Must Like Spinach

by Con Riley

  He quits talking and simply lowers his head.

  “Flipping my own house seemed like the only way to dig my way out of a huge hole. At least I’d raise some capital, you know, once I got the debt paid off. Didn’t have a solid plan beyond that, apart from getting some financial breathing space, that’s all.” His gaze scans along the expanse of glass where Jon’s drawn evidence of how that vague idea grew into a property empire. It’s a portfolio valued in many millions that other developers would give their right arms for. “My wife left the same day we tore the roof off. Carl stayed and fixed every single shingle on his own when I was still too drunk outta my mind to climb a ladder.”

  “Listen….”

  “She took my son and went home to Chicago.” He grits his teeth and a muscle tics in his jaw. “Bet you’re thinking she was sick of having no money.” The laugh he huffs out is far from happy. “She never gave a crap about any of that. It was the time I didn’t spend with her and our kid that pissed her off the most. You know how many times she told me that money didn’t matter?”

  Jon takes a step back from the glass while Stan continues unloading without waiting for an answer.

  “She said that shit so many times I started to tune it out. Maybe I should’ve let her take some of those collection calls or read the threatening letters about all the credit cards I used to pay off each other. She might’ve understood why I had to make the business a success if she heard what the repo guys called me. I hid all that from her when maybe I should have listened to her. Carl told me to go find them again with the money I made from that first house. ‘Take off for six months,’ he said. ‘You’ll never get another chance like this to invest in your marriage.’”

  His headshake is small, and he then tilts his head toward the cookie-cutter residential developments drawn on the glass to the right.

  “He never mentioned it again when I bought two more houses instead of trying to get back my family.” Regret’s right there in his tone. “He tell you about the times I fucked up payment schedules and couldn’t make some of those first repayments?”

  Jon shakes his head. Carl hadn’t broken a single confidence even after it seemed like Stan was crapping on him from a monumental height.

  “Well he covered them for me, and he never charged me interest. Just took me home and fed me, then cosigned a loan for a new truck and tools. I tried to make him a partner. He tell you he turned me down every time I got the papers drawn up?”

  Jon shakes his head again, but Stan’s on a roll now, spilling a couple decades worth of secrets.

  “He wouldn’t sign those partnership papers. The only promise he wanted was that I wouldn’t ever fire him. He didn’t want the stress of being in charge, he said, and then he goes ahead and stresses me the fuck out by almost dropping dead on my clock.”

  “What an asshole.”

  That startles a laugh from Stan. “Tell me about it.” His shoulders hitch a few times, and for one awful moment, Jon wonders if he’s crying. Training on the fast track only covered offering dispassionate comfort from a distance, so Jon channels his inner Tyler instead and pats Stan on the shoulder. The hitches under his hand turn to laughter that sounds painful. “I thought he wouldn’t make it through the bypass surgery. He looked like a dead man for weeks, and the pain…?” He closes his eyes. “I don’t know how he took it.”

  Jon fills in the rest based on observation and guesswork. “You took him off site and stuck him in an office. You thought that would be safer for him? Better for his health or something?”

  “Oh, I knew he’d hate it, but he wouldn’t retire no matter how nicely I put it. Told me he’d die on the fucking job if he wanted, but no way was he about to quit on me, and I’d promised not to fire him, so I should go ahead and stop begging.”

  Jon has nothing to lose. He’s out of here already, so he outright states, “You made every day as miserable for him as you could to get him to leave. Even brought in a hotshot consultant to shame him into quitting.”

  “That’s about the size of it.” The breath he draws in shakes. “A little short term pain to get him to take it easy.”

  “And how’s that working for you?”

  Stan doesn’t answer. Instead he rubs at the furrows in his brow and then gestures at the sketches all over the glass. “I’m sorry I called all of this nonsense.” He meets Jon’s eye and holds it. “You were leaving, weren’t you?”

  “Seemed like a plan. I have a track record for telling clients the truth when I really shouldn’t. This was my second chance to keep my mouth shut. There won’t be a third.”

  He has no future with Bettman, and it turns out he’s all right with that.

  He’ll get busy having second thoughts tomorrow, but right now he wants to go home.

  Jon grabs the strap of his laptop bag, but Stan does the same and doesn’t let go. Instead he offers an out that’s unexpected. “I won’t tell them about today if you don’t.”

  It should feel like a reprieve. Instead the glass walls seem to close in.

  “You still have a report to turn in,” Stan adds. “You might as well complete it.”

  Jon declines. “You have to know I won’t write it. Not the way that you want, anyhow. Not if you want me to badmouth one of your biggest assets.”

  Stan loosens his grip on the strap of Jon’s laptop bag. “Listen. If I learned one thing, it’s to take advice from people who see clearer than me.” He slowly lets go and draws in a deep breath. “Write the report however you want, but don’t burn any bridges. If you’re done with Bettman, at least resign after you get done. Don’t give them a reason to can you if you don’t have to. It’ll make getting another job a whole let easier if you leave rather than getting pushed out.” He walks back to the meeting room door. “Write the report, Jonathan.”

  “It won’t be ready tomorrow.”

  “By Monday then. Take the weekend.”

  The weekend Jon has planned out in his mind is full of garden chores and spending time with people who matter. “Tuesday,” is his final offer, like he has bargaining power when he should be grateful. “I have a busy weekend planned.”

  Stan’s shoulders look a whole lot less broad than on the first day they met. They’re bowed like he carries a huge weight. He says, “Okay,” but it’s the slope of his shoulders that prompts Jon to make an offer.

  “Carl’s coming back to my place on Saturday to finish what he started.”

  “Your place? That’s where you been all day? Wait….” Stan’s forehead furrows. “Aren’t you in a motel?”

  “I was. But I rented someplace terrible instead. It’s falling down around my ears, but Carl’s fixing it up.” When Jon adds, “If you bring a hammer, you could help him,” Stan’s shoulders finally straighten.

  Chapter 26

  IT’S BEEN a helluva day, but Jon’s buzzing when he gets home late, feeling like a MVP for once rather than a loser. Stan’s offer means he’ll get to leave the fast track on his own terms, exactly when he’s ready instead of getting fired for going against direct orders. He’ll get the last report written, then he’ll be free.

  Free.

  To do what, he hasn’t exactly figured out yet, but everything he sees as he drives up his street has him gripping the steering wheel real tight. The diner looks welcoming and cozy rather than rundown when he passes, like the pizzeria at the other end of the block. Both buildings are warmly lit and bustling, manned by people who’ll greet him by name and then ask after Peggy.

  It’s his neighborhood, and it feels right.

  He’s not passing through; he’s staying.

  Sharing that news right away with Tyler is his plan, but he’s clearly distracted when Jon gets home, ushering him upstairs instead of over to Peggy’s like they agreed. It’s barely eight, but none of the lights are on at the house, he notices, as he follows Tyler up, mirroring his carefully quiet steps.

  “They both turned in early?” he asks as Tyler opens the door.

  “Yeah. Pe
ggy was wiped out, and I think everything finally caught up with Lorna. Did you know she runs her company’s international operation? I have no idea what that means, apart from the fact that she was overseas when she heard about Peggy. The time zones have got to be messing with her.”

  “But she’s okay? Peggy, I mean.”

  Tyler’s nod is a definite yes but the rest of his body language isn’t half so convincing. He looks everywhere but at Jon while Jon sheds keys, jacket, and shoes by the door. Then he keeps his back turned and speaks into the fridge instead of to him directly. “We ate, and then Lorna said she’d take over for the night if I wanted to….”

  “If you wanted to what?”

  Tyler mumbles something, the tips of his ears a rosy clue that he’s embarrassed.

  “What’d she say to you, Ty?”

  He mumbles again before turning, covered dish in one hand, package of lunch meat in the other. His voice is clearer when he says, “There’s this to eat.” He wiggles the dish. “Or I can make you a sandwich?”

  “You don’t have to wait on me. But you do need to tell me what it was that Lorna said.” He hopes to God their earlier accord hadn’t been in his imagination. She’d seemed so much warmer before he left, but if she’s spent the evening making Tyler feel like crap, he’ll—

  “She said I should go spend some time with my handsome boyfriend.”

  “Yeah?” Jon can’t help the way his narrowed lips bloom into a grin or the way he has to walk over right then and take the dish and lunch meat out of Tyler’s hands. He shoves them on the counter before pulling Tyler into the tight hug he’s wanted since the moment he left. His voice is muffled against Tyler’s throat. “You got a handsome boyfriend?” The skin he kisses is scented with soap, like Tyler just got done showering. He smells so good that Jon draws in a deep, clean lungful. “Were you planning on telling me about him?” He nuzzles further along Tyler’s jaw. “And do we have time to make out before he gets home?”

  Tyler’s answering chuckle is as warm as the skin on his cheek where Jon plants a quick kiss. Knowing that he’ll get to have this from now on only makes him kiss Tyler some more. He’ll get to come home to this—to someone who saves some supper if he’s late and who gets hot under the collar at how other people see them—and to sharing a too small, run-down apartment, with no idea how he’ll make a living, but….

  But it’s all he needs to be happy.

  Maybe he hugs too hard. Tyler’s next words come out breathless. “So you want me to make you a sandwich?” It’s such a mundane question, but Jon loves it regardless, like he loves the way Tyler wrinkles his nose when he adds, “Because I have a real strong feeling whatever’s in that dish is toxic.”

  “What is it?”

  “Some kind of vegetable and lentil thing Lorna put together. It’s kind of thick.” He twists out of Jon’s hold and scoops some out before tipping it lumpily back into the dish. “That look good to you?” He sniffs and makes a terrible face that only a mother could love.

  Or Jon, as it turns out.

  “Looks great to me.”

  “I knew you were a weirdo. I told Peggy on the first day when you hid behind the rosemary bush and glared at me like a psycho. I have no idea why no one listens to me.” He takes another sniff and grumbles. “This really doesn’t look like slime to you? Or seaweed that someone’s thrown up? Lorna was so heavy-handed with the spinach.”

  “Good thing then that I love it.”

  Jon mops up a bowlful with slices of bread after Tyler nukes it, so much hungrier once he tastes it. It’s fragrant rather than noxious, with a careful meld of spices that makes his mouth water. Hints of cumin linger after he scoops the final spoonful. It’s subtly flavored rather than strong, and so delicious he could inhale another bowlful or three. “Did Peggy like it?” he asks without waiting for an answer. “Lorna must have added this much spinach on purpose.” He licks the back of his spoon and considers. “I know it wasn’t a whole lot of blood that Peggy lost, but making sure she gets more iron than usual isn’t a bad plan.” He squints as he mentally pictures Peggy’s kitchen. She definitely had a blender out on her counter the last time he was over. “You think she’d go for a green smoothie for breakfast if I make it from our own produce?”

  Tyler doesn’t answer.

  When Jon looks across the table, he has his elbows on its surface and his chin in his hands, watching him with an odd expression. “What?” He runs his tongue across the front of his teeth. “Did I miss some spinach?”

  “Nope.”

  He sets down his spoon and takes a sip from the water Tyler poured while he ate. “So what are you looking at exactly, apart from your handsome boyfriend, of course?”

  That’s never gonna get old.

  “What am I looking at right now?” This time Tyler’s smile is watery. “At someone I….” He blinks a couple of times and changes the subject. “Spending time with you wasn’t the only thing Lorna and I talked about after Peggy turned in.”

  Dammit.

  Jon’s heart sinks, and his earlier worries flood back. Maybe some of that shows on his face. Tyler’s quick to reassure him. “No! We needed to talk. It was a good conversation.” He shrugs and adds, “Only maybe too good, if you know what I mean.”

  “I don’t. Fill me in.”

  “She—” Tyler lets out a huge breath. “She wants to hire me to care for Peggy. Here. Until she’s fully recovered, at least. Probably forever. She’s not getting any younger.” Still, he seems conflicted.

  “And that’s a problem because?”

  “Lorna wants me to agree to quit everything else I do now. She doesn’t want me to cover shifts over at the diner or do any of the other things I do for money, so I can be here fulltime. She says that’s covered on Peggy’s insurance.” Jon wonders if that’s a white lie to mask the real source of her financial support, but even if it is, he still doesn’t see the problem. Tyler spells it out for him. “It means I’d get paid for doing shit I’d do for free if Peggy was real family. She is family, Jon.”

  He lifts his chin, and Jon’s not sure how it’s possible to keep finding reasons to fall for this man, but he adds this moment to a list that won’t quit unspooling.

  “I can’t take money for that,” Tyler finishes firmly, but there’s that watery gaze again. “Only I can’t say I want some stranger over there with her either. What if they don’t have the patience to listen to her stories? You know how she repeats the same ones like we haven’t already heard them? They might shut her down and make her feel bad. I can’t….” He shakes his head like that might clear it, and his next words come out in a rush. “And what about if she fills in her crossword puzzles with the wrong answers like usual?”

  This is news to Jon. No wonder she breezes through them so fast.

  “What if they can’t judge her mood? Sometimes she notices when she fucks up, and it upsets her. Sometimes she doesn’t have any idea, and pointing it out would crush her. She feels so good whenever she completes a puzzle from start to finish, like she’s still got it all going on up here.” He taps his temple so hard with the tip of a finger that Jon almost reaches out to stop him. “Not everyone who’s a caregiver for a living gives a crap, you know? Peggy’s old, not stupid. Her long-term memory’s better than most people’s. It’s only anything in the last ten years that’s hit or miss, and there’s nothing out of the norm about that kind of degeneration. Not for someone her age. But if some stranger makes her feel dumb or takes advantage—” He sounds desperate. “I can’t let that happen. Not again.” He shakes his head. “Not after Danny.”

  “Listen to me.” Jon does reach across the table then. “Stop right now and listen.” Tyler’s fingers are warm between his, his grip strong when he holds on real tight. “Lorna wants to pay you to care for Peggy, and she can, so you go ahead and take her money. Trust me, you’d be doing her a favor. She’ll only pay someone else otherwise. And that’s cool if you want to keep your options open. But think about it, Ty. Think a
bout how independent Peggy usually is. You might find that your days are free.” He recalls the way Tyler’s gaze had followed passing students when they ate their food-truck dinner on the SU campus. He’d looked a whole lot hungrier for the life they had than for the rice and beans he’d chosen. “It would leave you time to study?”

  “Or I could pick up some more work and pay back what Danny took a whole lot faster.” Tyler looks down for a long while, like the surface of the table is fascinating. “I messaged him when Peggy got hurt. She was confused when we got to the hospital and kept asking for him.” His phone is on the table, and he lets go of Jon’s hand to check it. “I can see that he read it.” He looks up, and his eyes, which Jon had thought were gorgeous from the get-go, are killer when they’re red-rimmed and damp. “I can see that he did, but he’s not going to reply, is he? He’s not going to come check on Peggy either. Fuck the money he took. She really cared about him.”

  Jon can’t help wondering if Tyler’s speaking for himself rather than Peggy, especially when he recalls him tending his abrasions. “I know you care about him too, Ty, but—”

  “Cared.” Tyler stresses the past tense. “I did for a long time. Even when he dumped me out of the blue and moved in with some other guy I never heard of. And then I cared enough, like a dumbass, to take him back when that guy must’ve wised up. We were only roommates that second time around, but I still worried about him. He was there for me when my family kicked me out, at least that’s what it felt like at the time, and he made a big deal about promising to help out around here to Peggy. But that was only ever an act. He never followed through like you do.”

  There’s nothing Jon can say to any of that but a quiet, “Come here.”

  It only takes a second or two for Tyler to shove back his chair and for Jon to stand. Their embrace is tight and perfect, slotting them together everywhere they’re meant to, so close their hearts couldn’t get much nearer. Tyler’s ear is level with his mouth, and he shivers when Jon speaks. “It’s Danny’s loss. Sure he helped you out when you got kicked out. But I can’t help thinking that caring about you shouldn’t mean relying on you to cover his rent. He looked older than you. Why didn’t he try to keep you in school? And caring doesn’t ever mean helping yourself to someone else’s savings. He didn’t have to live like a pig the last weeks he was here just to make life uncomfortable for you. He could’ve made a lot of different choices—”