to help that way, and in college I worked as a waiter at a restaurant in Boston, close to the university. But my parents never took my money.
“It's your money, Alex,” my mom would say. “Spend it on yourself.”
My dad was harsher in his approach.
“We're not taking your fucking money, Al. Stop offering.”
Not much has changed in my parent's house. They still have the same ugly wallpaper in the hallway, the same wood paneling, the same formica counters. My childhood bedroom hasn't been touched. My twin sized bed is still sitting to the left, gone were the childish superhero sheets, replaced by a simple tan and navy striped set. Posters from Diabolic Divas and other sci-fi movies and shows are covering the walls, along with posters for bands like Queen, Judas Priest and Twisted Sister. A Chris Newsome poster is hanging over the bed. I can't count how many times I jacked off, imagining Chris Newsome would take me on a spaceship. The sa
me way he had taken Sienna March in the Captain's chair of her UFO.
A bookcase stands on the opposite wall overflowing with books and movies. Action figures litter the top of the dresser.
It was like stepping into a warped nerdy, slightly sad time machine.
“Hey, kiddo.”
I turn to find my mom standing in the doorway, a plate of cookies in her hand. She offers it to me. I raise an eyebrow at her. I have been subjected to hard-as-a-hockey-puck cookies in the past, and I was not looking forward to going to Grandma's funeral with a broken tooth.
“They're edible, I promise. Ingrid from down the street made them.”
I take a cookie and take a bite, moaning at the taste of caramel and chocolate. I don't even know when the last time was that I ate. My stomach growls.
“Are you hungry? People have been bringing dishes ever since...” She trails off and tears fill her eyes. It's now that I realize how great my mom has been holding up under the circumstances, but that's what I find weird about her energy. I half expected her to be crying, not making me food and bringing me cookies. It had been my Grandma Rosie that had died, my father's mom, but she and my mom had been very close.
“Mom.” I embrace her. “Do you need me to do anything?”
“Oh no, honey.” She pulls back, wiping at her face. “Let me warm you up some of this casserole someone brought.”
I want to talk to her more, ask her how she's doing with Grandma Rosie passing, but she's already leaving the room in a flurry of manic energy. I follow her out in to the living room. She's already in the kitchen, pulling things from the fridge and shoveling them onto plates.
“Where's Dad?”
“Garage.”
I leave my mom to do whatever she's doing, it's how she deals with stress. I only have to start worrying if she starts going like the energizer bunny and never fucking stops to breathe. I go out to the garage to find my dad working on the car, the hood is up and all I can see his his lower half sticking out of the front of the car. There's a weird sound coming from inside the engine, my dad's body is shaking. It's then that I realize he's crying.
“Dad.”
I go to him, pulling him off the car and hugging him. Never in my life have I seen my dad cry. His tears bring a pain to my chest like I have never known. My own tears are beginning to prick my eyes. Dad's body shakes as he sobs onto my shoulder.
“I can't believe it, Al.”
That's all he says. He continues to sob into my shoulder for a long time. After a while he pulls back and looks at me. His eyes are red and puffy, there's a streak of grease on his cheek. His mustache twitches every time he sniffs.
“Let's go for a ride, Dad.”
I take his car keys that he has sitting on the tool box and go out of the garage to the pick-up my dad drives to work. I climb into the driver's side and my dad climbs into the passenger. I start the truck and we're heading down the road.
We don't talk as I drive. We pass by the shops that have been around since I was kid and pull into the parking lot of the park my dad took me to when I came out to my parents. There's no Little League practice going today, but kids are playing on the jungle gym and the swing set on the other side of the park. We get out and go to the bleachers by the baseball field. As we sit Dad pulls a cigarette from his pocket. His smoking habit has always been our secret.
“Grandma hated you smoking, didn't she?”
He chuckles. “Yeah. Didn't like the smell. My father was always smoking cigars around the house. She would tell him not to smoke in front of me, thought I would pick up the habit.” He sighs and looks up to the sky. “She loved you, your grandma. She was so proud when you became a vet.”
I picture my Grandma Rosie with her white hair and soft wrinkly skin. She had been a teacher at the high school, so she was always busting my chops for not putting more effort into my education. She retired ten years ago, but her former students would always visit her at home.
When I was really little I remembered she would carry around this big ugly tan purse and have a baggie full of peppermints and butterscotch candies. When she would leave, I would help myself to handfuls. I think she knew what I was up to since the purse was always chalk full of them and she always left her purse alone with me.
It's hard to believe that someone you loved so much can be gone in a snap. At least she died peacefully in her sleep.
“And then Oliver happened. She probably wasn't proud of me then.”
“No, she was. She was proud that you didn't let Oliver ruin you. She was proud that you were smart to get out of that situation, and get help from Gideon.”
I look out to the empty baseball field. “It's so weird. She called me last week, and I told her everything that was going on with my new job and living in Glensville, but she never said anything about that.”
My dad chuckles softly. “You know your Grandma, she was never good at talking about the deep stuff. She would rather hear what's going on with you then hear herself ramble.”
I nod. “Do you miss her?”
He looks at me, his brown eyes soft and sad. “Every minute.” He looks up to the sky again. “Why don't you call your fella? I want to sit here a minute.”
“I wish you and Mom would stop saying fella,” I say, a pang going through me because they have deduced that I am involved with someone (my stupid smile and dopey eyes betray me whenever Lucky or Declan text me), but I still haven't had to balls to tell them that it's two someones that I am interested in.
Dad doesn't reply.
I get up and go down the bleachers and sit in the small dug out. I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find Declan's name. He answers on the third ring.
“Hello, Alex.”
And just like that all my nerves are calm. My stress is mostly gone.
“Declan,” I say with a small smile. “Is Lucky there?”
“No, he's at work.” There's a pause. “How are you, Alex?”
“I'm...I don't know.” I sigh and look out of the dug out to the field. A pigeon is pecking at something on the pitcher's mound. “It doesn't feel real. Part of me expects my grandma to come over with her arms full of food and get on to me about something.”
“I know how that is.”
“Peter?”
“Yeah. When he died I kept expecting to see him walk through the front door. I would wait for him to call to update me about college and his life, and it takes me a minute to remember he's gone.”
“You miss him.”
“I do. And you miss your grandma.”
I smile sadly. “I do.”
“When you get back we're going to go on that motorcycle ride, okay?”
My smiles grows. “Okay, Declan.”
“I have to go. The restaurant is crazy. Call us later, yeah?”
“Definitely.”
I can hear the smile in his voice. “Bye, Alex.”
I hang up and make my way back up to where my dad is sitting on the bleachers. He's finished his first cigarette and is working on another. He smiles slightly when he sees me. “Did you call your fella?”
“Is this going to be a thing? You and Mom are gonna call the guys I date fellas?”
Dad laughs. “You bet your ass it is.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah. I called him.” Again I leave off the fact that it's two fellas, not one. I decide to tell them when Declan, Lucky and I figure out what the heck we are.
We sit in silence for a few more minutes before heading back to the truck.
Lucky
Carter and I just got back from hiking, and we're busting on each other in Carter's truck while some rock music plays low on the speakers. We pull into the parking lot of Greta's Bakery to top off our coffee and get a muffin, and so Carter can see Diego.
“You just saw him this morning!” I exclaim, getting out of the car and throwing on aviators because, let's face it, it's bright as shit outside.
“So, you're telling me that you don't want to go to
Fred's right now and go see Dec?” Carter asks, holding the door open to let a few teenagers through.
I smile.
“Or if Alex was here you wouldn't want to go to the kennels and ogle his ass while he feeds the dogs and cats?”
My smile grows bigger. “You're an asshole.”
Carter turns his attention away from me to where Diego is working behind the counter. His black hair is tied up at the nape of his neck. He beams when he sees Carter, but there's a line of people so he has to remain focused on their orders. We go to the head of the line thanks to a rule instilled by Greta when she had first opened the bakery. Law enforcement eats at half price and they're always served first. No one complains when we cut the line; it's a rule that's been around since the dawn of time. The entire community knows about it.
“How is Alex doing by the way?” Carter asks as we wait for a young twenty-something to finish her order.
“He's okay, I guess. He called Declan yesterday and me today. His family is going to some remembrance thing where everyone makes their favorite dish their grandma would make and they celebrate her life.”
“When's the funeral?”
“In two days.”
The woman steps to the other side of the counter to wait for her order. Carter and I step up, Carter leans on the counter close to Diego's face. Being in the bakery with Carter and the way they are looking at each other reminds me of when they met. Diego's eyes flip to me.
“Lucky, how's it going?”
“Better now that I'm looking at you,” I say, winking at him. I love harmlessly flirting with Diego, it makes Carter all growly.
All three of us know that I mean no harm, Carter is just a jealous asshole.
Diego smiles. “What can I get you guys?”
“A muffin and coffee for me,” I say.
He looks us over. “Have you guys eaten today? You look like shit.”
I don't answer. It's four in the afternoon, and the fact is neither of us have eaten since we left at ten this morning. But Diego doesn't need us to answer, he can read Carter better than anyone.
