Anna Martin's Single Dads Box Set: Summer Son - Helix - The Color of Summer

by Anna Martin

  “You too.”

  He looked like he was having the same internal battle as me.

  “Can I?” I said, stepping up close into his personal space.

  “Um….”

  Then he nodded.

  I cupped his cheek in the palm of my hand and leaned down to brush my lips lightly over his. For a moment neither of us pressed for more. Then his lips parted and I moved mine, the delicate back and forth dance of a near perfect first kiss.

  Zane pulled away first. “I, uh….”

  Stepping back, I gave him some space, even though I didn’t want to.

  “I’ll call you,” he said in a rush. “I mean, if it’s okay, I’ll get your number from Meg.”

  “That’s fine,” I said.

  “I’ll call you,” he repeated, but with a smile this time. He turned and took the first two steps up to the front door, then turned back and leaned in to kiss me again, hard and fast.

  The vision came into my head fully formed: Zane with his back pressed against the wall in his hallway, jeans around his knees, me on mine, sucking his cock until he came, my name on his lips.

  So my head was spinning when he pulled away and jogged up the steps, let himself in, and waved before shutting the door.

  Since my place really was just at the other end of the street, I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other and go home. I couldn’t be bothered to double back to my mom’s, and I didn’t think about what that meant, or if it made me a bad parent for just wanting to go to bed.

  The apartment was eerily silent without Harrison around. Even if he was sleeping I was used to the sound of the baby monitor and his special nighttime grumblings. Before climbing into bed I sent a quick text off to my mom, knowing she wouldn’t read it until morning, about the same time she would realize I wasn’t in the house. It was only two in the morning, but it felt later for some reason. Probably because I was still buzzing from everything that had happened.

  I wondered why it was that when you were specifically not looking for anyone, not wanting someone in your life, they walked right up and let themselves in. The last thing I wanted or needed was the complication of dating someone, even if he was possibly one of the most intriguing people I’d met in a long time.

  Since I didn’t have his number and he’d said he would call me, there was no point in worrying about it—if he didn’t call, there wasn’t a lot I could do.

  Except hope.

  Chapter 3

  I didn’t collect Harrison until eleven the next morning, which was almost unheard of. After receiving a text from my mom telling me not to rush, I got up late (late for me, anyway), did all the laundry, all the dishes, caught up on my e-mail, and tidied the whole apartment. Polished and vacuumed too.

  Zane was a specter who had haunted my morning while I listened to Rage Against the Machine and Iron Maiden. I guessed he and I wouldn’t share a taste in music, not that it mattered. I didn’t exactly look like a classic metal fan. My hair wasn’t long or black, it was a dull brown and curled when I let it grow out, and apart from the few band T-shirts I owned, I didn’t really get into the hard-core studded leather clothing.

  Harrison seemed happy to see me when I arrived at my mom’s. I hauled him up into my arms and smothered him with kisses. He smelled clean, looked content and completely emotionally undamaged by the fact that his father had spent the night out drinking with friends. According to my mom he’d been an angel. I wasn’t sure if I believed her, but it was easier to agree than argue.

  I’d texted Meg to see if she wanted to go for lunch, but she was too hungover, swearing that she wasn’t getting out of bed until Monday morning. I decided to let her be—there was no way I was going to take Harrison over there if she was in that sort of state. Lupe was working at her weekend job, which just left Nae or one of the boys.

  Saturday was designated band practice day for Azriel, Crash, and Ben, although I was convinced their time was more often spent getting high than actually practicing. In some ways I hoped so—the band was ear-achingly shit. My love of rock music meant I got invited to all their gigs, and I’d taken to wearing earplugs automatically to try and drown out the cringeworthy noise.

  Since I couldn’t get hold of Nae by phone, I strapped Harrison into his baby carrier and walked the few blocks over to her apartment. The cell reception in her area was notoriously bad, so she was used to people dropping by unannounced. Plus, she seemed to be the best person to grill about Zane.

  “I’m working,” she said after she’d opened the door.

  She clearly was, too. Her dark hair was scraped back from her face, and she was wearing a huge paint-splattered T-shirt and leggings.

  “You look every inch the tortured artist, darling,” I said, leaning in to give her a kiss.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said, ignoring me and zoning in on Harrison. I let her lift him out of the harness and pulled the whole thing off. It got uncomfortable after a while.

  Nae had one of the nicest apartments out of all of us, mostly due to the fact that she’d shacked up with Levon, who was tall, dark, handsome, and loaded. He worked doing something with computers that I’d never quite understood, and he worshiped Nae like she was his queen.

  “So, did you take Zane home last night?” she asked, carrying my son through to her kitchen to find him a cookie. Since I knew it was likely to be a low-fat, sugar-free cookie, I didn’t mind. “Or did he take you home?”

  “No,” I said. “I walked him back to his apartment. Then I went home.”

  She looked shocked. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah,” I said, leaning against a counter. “He said he’d get my number from Meg and call me.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh, what? What does ‘oh’ mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Nae,” I said, watching, out of the corner of my eye, Harrison trying to shove the entire cookie into his mouth in one go. It wouldn’t take him long to figure it out.

  “Zane… doesn’t really date.”

  “That clears up actually fuck all,” I said. “Please. I like this guy. Help me out.”

  “I don’t know!” she said. “He’s an artist, and he works with kids. He doesn’t like dating, but he’s gay. That’s all I know.”

  “Then why were you encouraging me to talk to him if you know he doesn’t date?”

  “Because you’re perfect for each other,” she said with a little sigh.

  I held my arms out for Harrison, and she handed him back. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I said, looking at my son while bouncing him gently on my hip. “It’s too soon. My life is complicated enough right now without trying to chase down some guy who may or may not be interested in me.”

  “He’s interested,” Nae said. “I promise.”

  “Well, if he is, he’ll call me.”

  She shooed us out of the house so she could get back to work on the… whatever it was that currently sat in the corner of her makeshift studio. I tried not to ask the artists what they were doing, whenever possible.

  Since I was feeling ridiculously refreshed after my good night’s sleep, I decided to take Harrison to the park. The day was clear and warm but not too bright, and I wasn’t worried about sunburn this early in the year.

  Clearly I wasn’t the only parent with the great idea, and the park was packed with kids and parents, all in various stages of excitement. Since Harrison was too little to play on any of the big things, I waited until a swing was free, then strapped him into it. Swings were his favorite, and I couldn’t help but grin when he squealed with laughter as I pushed him higher. The kid had absolutely no sense of danger—he always wanted more, higher, faster.

  I was worried he was going to scream in an entirely different way when I pulled him out, but the gods seemed to be shining on me and he was fine, so I took us both for ice cream at the stand in the middle of the park.

  Harrison was used to sharing food with me, and I didn’t think twice about sticki
ng one of those little plastic spoons in my cone to get a bit out for him. It was typical. Half the time Harrison didn’t want to eat, and most mealtimes were a battle. But as soon as I put something bad in front of him, he turned into a little angel.

  “Come on then, baba,” I murmured after cleaning his face from ice cream residue.

  He went back into the harness facing my chest, rather than out, another vain attempt at getting him to nap as we walked home. It didn’t work, of course. Harrison hated sleeping almost as much as he hated eating.

  By the time we got home I needed to start dinner—routine, routine, routine—and I set Harrison down on a blanket with some toys so I could watch him from the kitchen while I worked. He was already crawling, but for some reason he didn’t like the feel of the bare floorboards under his hands and knees. It meant I could create an effective island without barriers in the middle of the apartment and he’d happily stay there for ages.

  Since we’d been on a bit of a classic British rock theme for a while, I stuck the Stones on and danced along as I made chicken and rice and steamed vegetables. It was easier to cook once, something that would do for the both of us. Harrison was at the point where he was starting to want to feed himself, and I didn’t need to turn his meals into mush anymore.

  I sat at the counter and watched while Harrison threw his food around and generally did everything possible to avoid eating it. He wasn’t so fussy about sitting in the high chair these days, thankfully, and would still let me feed him some things.

  I ate one-handed, with one eye on my son, not really tasting what I’d made. Food was energy, except when it was chocolate. Then it was a cry for help.

  Our evening soon settled around us—bath, bottle, bed—and then I went back to my desk. Even something that had rocked me like Zane had couldn’t change the foundation of my life these days. I kissed Harrison on the head and went to work.

  A week later, he still hadn’t called.

  For the first few days I’d been climbing the walls, then I’d had a day or two of being completely down on myself and life in general, then I picked myself up, dusted off my pride, and got on with life.

  It was Oliver’s weekend to take Harrison, but as usual, he wasn’t going to pick him up until Saturday morning. I wasn’t quite sure when Oliver’s definition of taking his son for “the weekend” turned into picking him up from my mom’s at midday on Saturday and dropping him back by three on Sunday afternoon… not that there was a lot I could do about it.

  After more than one screaming argument when Ollie came back to the apartment we once shared, we changed the arrangement so my mom acted as gatekeeper. I hadn’t seen him in weeks. That was absolutely fine by me, but I felt sorry for my mom. She insisted she didn’t mind holding on to Harrison for the extra few hours on a Saturday morning, although that was completely beside the point.

  The original arrangement between us was that he picked Harrison up on Friday afternoon when he finished work and dropped him back on Sunday night every other weekend. We’d also discussed him taking our son for a few days during the week. That never happened.

  Of all the things I hated him for, letting Harrison down was the biggest one. It had been Ollie who talked me into having a child so quickly after getting married. We were promised by everyone that it would be a long process: finding a surrogate, going through the whole getting pregnant bit. In the end we found a surrogate who was happy to do artificial insemination rather than IVF, which simplified things considerably.

  In our happy, naïve little bubble, Ollie and I decided to mix our sperm so we wouldn’t know who Harrison’s biological father was. Genetics weren’t important, we insisted. Our child was going to grow up with two fathers and a surrogate mother who was happy to be contacted by him at any time, if he had questions.

  The bubble burst about three months after Harrison was born, and Oliver decided he was leaving. I still wasn’t sure what had happened, or where it all went wrong. My friends insisted he was just a lying bastard and I should move on, but that wasn’t exactly easy when I wasn’t sure what I’d done in the first place.

  Since it was Oliver who’d wanted to be a father, who’d pushed for a child, pushed for everything relating to our family, I prepared myself for being a weekends-only dad.

  And then he did the one thing we’d promised each other we’d never do—he demanded a paternity test. It was at that point that I hired a lawyer.

  I knew the outcome of the paternity test would decide my future for me. If Harrison was Ollie’s child, I’d have to fight to get access to him. I’d be one of those dads in the superhero outfits, trying to shout loud enough for someone to hear and let me have time with my son. Because for me, it didn’t matter if Harrison was created with my sperm or Oliver’s. I’d loved him from the day he was born. Before that, even.

  If Harrison was my child, I’d become a divorced single dad before I turned thirty five.

  It turned out Oliver wanted not a child, but his child, and he didn’t want to waste time raising someone else’s. Knowing this, I fought against making the results of the paternity test known until a court order demanded it. The divorce got messy, I got handed full custody of the child who turned out to be biologically my own (since Oliver didn’t want a baby with whom he shared no genetic material), and my never-ending battle for child support began.

  My life turned into a Jerry Springer special—“What Happens When Gay Men Divorce.” Only there was no neat “take care of yourselves and each other” at the end of the episode. There was just my broken heart and a little boy who would grow up with one daddy, not two.

  I had my mom keep a notebook, detailing the time Oliver came over to pick Harrison up and what time he was dropped off, so it was all logged if anyone wanted to see it. I hated it, hated that it had gotten so petty, that we were still sniping at each other.

  The one weekend, once every two weeks, was my time to do all the things that just took longer with a baby around: laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning, catching up on my work. I wasn’t a hermit on purpose, like Meg seemed to think. I was just a single parent with far too little spare time.

  For the first hour after I dropped Harrison off, I always felt lost and wandered around in circles until I pulled myself together and got on with stuff. Going to the gym was something that calmed me down. The routine of an hour of cardio, an hour of weights, and then a long swim relaxed my muscles and my brain and allowed me to think clearly.

  Whenever Zane popped into my head, I forced him back out again, replacing long, dark lashes with balancing my savings and checking accounts. In my head they were perfectly balanced. The only problem was, I never went home and actually moved any money around. There wasn’t time.

  After showering at the gym and feeling about two hundred times better than I had before, I headed down to a little Asian supermarket to pick up something for dinner and enough beer to get me slightly drunk. I wasn’t going out again, not after the last time, and everyone else had plans somewhere else. I would take my delicious, healthy meal home and work or download a movie for the first time in forever.

  My basket was full of pak choi and beansprouts and I was headed for glass noodles when I ran into him. Literally.

  “Shit, sorry.”

  “Sorry. Oh. Ellis!”

  “Hi,” I said, rubbing my arm and feeling supremely awkward.

  “I’m so sorry,” Zane said immediately. “I was going to call you, then—”

  “It’s fine,” I said, cutting him off before things got worse.

  “No,” he said, and he looked so thoroughly miserable I decided to let him off the hook. “I tried to get hold of Meg, but she told me to fuck off—apparently she’s working on a massive project at the moment. And I keep meaning to call Nae, but I had assignments due yesterday, and I tend to fall into a black hole when I’m working on something.” He took a deep breath. “Can I take your number now? I really did mean to call.”

  “Sure.”

  Even though I
wanted to be mad at him, it was hard when he looked up at me with those big brown eyes, so sorrowful and apologetic. I pulled my wallet out of my pocket and found one of my business cards. They had my cell number printed on the front, as well as my website and e-mail address.

  “Thanks,” he said, pocketing the card. “Are you making something in particular?” He nodded at my basket.

  I shrugged. “Um, something Thai, maybe. I’m not sure. I like buying a load of ingredients and finding out what I can make with them.”

  Zane beamed at me. “Let me cook for you,” he said. “To apologize for being a total asshole.”

  “You weren’t an asshole. And you don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to,” he insisted. “Where’s Harrison?”

  “He’s with Oliver for the weekend.”

  “Oh. Well, then, you don’t really have an excuse.”

  I wondered if I’d ever build up a resistance to his smile, guessed probably not, and conceded.

  “Okay. I’ll buy the stuff, though.”

  Twenty minutes later we were outside his apartment building, and I’d learned that he was mostly vegan but made some exceptions. I was not even a little bit vegan. I liked my steak cooked so that when it was cut into, I could still distantly hear it moo. Still, I was already wrapped around Zane’s little finger, and he insisted I’d like what he made for me.

  I could see lying and not eating much in my future.

  “It’s not a lot,” Zane said as we climbed up the two flights of stairs to his studio. I hoped to God the inside was better than the staircase, because I really wasn’t feeling the damp or the mold or the peeling paint. “But, you know. It’s home.”

  “How long have you been living here?”

  “About two years now.” He unlocked the door in two places and let me in first, which was just as well since I was pretty sure two people couldn’t fit side by side in his hallway. “It’s way out of the way for classes and shit, but there’s no way I can afford anywhere in Manhattan, and I like this neighborhood. Plus, I can get a place of my own here, and if I lived anywhere closer, I’d need to find a roommate.”