by Kate Stewart
And through all of it, I’m frantically holding onto hope I’ll get drafted. Praying for a contract that will make it so money isn’t an issue for Clarissa or me ever again.
“There you go again, trapped in your own thick head. I give up. Do your thing, man, but don’t tell me it’s not about a girl. When a man’s that far in his thoughts, it’s always a woman.” Kevin, though he plays an idiot, is not really as dumb as he makes himself out to be. Why any man would settle for the dunce role is beyond me, but when it comes to his friends, he’s as loyal as they come, and that’s the main reason I keep him around.
“I’m sorry, bro. I’ll get with you soon, and we’ll do our own thing.”
“Whatever, I’m not a jealous girlfriend. Drop me at the library on your way home, would you?”
“Never going to give up, are you?”
“There’s no story if you give up,” he says as we exit the locker room.
I give Lance a nod on our way out, which he returns. Though we still don’t talk much, even living in the same house, our relationship took a drastic turn once I moved in due to stumbling my way into his secrets. In a way, Lance’s fate is in my hands, but he’s trusted me with it. It’s more of an understanding at this point than a friendship, but for us, it works.
After dropping Kevin off, I make it home to see Theo on the couch watching some reality TV show and texting with a shit-eating grin.
“Sup?”
“Hey, man,” he says, not looking up from his phone.
“Got any plans tonight?”
“Nah, I’m staying in,” he says, checking an incoming message before glancing up at me. “You?”
“Going to help Clarissa take Dante trick-or-treating.”
He couldn’t be more surprised. “Really? That’s cool of you.”
“Can’t be too careful these days.”
Theo nods. “Agreed. Have fun.”
“I will. Have a good one.”
Theo had been a virgin up until a month ago, and he still blames me for the massacre that occurred when he lost his virginity. Though I thought I was doing him a solid by taking him to a party and introducing him to a girl, that shit had backfired, and I can tell he still holds a grudge because I was the one who instigated it. Since we met, he’s had his own wariness when it comes to me, and that stunt did not help my case. Everyone has their assumptions, and the truth is that sometimes I do fit the mold. On several occasions I’ve taken advantage of my status, and honestly, that type of shit never mattered to me, until recently.
I find myself caring more and more each day, and it has everything to do with a little boy, who looks like me, who I want to bear my name, and the perception of his mother. I want to be a dad, his Dad, not neighbor Troy, and the only way to accomplish that is by earning the respect of his mother. I don’t expect Clarissa to catch wind of any rumors on campus, but she’s caught me once or twice bidding farewell to a couple of girls on the way out, even though I’ve taken special care to get them gone before Dante wakes. Her perception is my nemesis, and it’s damn near stripped me of everything important to me.
Maybe I’m asking too much, but more than anything at this point, all I want is for Clarissa to look at me, just once, like I’m worthy.
I step back from the front door, fists on my hips. When it opens, I’m met with wide eyes. I deflate as a loud laugh erupts from Clarissa’s shiny lips. I study her pathetic costume and cross my arms over my chest. “I thought you said we were dressing up?”
She smiles coyly. “I meant like a mask or a hat.” She twists so I can see the fairy wings attached to her back. It’s then I notice the sparkle above her eyes that trails down her face and neck and over the rest of her exposed skin. “I didn’t mean for you to go all Tim Burton.”
“I wasted all my bat swagger on you,” I growl, stepping inside the house.
“Taking this neighbor thing seriously, aren’t you?” I don’t miss the way she checks out my ass when I clear the doorway and lean down to whisper in her ear.
“I take plenty of things seriously, you got your fill of my ass or should I strike a pose?”
The smile leaves her as her laugh dies, and her features twist into a scowl. It only took me five seconds to piss her off this round. “He’s brushing his teeth.”
“For? Isn’t he about to rot them with candy?”
“Exactly. Defense is the best offense.”
“Uh huh.”
Burning up, I shift in my suit, ready to rid myself of it, but the smile on my son’s face and the awe in his eyes when he runs into the living room makes it worth it. He’s worth every sacrifice I could ever make.
“BATMAN!”
“Hey, bud.” When he comes into full view wearing a frog costume, carrying a top hat, I can’t help my laugh. “Michigan J. Frog, I presume?”
I turn to Clarissa, who shrugs. “He insisted on changing his costume last minute. He can’t stop watching the videos.”
“Is it cool?” Dante looks up at me with hopeful eyes.
“The coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?” He squeaks, anxious for my approval, which causes a raw ache in my chest.
“Absolutely. Just don’t be upset if no one gets it right away, okay?”
“That’s the point. Duh.”
“Go get your shoes on,” Clarissa tells Dante, and he gathers them from the door and goes to sit at the kitchen table.
“He’s so…cool,” I say as he misses the first catch in the loop of his shoestrings and tries again.
“Yeah,” Clarissa says pridefully as we both watch him tie his shoes. “He is.”
I’ve never met any kid like him, and I can’t get over the fact that I had a hand at creating him. “I can’t wait to see what he comes up with next year.”
She nods, surprised by my revelation that I’ll be sticking around, and I face her fully, irritated by her response.
“Really?” My whisper is harsh. “Is it so hard to believe I’ll be here next year?”
“What about football?”
“What about it?”
“You’re going to get drafted.”
“We’ll cross that bridge if it happens.”
“Troy, it’s going to happen.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’m pretty sure football players have families as well as their careers.”
“Yeah, but we’re not coming with you.” I swallow hard, any argument sliding down my throat. It’s a daily habit when it comes to conversations with her. I can have a crowd of thousands chanting my name, but one remark from Clarissa can have me scraping my pride off the floor between us. Somehow over the years, she’s gained that power over me. “Look, the draft is months away. Can we not discuss it tonight?”
She nods, and I summon my son. “Come on, buddy, candy is waiting.”
Dante lights up and comes running toward me, his empty plastic jack-o-lantern in hand. Scooping him up, I hand Clarissa my phone. “Can we get a picture?” Dante wiggles in my arms, eager to get the candy gathering underway. “Hold still, So—”
Clarissa pauses with the phone halfway up, and our eyes lock at my near-fumble. “Hold still, Dante.”
Eyes still trained on each other, I harden my jaw in irritation and to keep my temper in check. It’s only been a few months. I have six years to make up for. Dante draws my eyes away, placing small hands on the side of my face. “What do you want a picture with me for?”
“How am I going to remember my favorite Halloween ever?” I can feel her eyes on us and wonder what she’s thinking. Is she dreading me being here next year? I brave a glance her way and see her eyes shining with something like hope. My anger subsides slightly, and I’m certain I don’t ever want to take that away. I’ll never let her be alone again in the way she described to me. Instead of useless words assuring her of it, I’ll prove that promise. And that’s going to take time. The more I become integrated into their lives, the more I feel like I can do anything, everything, f
or them both. She’s given me the chance without much of a fight these days, so why then the draft talk? Why the insistence on her stance when it comes to my leaving? And is any of her concern for my leaving for herself?
“Where did you get that costume?” She asks, eyeing it appreciatively. I’d caught her staring at me the other night and let her think I was still asleep. Attraction isn’t the issue and never has been. My wonder is if she feels what I do when I look at her. Even a tenth of it?
“From my Batcave, of course,” I answer her with a wink before addressing Dante. “Don’t tell anyone it’s me, okay? Think I can pass for the real thing?” I’m speaking to Dante, but the words are meant for Clarissa, who I haven’t looked away from.
“You look great, Troy, really.”
“That’s Bruce,” I correct, “but for you two only.”
“Who’s Bruce?” Dante asks, darting his eyes between us.
I gape at my son. “You haven’t seen Batman?”
“I don’t remember,” he says, wiggling out of my hold.
“Hold on, buddy, smile for Mommy.” On cue, Dante turns to his mother and shows all his teeth. Clarissa and I share a laugh before I set him free and retrieve my phone.
“Ready?” She nods, and I swear I see her eyes shining with tears. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just sentimental. Who knows how many of these we’ll have? He’s growing up so fast.”
“Nah,” I say, the we not missed on me. She’s letting me in for the moment, but I’m not about to gloat. “I trick-or-treated until I was twelve.”
“You’re right. This worry is premature. Let me grab my fanny pack.”
Shaking my head, I can’t help my smirk as she clasps the god-awful bag around her waist.
“What?” She shrugs, “they’re making a comeback.”
“They should have stayed where they came from.”
“Oh, yeah, smartass? Where are you going to put your phone in that skin-tight suit?”
Challenge accepted, I tuck my phone into the compartment on the top of my shoulder, and she shakes her head. “Of course.” Our gaze holds again, and I feel it. The same buzz from the night we met. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and it might as well be a gong to my chest. Her skin tints pink when she realizes she’s just as caught in the moment.
“Hey, Troy,” Dante squeaks from below me. “Can you be my dad, just for tonight?”
Clarissa’s eyes drop. Wordless, she ushers us all outside and locks the front door before kneeling down in front of Dante and adjusting his top hat. “No one gets to know Batman’s identity, baby. That’s why he’s Batman. Call him Batman.”
“Okay,” Dante agrees, nodding as my heart cracks. I’m furious, and it shows when her eyes lift to mine. Reasoning with myself, I rope that shit in. I have to be patient. Clarissa moves to whisper to me in condolence for taking a machete to my hopes, but I shake my head and grab Dante’s hand, tabling it for now.
After going door to door with a mere ‘ribbet’ from Dante for a majority of the night, on the way home when it was just the three of us, our passive frog bursts into an impressive two-song routine, singing at the top of his little lungs. I’d been waiting for the show all night, and even though I expected it, I’ve never laughed so hard in my life. It was the rest of the walk home that bothered me. Two kids Dante’s age passed us, pointing while calling him Weirdo McGeirdo as if it was the norm. Clarissa and Dante both had ignored them as if they hadn’t heard them, but I know they had. When I opened my mouth to speak up, Clarissa shook her head at me, and I had no choice but to let it go, for the moment.
“Bruce Wayne, I get it,” Dante says in a sleep-filled voice, shoveling in the last of his Kit Kat. Clarissa had replaced every piece of his candy with a stash she bought while he changed into his pajamas. She told me that you never really know what sickos were passing out, and I agreed with that. She really is an amazing mother. I couldn’t ask for better, for more. But I want to, and that’s the part that I have to move past. And I’ve been trying.
Last weekend I’d run into my country girl at the Hero party—an annual gathering the weekend before Halloween where you dress up as your hero—and I was shot down, again. This time she was dressed like a senior citizen, but I’d managed to pick her out of a crowd by her accent alone. There was something about her that appealed to me, and I still have no idea who she is. She’d refused to give me her name or the time of day. It’s a challenge, and I was all too up for it, but my mystery girl seemed adamant about keeping me at arm’s length. As of now, I’m not batting for shit, even when I’m trying to take my dating game seriously. I just keep reminding myself that all my sweetest victories have been hard-earned. Time and patience are my friends, my impulsivity problem, my worst enemy.
Dante lays tucked at my side while Clarissa sits opposite me with his feet in her lap. The itch from earlier beneath the latex comes back with a vengeance, and I become increasingly more uncomfortable in my suit, my arm draped casually around the back of the couch as I fight to keep idle and stay in the moment.
I tell myself it’s an illusion of family as I glance over at Clarissa and catch her studying us both, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t bother looking away when I bust her. Clarissa reaches between us as Dante’s eyes start to droop, running her fingers through his fair hair. “Have fun tonight, buddy?”
“Yeah, thank you, Mommy,” he says, exhausted, his eyes half-mast. He looks up at me and grips the hand I have resting on his chest. “Thank you, Troy.”
“Welcome, bud.”
He goes out like a light a few minutes later as the itch rears its ugly head. When Clarissa lifts him from the couch, Dante stirs and looks up at her, “Can I sleep with you tonight, Mommy?”
“You’re getting too old for that.”
“Please?”
“Okay, but just for tonight.”
While she deposits him in her bed, I stand like my ass is on fire. She returns a minute later, catching me as I began to rip at my suit. “Shit.”
“What’s wrong?” Clarissa asks, padding back into the living room.
“I don’t know…s-something’s wrong.” It feels like my skin has caught fire. I begin to rip at the latex and struggle with the zipper as she giggles while watching me.
“Shit, don’t just stand there laughing, Clarissa, help me!”
“Calm down,” she says, circling me to grip the zipper, “let me at it,” she instructs through residual laughter. “Stop struggling.”
“It burns!” I whisper-yell. “Hurry.”
“Oh no, are you allergic to latex?”
“I don’t think so, I don’t know. Please,” I plead. “Stop laughing. It’s not funny, it feels like my nuts are cooking.”
She’s full-on laughing while I rip at the collar, not giving a shit about the integrity of the suit. “I’m serious. Please, please,” I beg as she finally gets my cape off and fumbles with the zipper. Once it’s down, I rip at the costume until it’s at my feet.
Clarissa steps back. “Oh, my God.” The look on her face paralyzes me with fear.
“Is it bad?”
“Go, g-get in a cold shower right now. You’re having an allergic reaction of some sort.
“I wore this the other night for a few hours,” I shriek as I haul ass down the hall. She’s hot on my heels. “It’s probably the heat.” I shut the bathroom door behind me for a quick nut check and am relieved when I see they’re angry red but still intact along with the grand commander. Upon further inspection, I notice I’m covered in tiny bumps, the boiling rash going from my neck to my groin and starting to erupt on my thighs. The upside is, I may never have to shave my balls again. “What in the hell!?”
A sharp knock on the door has me cracking it open.
“Here, in case it’s not a heat rash,” she thrusts a tiny cup at me. “Children’s Benadryl, it may help some.”
“It burns,” I whimper, taking the cup and tossing the contents back like a shot.
She b
ites back a smile, retrieving the cup as she barks orders. “Get in a cold shower, use the kid soap because it’s got no perfumes or dyes. Gently rub, don’t scrape. I’ll run next door and get you some clothes, don’t put your underwear back on.”
I lift a brow. “Because?”
“Because if—” She rolls her eyes. “Yep, my boy definitely has too much of your DNA. Just do what I say.”
I grunt, the urge to rake my sack unbearable. “Fine.”
“P-poor Batman’s got a rash,” she snorts before belly laughter erupts from her. Narrowing my eyes, I shut the door on her as her amusement echoes down the hall. “Guess, G-g-Gotham isn’t safe tonight.”
Jenny’s Cream Cheese and Picante Dip
Intoxicologist/Bartender, Dallas
Makes 2 Cups
5 minutes
2 8 Oz. Packages Cream Cheese – softened
1 1/2 Cup Picante Sauce (hot, medium or mild)
2 Tbsp. Lemon Juice – optional
Beat cream cheese and picante with hand mixer until smooth and creamy. Add lemon juice and stir well. Serve with tortilla chips or fresh vegetables.
Note: May blend in a food processor instead of using hand mixer.
Clarissa
Thankfully Theo was home because I forgot to grab Troy’s keys. Once I explained the situation, he led me to Troy’s bedroom. Inside, I can’t help but notice the view he has from his window into Dante’s bedroom. I wonder how often he watches us. But in truth, I know. Troy has always been diligent with his stalking. But can it really be considered stalking when it’s your own child you’re watching over? I decide it can’t.
I’ve been just as diligent in making him pay. And pay he has. It’s clear with every pleading look he gives me when I retrieve Dante that he wants back into my good graces. And I’m still trying to let it happen.
Since our arrangement started and due to Troy’s best behavior, guilt has been building within me for the years Dante’s missed without his father. But a part of me still stands firm in my conviction that he’d committed the worst wrong of all wrongs, threatening my livelihood, all I worked for, purposefully, with his lie. And in all truth, I never once thought as a teenager, Troy would be as eager to be in his son’s life as he’s proven to be. It was a duplicitous lie, one that could have cost me dearly, but it didn’t. And maybe I just need to take that fact at face value.
